FUGITIVE AND OCCASIONAL POETRY.
was not one of many; for her soul Had all the loveliness of human kind,
With the sweet frailties of a woman's mind;
A more belov'd, though a less perfect whole.
And she had that within her gentle eye
Which touch'd you with affection; and it stole
So softly on you, that you knew not why
You gaz'd so on its light; until the sigh
Ebb'd from your breast, like breath of summer's even,
Offering its gather'd incense unto Heaven;
And till the fountain of your life did play
With such a pulse, as you might soon descry
Where the unknown, but fond disorder lay.—
And those who once had seen her, ne'er forgot her;
Her image fill'd their mind, like heavenly dream;
Her voice still whisper'd, like a tune, whose theme
Falls in a ling'ring cadence: and the Potter
Had form'd this chosen vessel from a mould,
In which he fashions his more perfect clay,
Fit, in his blessed Providence, to hold
An angel's virtues in this mortal day,
But for a little space; soon summ'd and told,
And then the spirit to be call'd away.
How oft together have we walk'd abroad,
When the sweet amateurs of youthful spring
Began to paint their blossoms, and to sing,
In the wild melody of finch and thrush,
Or lark, that carols on his heavenward wing!
And we would saunter through a devious road,
Where copses twirl their leaves, and fountains gush.
Through groves of varied shrubb'ry have we stray'd,
Where the laburnum hangs its bunch of gold,
And where the mountain-ash and lilac braid
Their fragrant chaplets in contrasted fold;
And sometimes would we wander where the larch
Bends o'er the welkin like a Gothic arch,
And solemn as the holy minster's aisle,
Through whose umbrageous screen you scarce could spy
The clouds that floated in the azure sky;
The blackbird through the long perspective file
Flitting before, with shrill alarm, the while;
And as we walk'd through alley and fair bower,
Each sense enraptur'd by the season's joy,
We loved the innocent and sweet employ,
Of culling and admiring woodland flower,
And trifling with their names. Forget-me-not,
Within whose azure eye a golden spot
Smiles to its meaning, and the varied daisy
Scatter'd upon the bank; while, in their beds,
Fair primroses scarce lift their paley heads,
Press'd by the dew-drop; and the daffodil
And king-cup dight in gold; these in our mazy
And devious path we found, and pluck'd, to fill
Our posy, or to cast away at will.
Nor less delighted were we when we found,
Beneath the broad branch of the silver pine,
The blackbird's nest, with twigs and rushes bound,
And modell'd cunningly with plastic clay,
Then smoothly matted with a bed of hay,
Upon whose pillow the green eggs did shine:
Or where the yellow-hammer lines with hair
Her soft abode, whose eggs are laced with veins,
Suppos'd, by truant schoolboy, to be stains
Of demon's blood, and sought with anxious care,
And plunder'd by him, (for the wanton heart
Needs small occasion for its ruthless art.)
The red-breast, which, beneath the tangled root
Of an old tree, upon her brown eggs sits,
The while her merry mate, in sudden fits,
Touches the shrill notes of his evening flute :
The chaffinch, that o'erspreads her nest with moss
Of the same kind that doth the tree emboss;
And the small wren, that forms her secret home
Oft in the witchknot of a birchen tree,
And roofs it over like a rural dome,
To 'scape the magpie's glance. All these to see
Was sweetest joy to Emily and me.
Thus would we walk for many a day together,
Through all the varied seasons of the year;
Even when late Autumn, with his features sere
Embrown'd the earth, and, by his drizzly weather,
The swill'd cascade from its high summit dash'd
Upon the obdurate rocks, and howl'd and splash'd
Its muddy spray in wrath against the sky;
Even there we stood, silent, but fearless nigh.
And we would climb the mountain's airy height,
(Link'd as we were together arm in arm)
To look on castle, village, spire, and farm,
Wood, river, meadow, and each rural sight,
That gives the landscape its peculiar charm.
And when some sunny holiday had brought
The vagrant boys into the mellow dingle,
We heard their voices with the echoes mingle,
The while along the shaggy cliffs they sought
The bramble's berries, and the knotty bunch
Of hazel nuts, and guines, and bitter haws;
Which, with keen stomach, they were fain to munch,
And cram, despite of husks, into their maws.
These would we mark; and even at the time
Would moralize upon a choice so rude,
That man will oft, for bitter food and crude,
The precipice of wild ambition climb,
Leaving at home his calm and quiet food;
And I was doubly pleas'd when she agreed
With my poor thoughts, and justified the rede.
Yes; and we stay'd abroad until the hue
Of evening twilight robed the western sky-
Until the sun, as 'twere his last adieu,
A stream of radiance o'er the mountains threw,
When he had shut upon the world his eye—
Until the birds had sung their vesper hymn;
And through the calmness of the liberal heaven,
(The while the landscape on the sight drew dim,)
We heard the swains loud whistling to the even.
