Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps, And groans that rage of racking famine spoke ; The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps, The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke, The shriek that from the distant battle broke, The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall; And, after many interruptions short
Of hideous sense, I sank, nor step could crawl: Unsought for was the help that did my life recal.
Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory;
I heard my neighbours in their beds complain
To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish of many things which never troubled me—
Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!
Some mighty gulf of separation past,
I seemed transported to another world;
A thought resigned with pain, when from the
The impatient mariner the sail unfurled,
And, whistling, called the wind that hardly curled The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home And from all hope I was for ever hurled. For me farthest from earthly port to roam Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.
And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found; 'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long, Roaming the illimitable waters round; Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned, And end my days upon the peaceful flood.'--- To break my dream the vessel reached its bound; And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted
No help I sought, in sorrow turned adrift Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock; Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, Nor raised my hand at any door to knock. I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock From the cross-timber of an out-house hung : Dismally tolled, that night, the city clock ! At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, Nor to the beggar's language could I fit my
So passed a second day; and, when the third Was come, I tried in vain the crowd's resort. -In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred, Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort; There, pains which nature could no more support,
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, Of looks where common kindness had no part, Of service done with cold formality, Fretting the fever round the languid heart, And groans which, as they said, might make a dead man start.
These things just served to stir the slumbering sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised. With strength did memory return; and, thence Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, At houses, men, and common light, amazed. The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired, Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed; The travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired, And gave me food-and rest, more welcome, more desired.
Rough potters seemed they, trading soberly With panniered asses driven from door to door; But life of happier sort set forth to me, And other joys my fancy to allure- The bag-pipe dinning on the the midnight moor In barn uplighted; and companions boon, Well met from far with revelry secure Among the forest glades, while jocund June Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial
But ill they suited me those journeys dark O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch! To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark, Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch. The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, And ear still busy on its nightly watch, Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill: Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brood- ing still.
What could I do, unaided and unblest?
My father! gone was every friend of thine :
And kindred of dead husband are at best Small help; and, after marriage such as mine, With little kindness would to me incline. Nor was I then for toil or service fit;
My deep-drawn sighs no effort could confine; In open air forgetful would I sit
Whole hours, with idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
The roads I paced, I loitered through the fields; Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused, Trusted my life to what chance bounty yields, Now coldly given, now utterly refused. The ground I for my bed have often used: But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth, Is that I have my inner self abused, Foregone the home delight of constant truth, And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.
Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed, Through tears have seen him towards that world descend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude: Three years a wanderer now my course I bend- Oh! tell me whither-for no earthly friend Have I."--She ceased, and weeping turned away; As if because her tale was at an end, She wept; because she had no more to say Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.
True sympathy the Sailor's looks expressed, His looks for pondering he was mute the while. Of social Order's care for wretchedness, Of Time's sure help to calm and reconcile, Joy's second spring and Hope's long-treasured smile,
'Twas not for him to speak-a man so tried. Yet, to relieve her heart, in friendly style Proverbial words of comfort he applied,
A woman stood with quivering lips and pale, And, pointing to a little child that lay Stretched on the ground, began a piteous tale; How in a simple freak of thoughtless play He had provoked his father, who straightway, As if each blow were deadlier than the last, Struck the poor innocent. Pallid with dismay The Soldier's Widow heard and stood aghast; And stern looks on the man her grey-haired Com- rade cast.
His voice with indignation rising high Such further deed in manhood's name forbade ; The peasant, wild in passion, made reply With bitter insult and revilings sad; Asked him in scorn what business there he had ; What kind of plunder he was hunting now; The gallows would one day of him be glad ;- Though inward anguish damped the Sailor's brow, Yet calm he seemed as thoughts so poignant would allow.
Softly he stroked the child, who lay outstretched With face to earth; and, as the boy turned round His battered head, a groan the Sailor fetched As if he saw-there and upon that ground- Strange repetition of the deadly wound He had himself inflicted. Through his brain At once the griding iron passage found; Deluge of tender thoughts then rushed amain, Nor could his sunken eyes the starting tear restrain.
Within himself he said-What hearts have we ! The blessing this a father gives his child ! Yet happy thou, poor boy! compared with me, Suffering not doing ill-fate far more mild. The stranger's looks and tears of wrath beguiled The father, and relenting thoughts awoke ;
And not in vain, while they went pacing side by He kissed his son--so all was reconciled side.
Ere long, from heaps of turf, before their sight, Together smoking in the sun's slant beam, Rise various wreaths that into one unite
Then, with a voice which inward trouble broke Ere to his lips it came, the Sailor them bespoke.
"Bad is the world, and hard is the world's law
Which high and higher mounts with silver gleam: Even for the man who wears the warmest fleece; Fair spectacle, but instantly a scream Thence bursting shrill did all remark prevent; They paused, and heard a hoarser voice blaspheme, And female cries. Their course they thither bent, And met a man who foamed with anger vehement.
Much need have ye that time more closely draw The bond of nature, all unkindness cease, And that among so few there still be peace : Else can ye hope but with such numerous foes Your pains shall ever with your years increase ?"—
"A sailor's wife I knew a widow's cares, Yet two sweet little ones partook my bed; Hope cheered my dreams, and to my daily prayers Our heavenly Father granted each day's bread; Till one was found by stroke of violence dead, Whose body near our cottage chanced to lie ; A dire suspicion drove us from our shed; In vain to find a friendly face we try,
She slept in peace, his pulses throbbed and stopped, Breathless he gazed upon her face, then took Her hand in his, and raised it, but both dropped, When on his own he cast a rueful look. His ears were never silent; sleep forsook His burning eyelids stretched and stiff as lead; All night from time to time under him shook The floor as he lay shuddering on his bed;
Nor could we live together those poor boys and I; And oft he groaned aloud, “O God, that I were
His hand had wrought; and when, in the hour of For act and suffering, to the city straight
READERS already acquainted with my Poems will recognise, in the following composition, some eight or ten lines, which I have not scrupled to retain in the places where they originally stood. It is proper however to add, that they would not have been used elsewhere, if I had foreseen the time when I might be induced to publish this Tragedy. February 28, 1842.
Lacy. The Troop will be impatient; let us hie Back to our post, and strip the Scottish Foray Of their rich Spoil, ere they recross the Border. -Pity that our young Chief will have no part In this good service.
Wal. Rather let us grieve That, in the undertaking which has caused His absence, he hath sought, whate'er his aim, Companionship with One of crooked ways, From whose perverted soul can come no good To our confiding, open-hearted, Leader.
Lacy. True; and, remembering how the Band
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