Sidor som bilder

With haughty indigpation, spurned the thought Fluttering its pinions, almost within reach,
Of such alliance. - From their cradles up, About the pendent nest, did thus espy
With but a step between their several homes, Her Lover!-thence a stolen interview,
Twins had they been in pleasure ; after strife Accomplished under friendly shade of night.
And petty quarrels, had grown fond again ;

I pass the raptures of the pair ;—such theme
Each other's advocate, each other's stay; Is, by innumerable poets, touched
And, in their happiest moments, not content In more delightful verse than skill of mine
If more divided than a sportive pair

Could fashion; chiefly by that darling bard Of sea-fowl, conscious both that they are hover- Who told of Juliet and her Romeo, ing

And of the lark's note heard before its time, Within the eddy of a common blast,

And of the streaks that laced the severing clouds Or hidden only by the concave depth

In the unrelenting east. -Through all her courts Of neighbouring billows from each other's sight. The vacant city slept ; the busy winds, Thus, not without concurrence of an age

That keep no certain intervals of rest, Unknown to memory, was an earnest given

Moved not; meanwhile the galaxy displayed By ready nature for a life of love,

Her fires, that like mysterious pulses beat For endless constancy, and placid truth ;

Aloft ;-momentous but uneasy bliss ! But whatsoe'er of such rare treasure lay

To their full hearts the universe seemed hung
Reserved, had fate permitted, for support On that brief meeting's slender filament !
Or their maturer years,

present mind

They parted; and the generous Vaudracour Was under fascination - he beheld

Reached speedily the native threshold, bent A vision, and adored the thing he saw.

On making (so the Lovers had agreed) Arabian fiction never filled the world

A sacrifice of birthright to attain With half the wonders that were wrought for A final portion from his father's hand; him.

Which granted, Bride and Bridegroom then Earth breathed in one great presence of the would fiec spring :

To some remote and solitary place,
Life turned the meanest of her implements Shady as night, and beautiful as heaven,
Before his eyes, to price above all gold; Where they may live, with no one to behold
The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine ; Their happiness, or to disturb their love.
Her chamber-window did surpass in glory But now of this no whisper ; not the less,
The portals of the dawn; all paradise

If ever an obtrusive word were dropped
Could, by the simple opening of a door, Touching the matter of his passion, still,
Let itself in upon him :-pathways, walks, In his stern father's hearing, Vaudracour
Swarmed with enchantment, till his spirit sank, Persisted openly that death alone
Surcharged, within him, overblest to move Should abrogate his human privilege
Beneath a sun that wakes a weary world Divine, of swearing everlasting truth,
To its dull round of ordinary cares ;

Upon the altar, to the Maid he loved.
A man too happy for mortality!

“You shall be baffled in your mad intent So passed the time, till whether through effect If there be justice in the court of France," Of some unguarded moment that dissolved Muttered the Father.-From these words the Virtuous restraint-ah, speak it, think it, not !

Youth Deem rather that the fervent Youth, who saw

Conceived a terror ; and, by night or day, So many bars between his present state

Stirred nowhere without weapons, that full soon And the dear haven where he wished to be

Found dreadful provocation : for at night In honourable wedlock with his Love,

When to his chamber he retired, attempt Was in his judgment tempted to decline

Was made to seize him by three armèd men, To perilous weakness, and entrust his cause

Acting, in furtherance of the father's will, To nature for a happy end of all ;

Under a private signet of the State. Deem that by such fond hope the Youth was

One the rash Youth's ungovernable hand swayed,

Slew, and as quickly to a second gave And bear with their transgression, when I add

A perilous wound-he shuddered to behold That Julia, wanting yet the name of wife,

The breathless corse ; then peacefully resigned Carried about her for a secret grief

His person to the law, was lodged in prison, The promise of a mother.

