Good lady! To travel half a mile alone. no, no, for he Was meek, and patient, feeble, old and blind, -But hear me. For one question, I have a heart That will sustain me. Did you murder him? [Drawing OSWALD towards the cottage — slops Men are there, millions, Oswald, A deed that I would shrink from;- but to endure, Mar. No, not by stroke of arm. But learn the To feed remorse, to welcome every sting process: Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt, Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth In such a course fit links of sympathy, And innocence, embodied in his looks, His words and tones and gestures, did but serve Why may we speak these things, and do no more; [Aside. Osw. Ha! is it so!-That vagrant hag!-this comes If I pass beneath a rock I die without dishonour. Famished, starved, A fool and coward blended to my wish! [Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MARMADUKE Wal. 'T is done! (stabs him.) Another of the band. The ruthless traitor! [He walks about distractedly. With that reproof I do resign a station Enter OSWALD. OSWALD. (to himself.) Strong to o'erturn, strong A rash deed! Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE.) O, my poor Many there be whose eyes will not want cause This is a paltry field for enterprise. 1 This As light itself-be there withheld from her "T was nothing more than darkness deepening darkness, And weakness crowned with the impotence of death! Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point. A man by pain and thought compelled to live, NOTES то POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH. Note 1, p. 25. Of the Poems in this class, "THE EVENING WALK" and "DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES" were first published in 1793. They are reprinted with some unimportant alterations that were chiefly made very soon after their publication. It would have been easy to amend them, in many passages, both as to sentiment and expression, and I have not been altogether able to resist the temptation: but attempts of this kind are made at the risk of injuring those characteristic features which, after all, will be regarded as the principal recommendation of juvenile poems. Note 2, p. 39. 'And, hovering, round it often did a raven fly.' From a short MS. poem read to me when an undergraduate, by my schoolfellow and friend, Charles Farish, long since deceased. The verses were by a brother of his, a man of promising genius, who died young. Note 3, p. 45. "The Borderers.' This Dramatic Piece, as noticed in its title-page, was composed in 1795-6. It lay nearly from that time till within the last two or three months unregarded among my papers, without being mentioned even to my most intimate friends. Having, however, impressions upon my mind which made me unwilling to destroy the MS., I determined to undertake the responsibility of publishing it during my own life, rather than impose upon my successors the task of deciding its fate. Accordingly it has been revised with some care; but, as it was at first written, and is now published, without any view to its exhibition upon the stage, not the slightest alteration has been made in the conduct of the story, or the composition of the characters; above all, in respect to the two leading persons of the drama, I felt no inducement to make any change. The study of human nature suggests this awful truth, that, as in the trials to which life subjects us, sin and crime are apt to start from their very opposite qualities, so are there no limits to the hardening of the heart, and the perversion of the understanding to which they may carry their slaves. During my long residence in France, while the revolution was rapidly advancing to its extreme of wickedness, I had frequent opportunities of being an eye-witness of this process, and it was while that knowledge was fresh upon my memory, that the Tragedy of "The Borderers" was composed. - 1842. POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF CHILDHOOD My heart leaps up when I behold So was it when my life began; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is Father of the Man; TO A BUTTERFLY. STAY near me-do not take thy flight! Float near me: do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bringest, gay Creature as thou art: Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, Upon the prey:-with leaps and springs OF A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild; And Innocence hath privilege in her To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round Of trespasses, affected to provoke Mock-chastisement and partnership in play. And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth, Not less if unattended and alone Than when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity, Even so this happy creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. 73 He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, And rings a sharp 'larum; - but, if you should look, That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves! As soon as 't is daylight, to-morrow with me, Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, - But let him range round; he does us no harm, - - Come now we'll to bed! and when we are there IIe may work his own will, and what shall we care? THE MOTHER'S RETURN. By the same. A MONTH, Sweet Little-ones, is passed O blessed tidings! thought of joy! The eldest heard with steady glee; Silent he stood; then laughed amain, · And shouted, "Mother, come to me!" Louder and louder did he shout, With witless hope to bring her near; "Nay, patience! patience, little boy! Your tender mother cannot hear." I told of hills, and far-off towns, And long, long vales to travel throu He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, But he submits; what can he do? No strife disturbs his Sister's breast; Her joy is like an instinct, joy Iler Lrother now takes up the note, And echoes back his Sister's glee; They hug the Infant in my arms, As if to force his sympathy. Then, settling into fond discourse, We told o'er all that we had done,Our rambles by the swift brook's side Far as the willow-skirted pool, Where two fair swans together glide. We talked of change, of winter gone, Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray Of birds that build their nests and sing, And "all since Mother went away!" |