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 line. 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.
Enter MARMADUKE and WILFRED.
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
That Oswald finds small favour in our sight, Well may we wonder he has gained such power Over our much-loved Captain.
Wal. I have heard Of some dark deed to which in early life His passion drove him-then a Voyager Upon the midland Sea. You knew his bearing In Palestine ?
Lacy. Where he despised alike Mohammedan and Christian. But enough; Let us begone--the Band may else be foiled.
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