And wore the fetters of a criminal.
To conceal

Have you observed a tuft of winged seed
The threatened shame, the parents of the Maid That, from the dandelion's naked stalk,
Found means to hurry her away by night, Mounted aloft, is suffered not to use
And unforewarned, that in some distant spot Its natural gifts for purposes of rest,
She might remain shrouded in privacy, Driven by the autumnal whirlwind to and fro
Until the babe was born. When morning came, Through the wide element? or have you marked
The Lover, thus bereft, stung with his loss, The heavier substance of a leaf-clad bough,
And all uncertain whither he should turn, Within the vortex of a foaming flood,
Chafed like a wild beast in the toils; but soon Tormented ? by such aid you may conceive
Discovering traces of the fugitives,

The perturbation that ensued :-ah, no! Their steps he followed to the Maid's retreat. Desperate the Maid-the Youth is stained with Easily may the sequel be divined

blood; Walks to and fro-watchings at every hour ; Unmatchable on earth is their disquiet! And the fair Captive, who, whene'er she may, Yet as the troubled seed and tortured bough Is busy at her casement as the swallow Is Man, subjected to despotic sway.

For him, by private influence with the Court,

These gleams Was pardon gained, and liberty procured ; Appeared but seldom ; oftener was he seen But not without exaction of a pledge,

Propping a pale and melancholy face Which liberty and love dispersed in air. Upon the Mother's bosom ; resting thus He flew to her from whom they would divide His head upon one breast, while from the other him,

The Babe was drawing in its quiet food. He clove to her who could not give him peace - That pillow is no longer to te thine, Yea, his first word of greeting was,-“All right Fond Youth ! that mournful solace now must Is gone from me ; my lately-towering hopes,

pass To the least fibre of their lowest root,

Into the list of things that cannot be !
Are withered; thou no longer canst be mine, Unwedded Julia, terror-smitten, hears
I thine-the conscience-stricken must not woo The sentence, by her mother's lips pronounced,
The unruffled Innocent, -I see thy face, That dooms her to a convent. -. Who shall tell,
Behold thee, and my misery is complete!” Who dares report, the tidings to the lord
“One, are we not ?” exclaimed the Maiden Who knew not to what quiet depths a weight

Of her affections ? so they blindly asked
For innocence and youth, for weal and woe?”

Of agony had pressed the Sufferer down: Then with the father's name she coupled words Composed and silent, without visible sign

The word, by others dreaded, he can hear Of vehement indignation ; but the Youth

Of even the least emotion. Noting this,
Checked her with filial meekness; for no thought when the impatient object of his love
Uncharitable crossed his mind, no sense
Of hasty anger, rising in the eclipse

Upbraided him with slackness, he returned

No answer, only took the mother's hand
Of true domestic loyalty, did e'er
Find place within his bosom.-Once again

And kissed it ; seemingly devoid of pain,

Or care that what so tenderly he pressed
The persevering wedge of tyranny
Achieved their separation : and once more

Was a dependent on the obdurate heart

Of one who came to disunite their lives
Were they united, -to be yet again

For ever-sad alternative! preferred,
Disparted, pitiable lot! But here
A portion of the tale may well be left

By the unbending Parents of the Maid,

To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.
In silence, though my memory could add

--So be it!
Much how the Youth, in scanty space of time,
Was traversed from without; much, too, of A season after Julia had withdrawn

In the city he remained

To those religious walls. He, too, departsThat occupied his days in solitude

Who with him l-even the senseless Little-one. Under privation and restraint; and what,

With that sole charge he passed the city-gates, Through dark and shapeless fear of things to

For the last time, attendant by the side come, And what, through strong compunction for the In which the Babe was carried. To a hill,

Of a close chair, a litter, or sedan, past, He suffered-breaking down in heart and mind! The dwellers in that house where he had lodged

That rose a brief league distant from the town, Doomed to a third and last captivity, Accompanied his steps, by anxious love His freedom he recovered on the eve

Impelled ;-they parted from him there, and Of Julia's travail. When the babe was born,

stood Its presence tempted him to cherish schemes Watching below till he had disappeared Of future happiness.

