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:
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.
I.VI.
Within himself he said-What hearts have we!
The blessing this a father gives his child!
Three years a wanderer now my course I bend-Yet happy thou, poor boy! compared with me, Oh! tell me whither-for no earthly friend
Suffering not doing ill-fate far more mild.
Struggled with tears nor could its sorrow ease, She left him there; for, clustering round his knees,
But, if I have not meekly suffered, meek
May my end be! Soon will this voice be dumb:
Of me, say that the worm is on my cheek.-
Should child of mine e'er wander hither, speak
Torn from our hut, that stood beside the sea
Near Portland lighthouse in a lonesome creek,
My husband served in sad captivity
On shipboard, bound till peace or death should
set him free.
With his oak-staff the cottage children played;
And soon she reached a spot o'erhung with trees. A sailor's wife I knew a widow's cares,
And banks of ragged earth; beneath the shade
Yet two sweet little ones partook my
Across the pebbly road a little runnel strayed,
Hope cheered my dreams, and to my daily
A cart and horse beside the rivulet stood;
Chequering the canvas roof the sunbeams shone.
She saw the carman bend to scoop the flood
As the wain fronted her,-wherein lay one,
A pale-faced Woman, in disease far gone.
The carman wet her lips as well behoved;
Bed under her lean body there was none,
Though even to die near one she most had loved
She could not of herself those wasted limbs
have moved.
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,
Nor could we live together those poor boys
and I;
"For evil tongues made oath how on that day My husband lurked about the neighbourhood;
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.
SCENE-Road in a Wood.
WALLACE and LACY.
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
have proved
That Oswald finds small favour in our sight,
Well may we wonder he has gained such power
Over our much-loved Captain.
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.
[Exeunt.
Enter MARMADUKE and WILFRED.
Wil. Be cautious, my dear Master!
Mar.
I perceive
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).
Osw. This wood is rich in plants and curious
simples.
Mar. (looking at them). The wild rose, and
the poppy, and the nightshade:
Which is your favourite, Oswald?
Osw.
That which, while it is
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
Performs these delicate services, and therefore
I feel myself much bounden to you, Oswald:
'Tis a strange letter this!-You saw her write it?
Osw. And saw the tears with which she blotted
it.
Mar. And nothing less would satisfy him?
Osw.
For that another in his Child's affection
Should hold a place, as if 'twere robbery,
He seemed to quarrel with the very thought.
Besides, I know not what strange prejudice
Is rooted in his mind; this Band of ours,
Which you've collected for the noblest ends,
Along the confines of the Esk and Tweed
To guard the Innocent-he calls us "Outlaws;"
And, for yourself, in plain terms he asserts
This garb was taken up that indolence
Might want no cover, and rapacity
Be better fed.
Mar.
Ne'er may I own the heart
That cannot feel for one helpless as he is.
Osw. Thou know'st me for a Man not easily
moved,
Yet was I grievously provoked to think
Of what I witnessed.
This day will suffice
But if the blind Man's tale
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
Wrapped in our cloaks, and, with recruited
strength,
But cheerily,
Have hailed the morning sun.
Father,-
That staff of yours, I could almost have heart
To fling't away from you: you make no use
Of me, or of my strength ;-come, let me feel
That you do press upon me. There-indeed
You are quite exhausted. Let us rest awhile
On this green bank.
Her. after some time).
silent,
And I divine the cause.
Idon.
[He sits down. Idonea, you are
Would it were possible! Did not the Soldier tell thee that himself, And others who survived the wreck, beheld The Baron Herbert perish in the waves Upon the coast of Cyprus? Osw. Yes, even so, 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 The name of Marmaduke is blown away:
I pondered patiently your wish and will
When I gave way to your request; and now,
When I behold the ruins of that face,
Those eyeballs dark-dark beyond hope of light,
And think that they were blasted for my sake,
Father, I would not change that sacred feeling
For all this world can give.
Her.
Nay, be composed:
Few minutes gone a faintness overspread
My frame, and I bethought me of two things
I ne'er had heart to separate-my grave,
And thee, my Child!
Idon.
Believe me, honoured Sire!
'Tis weariness that breeds these gloomy fancies,
And you mistake the cause: you hear the woods
Resound with music; could you see the sun,
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