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,
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?"-
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
Wil.
Mar.
Peace, my good Wilfred ;
Repair to Liddesdale, and tell the Band
I shall be with them in two days, at farthest.
Wil. May He whose eye is over all protect you!
[Exit.
Enter OSWALD (a bunch of plants in his hand).
Oaw. This wood is rich in plants and curious
And I had heard the like before: in sooth
The tale of this his quondam Barony
Is cunningly devised; and, on the back
Of his forlorn appearance, could not fail
To make the proud and vain his tributaries,
And stir the pulse of lazy charity.
The seignories of Herbert are in Devon ;
We, neighbours of the Esk and Tweed: 'tis much
The Arch-impostor
Treat him gently, Oswald;
simples. Mar. (looking at them). The wild rose, and the Though I have never seen his face, methinks,
poppy, and the nightshade : Which is your favorite, Oswald?
On.
Strong to destroy, is also strong to heal-
[Looking forward.
Not yet in sight!—We'll saunter here awhile;
They cannot mount the hill, by us unseen.
Mar. (a letter in his hand). It is no common
thing when one like you
There cannot come a day when I shall cease
To love him. I remember, when a Boy
That which, while it is Of scarcely seven years' growth, beneath the Elm
That casts its shade over our village school,
'Twas my delight to sit and hear Idonea
Repeat her Father's terrible adventures,
Till all the band of play-mates wept together;
And that was the beginning of my love.
And, through all converse of our later years,
An image of this old Man still was present,
When I had been most happy. Pardon me
If this be idly spoken.
Performs these delicate services, and therefore
I feel myself much bounden to you, Oswald ;
"Tis a strange letter this!-You saw her write it?
Osic. And saw the tears with which she blotted it.
Mar. And nothing less would satisfy him?
Osro.
Idon.
That dismal Moor-
In spite of all the larks that cheered our path,
I never can forgive it but how steadily
You paced along, when the bewildering moonlight
Mocked me with many a strange fantastic shape !—
I thought the Convent never would appear;
It seemed to move away from us and yet,
That you are thus the fault is mine; for the air
Was soft and warm, no dew lay on the grass,
And midway on the waste ere night had fallen
I spied a Covert walled and roofed with sods-
A miniature; belike some Shepherd-boy,
Who might have found a nothing-doing hour
Heavier than work, raised it: within that hut
We might have made a kindly bed of heath,
And thankfully there rested side by side
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