“ You shall return, On the hill top. His eyes he scarcely took, Julia,” said he, "and to your father's house Throughout that journey, from the vehicle Go with the child.—You have been wretched; (Slow-moving ark of all his hopes!) that veiled yet

The tender infant: and at every inn, The silver shower, whose reckless burthen And under every hospitable tree weighs

At which the bearers halted or reposed, Too heavily upon the lily's head,

Laid him with timid care upon his knees, Oft leaves a saving moisture at its root. And looked, as mothers ne'er were known to Malice, beholding you, will melt away.

look, Go!--'tis a town where both of us were born; Upon the nursling which his arms embraced. None will reproach you, for our truth is known; And if, amid those once-bright bowers, our fate This was the manner in which Vaudracour Remain unpitied, pity is not in man.

Departed with his infant; and thus reached With ornaments-the prettiest, nature yields His father's house, where to the innocent child Or art can fashion, shall you deck our boy, Admittance was denied. The young man spake And feed his countenance with your own sweet No word of indignation or reproof, looks

But of his father begged, a last request, Till no one can resist him.-Now, even now, That a retreat might be assigned to him I see him sporting on the sunny lawn ;

Where in forgotten quiet he might dwell, My father from the window sees him too ; With such allowance as his wants required ; Startled, as if some new-created thing

For wishes he had none. To a lodge that stood Enriched the earth, or Faery of the woods Deep in a forest, with leave given, at the age Bounded before him ;- but the unweeting Child Of four-and-twenty summers he withdrew; Shall by his beauty win his grandsire's heart And thither took with him his motherless Babe, So that it shall be softened, and our loves And one domestic for their common needs, End happily, as they began!”

An aged woman. It consoled him here

To attend upon the orphan, and perform
Obsequious service to the precious child,
Which, after a short time, by some mistake
Or indiscretion of the Father, died. —
The Tale I follow to its last recess
Of suffering or of peace, I know not which:
Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not

From this time forth he never shared a smile
With mortal creature. An Inhabitant
Of that same town, in which the pair had left
So lively a remembrance of their griefs,
By chance of business, coming within reach
Of his retirement, to the forest lodge
Repaired, but only found the matron there,
Who told him that his pains were thrown away,
For that her Master never uttered word
To living thing-not even to her. - Behold!
While they were speaking, Vaudracour ap-

proached ; But, seeing some one near, as on the latch Of the garden-gate his hand was laid, he

shrunkAnd, like a shadow, glided out of view. Shocked at his savage aspect, from the place The visitor retired.

Thus lived the Youth Cut off from all intelligence with man, And shunning even the light of common day; Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through

France Full speedily resounded, public hope, Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs, Rouse him: but in those solitary shades His days he wasted, an imbecile mind!


There's none to help poor Susan Gale;
What must be done ? what will betide?
And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her Pony, that is mild and good ;
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
Or bringing faggots from the wood.
And he is all in travelling trim,-
And, by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has on the well-girt saddle set
(The like was never heard of yet)
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.
And he must post without delay
Across the bridge and through the dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a Doctor from the town,
Or she will die, old Susan Gale.
There is no need of boot or spur,
There is no need of whip or wand;
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And with a hurly-burly now
He shakes the green bough in his hand.
And Betty o'er and o'er has told
The Boy, who is her best delight,
Both what to follow, what to shun,
What do, and what to leave undone,
How turn to left, and how to right.
And Betty's most

especial charge,
Was, “ Johnny! Johnny ! mind that you
Come home again, nor stop at all,
Come home again, whate'er befal,
My Johnny, do, I pray you do."
To this did Johnny answer make,
Both with his head and with his hand,
And proudly shook the bridle too ;
And then ! his words were not a few,
Which Betty well could understand.
And now that Johnny is just going,
Though Betty's in a mighty flurry,
She gently pats the Pony's side,
On which her Idiot Boy must ride,
And seems no longer in a hurry.
But when the Pony moved his legs,
Oh! then for the poor Idiot Boy !
For joy he cannot hold the bridle,
For joy his head and heels are idle,
He's idle all for very joy.
And while the Pony moves his legs,
In Johnny's left hand you may see
The green bough motionless and dead:
The Moon that shines above his head
Is not more still and mute than he,
His heart it was so full of glee,
That till full fifty yards were gone,
He quite forgot his holly whip,
And all his skill in horsemanship:
Oh! happy, happy, happy John.
And while the Mother, at the door,
Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows,
Proud of herself, and proud of him,
She sees him in his travelling trim,
How quietly her Johnny goes.
The silence of her Idiot Boy,
What hopes it sends to Betty's heart!
He's at the guide-post—he turns right;
She watches till he's out of sight,
And Betty will not then departo


