"Thus all was re-established, and a pile
Constructed, that sufficed for every end,
Save the contentment of the builder's mind;
A mind by nature indisposed to aught
So placid, so inactive, as content;
A mind intolerant of lasting peace,
And cherishing the pang her heart deplored.
Dread life of conflict! which I oft compared
To the agitation of a brook that runs
Down a rocky mountain, buried now and lost
In silent pools, now in strong eddies chained
But never to be charmed to gentleness;
Its best attainment fits of such repose
As timid eyes might shrink from fathoming.
"A sudden illness seized her in the strength Of life's autumnal season. Shall I tell
How on her bed of death the Matron lay,
To Providence submissive, so she thought;
But fretted, vexed, and wrought upon, almost
To anger, by the malady that griped
Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing power,
As the fierce eagle fastens on the lamb?
She prayed, she moaned; her husband's sister
Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs;
And yet the very sound of that kind foot
Was anguish to her ears!
This was the death-doomed Woman heard to say
In bitterness, and must she rule and reign,
Sole Mistress of this house, when I am gone?
Tend what I tended, calling it her own!'
Enough, I fear, too much. One vernal evening,
While she was yet in prime of health and strength,
I well remember, while I passed her door
Alone, with loitering step, and upward eye
Turned towards the planet Jupiter that hung
Above the centre of the Vale, a voice
Roused me, her voice; it said, 'That glorious star
In its untroubled element will shine
As now it shines, when we are laid in earth
And safe from all our sorrows.' With a sigh
She spake, yet, I believe, not unsustained
By faith in glory that shall far transcend
Aught by these perishable heavens disclosed
To sight or mind. Nor less than care divine
Is divine mercy. She, who had rebelled,
Was into meekness softened and subdued;
Did, after trials not in vain prolonged,
With resignation sink into the grave;
And her uncharitable acts, I trust,
And harsh unkindnesses, are all forgiven,
Though, in this Vale, remembered with deep awe."
THE Vicar paused; and toward a seat advanced,
A long stone seat, fixed in the churchyard wall;
Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part
Offering a sunny resting-place to them
Who seek the House of worship, while the bells
Yet ring with all their voices, or before
The last hath ceased its solitary knoll.
Beneath the shade we all sat down; and there
His office, uninvited, he resumed.
"As on a sunny bank a tender lamb Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March, Screened by its parent, so that little mound Lies guarded by its neighbor; the small heap Speaks for itself; an Infant there doth rest; The sheltering hillock is the Mother's grave. If mild discourse, and manners that conferred A natural dignity on humblest rank; If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks, That for a face not beautiful did more Than beauty for the fairest face can do ; And if religious tenderness of heart, Grieving for sin, and penitential tears
Shed when the clouds had gathered and disdained The spotless ether of a maiden life;
If these may make a hallowed spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or Man,
Then o'er that mould a sanctity shall brood.
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom.
"Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed; render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave,
And on the very turf that roofs her own,
The Mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel
In the broad day, a weeping Magdalene.
Now she is not; the swelling turf reports
Of the fresh shower, but of poor Ellen's tears
Is silent; nor is any vestige left
Of the path worn by mournful tread of her
Who, at her heart's light bidding, once had moved
In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf
Upon the mountains gemmed with morning dew,
In the prime hour of sweetest scents and airs.
Serious and thoughtful was her mind; and yet,
By reconcilement exquisite and rare,
The form, port, motions, of this Cottage-girl
Were such as might have quickened and inspired
A Titian's hand, addressed to picture forth
Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard
Startling the golden hills.
Stands in our valley, named THE JOYFUL TREE;
From dateless usage which our peasants hold
Of giving welcome to the first of May
By dances round its trunk. And if the sky
Permit, like honors, dance and song, are paid
To the Twelfth Night, beneath the frosty stars
Or the clear moon. The queen of these gay sports,
If not in beauty yet in sprightly air,
Was hapless Ellen. No one touched the ground So deftly, and the nicest maiden's locks
Less gracefully were braided; — but this praise, Methinks, would better suit another place.
"She loved. and fondly deemed herself beloved. The road is dim, the current unperceived, The weakness painful and most pitiful, By which a virtuous woman, in pure youth, May be delivered to distress and shame.
Such fate was hers. The last time Ellen danced,
Among her equals, round THE JOYFUL TREE,
She bore a secret burden; and full soon
Was left to tremble for a breaking vow,
Then, to bewail a sternly-broken vow,
Alone, within her widowed Mother's house.
It was the season of unfolding leaves,
Of days advancing toward their utmost length,
And small birds singing happily to mates
Happy as they. With spirit-saddening power
Winds pipe through fading woods; but those blithe
Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak
Of what I know, and what we feel within.
Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt
Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig
A thrush resorts, and annually chants,
At morn and evening, from that naked perch,
While all the undergrove is thick with leaves
A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
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