And ere we reach'd her calm paternal dome,
The rooks had gather'd to their airy elms;
For all the livelong day, through mountain realms,
In search of bilberries in the woods they roam ;
Then speed, at even, in dingy bevies home.
There would we pause, even at the ancient gate,
And linger yet a while, though it was late;
And I would press her hand, and bless her there,
And stifle the full sigh that swell'd my breast,
And look upon her face so lovely fair,
And bid her go to Heaven's protective care,
And pray good angels to watch o'er her rest:
Yet still I held her hand; as if another
Soft pulse did warm her, such as what I felt,
(Which the cold fashion of the world might melt,)
Borrow'd from mine: yet I was as a brother.
And when at length (though loth) I turn'd to go,
I thought that in her thanks I could have spelt
Such meaning as I wish'd-that she did shew
She lov'd me but it might not have been so.
But soon the destin'd hour of sorrow came,
When she was pent within her prison room,
(While the drawn curtains gave it a dull gloom,)
And slow disease upon her wasting frame
Prepar'd just Heaven to assert his lawful claim!
I found her seated on an elbow chair,
With somewhat of soft sadness in her looks;
It pass'd to me; I felt as if despair
Had shadow'd me but no such thing was there:
For on her table I perceiv'd some books,
And one was open'd, in whose happy page
She found such truths as did her heart
And when her eye first at my presence turn'd,
And when, with gentle grace, she did incline
Her
open hand, so fair, to welcome mine;
And when the smile upon her pure
cheek burn'd,
I saw it rise into a lively blush-
I saw a softness in her eye beyond
Its natural grace, though beautiful; and fond
To think that meeting could have rais'd a flush,
I thought I might not in my wish despond.
Alas! it was the slow and subtile worm,
Whose inward gnawings fed upon her life,
And wasted the hale vigour of her form,
And rais'd that ruddy glow, which, in the strife,
Mock'd her with painted beauty. She did wane,
As would i' the eye of morn a lovely cloud;
Or as the moon, that waxeth thin again,
Less brilliant, but more lovely, when her reign
Decreases, and the rising vapours crowd
Around her till they wrap her in their shroud.
'Twas on an evening, when the setting sun
Stream'd through the curtain's loop his level rays,
And lit the wainscot with a roseate blaze;
His daily pilgrimage was nearly done,
And Time's short glass for Emily was run!
She sat upon the sofa; on one side.
Reclin'd, in silent tears, her doting mother,
While I, in mute distraction, stood and eyed
The ling'ring lapse of life upon the other.
Even Death himself seem'd loth to loose her soul;
He could not strike such beauty with his dart, ***.
And therefore, in his lenity, he stole
Our angel from us and she felt no smart ;
But, like a fountain dried in summer's heat,
So ebb'd the purple stream of her pure heart,⠀⠀
And so the playful pulse forgot to beat.
Her words were for our comfort; but the more
She would have wooed us from our heavy sorrow,
The more we griev'd; and we were fain to borrow
A hope upon her smile, and would implore
Heaven's mercy, that she yet might see the morrow.
Oh God! thy holy will was otherwise.
One arm unto her mother she did reach,'
And one to me she gave a hand to each;
And, casting on us her alternate eyes,
And then to Heaven, and then a moment hid
Their fainting lustre 'neath the trembling lid—
Oh, what an anxious moment! when she press'd,
And grasp'd my hand, then, for a little while,
Look'd on her parent with a placid smile,
And then on me, and with a sigh did rest
Her head upon the cushion. She had prov'd
The hope I cherish'd, and 'twas me she lov'd!
And so my trembling hand her palm did hold,
Till she herself the union should dissever;
I could have paused in that embrace for ever,
But, oh! within that grasp, that loving fold,
Her pulse was lost-and she was dead-and cold!
I saw her laid within her narrow grave;
I heard the tolling of the village bell,
Whose iron tongue, as it proclaim'd her knell,
Smote to my heart, and such an anguish gave,
As I can never bear to hear it tell
Even the sweet hour of prayer. I saw the spade
With which the sexton her lone dwelling made,
Heap the last turf upon her coffin'd clay:
And I did linger for a time behind,
Until the common mourners pass'd away,
And then I mourn'd alone, and lowly knelt,
And commun'd with her; for I deem'd I felt
Her hand still clasp'd in mine. They say my mind.
Was in the mood of frenzy, and that oft
Mine eyes were fix'd upon the listless wall,
And that I would her name with fondness call,
And whisper syllables unknown and soft,
As if we were together. This I know
That I did often hurry to her tomb;
And, as the lilies, which I taught to grow,..
As emblems of her purity and doom,
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