THE IDIOT BOY. 'Tis eight o'clock,-a clear March night, The moon is up,—the sky is blue, The owlet, in the moonlight air, Shouts from nobody knows where; He lengthens out his lonely shout, Halloo ! halloo ! a long halloo ! - Why bustle thus about your door, What means this bustle, Betty Foy? Why are you in this mighty fret? And why on horseback have you set Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy? Scarcely a soul is out of bed ; Good Betty, put him down again : His lips with joy they burr at you, But, Betty! what has he to do With stirrup, saddle, or with rein ? But Betty's bent on her intent ; For her good neighbour, Susan Gale, Old Susan, she who dwells alone, Is and makes a ous moan, As if her very, life would fail. There's not a house within a mile, No hand to help them in distress; Old Susan lies a-bed in pain, And sorely puzzled are the twain, For what she ails they cannot guess. And Betty's husband's at the wood, Where by the week he doth abide, A woodman in the distant vale ;

Burr, burr-now Johnny's lips they burr, As loud as any mill, or near it ; Meek as a lamb the Pony moves, And Johnny makes the noise he loves, And Betty listens, glad to hear it. Away she hies to Susan Gale: Her Messenger's in merry tune ; The owlets hoot, the owlets curr, And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr, As on he goes beneath the moon. His steed and he right well agree ; For of this Pony there's a rumour, That, should he lose his eyes and ears, And should he live a thousand years, He never will be out of humour. But then he is a horse that thinks! And when he thinks, his pace is slack ; Now, though he knows poor Johnny well, Yet, for his life, he cannot tell What he has got upon his back. So through the moonlight lanes they go, And far into the moonlight dale, And by the church, and o'er the down, To bring a Doctor from the town, To comfort poor old Susan Gale, And Betty, now at Susan's side, Is in the middle of her story, What speedy help her Boy will bring, With many a most diverting thing, Of Johnny's wit, and Johnny's glory. And Betty, still at Susan's side, By this time is not quite so flurried : Demure with porringer and plate She sits, as if in Susan's fate Her life and soul were buried. But Betty, poor good Woman ! she, You plainly in her face may read it, Could lend out of that moment's store Five years of happiness or more То

any that might need it.
But yet I guess that now and then
With Betty all was not so well ;
And to the road she turns her ears,
And thence full many a sound she hears,
Which she to Susan will not tell.
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans;
As sure as there's a moon in heaven,”
Cries Betty, “he'll be back again ;
They'll both be here—'tis almost ten-
Both will be here before eleven.”
Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans ;
The clock gives warning for eleven;
"Tis on the stroke-He must be near,"
Quoth Betty, “and will soon be here,
As sure as there's a moon in heaven."
The clock is on the stroke of twelve,
And Johnny is not yet in sight:

- The Moon's in heaven, as Betty sees,
But Betty is not quite at ease;
And Susan has a dreadful night.
And Betty, half an hour ago,
On Johnny vile reflections cast:
A little idle sauntering Thing !"
With other names, an endless string;
But now that time is gonc and past.

And Betty's drooping at the heart,
That happy time all past and gone,
“How can

be he is so late?
The Doctor, he has made him wait;
Susan! they'll both be here anon.'
And Susan's growing worse and worse,
And Betty's in a sad quandary;
And then there's nobody to say
If she must go, or she must stay!
-She's in a sad quandary.
The clock is on the

roke of one ;
But neither Doctor nor his Guide
Appears along the moonlight road;
There's neither horse nor man abroad,
And Betty's still at Susan's side,
And Susan now begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a few,
That Johnny may perhaps be drowned;
Or lost, perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.
She prefaced half a hint of this
With, “God forbid it should be true!”
At the first word that Susan said
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,

Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.
I must be gone,

I must away :. Consider, Johnny's but half-wise ; Susan, we must take care of him, If he is hurt in life or limb" “Oh God forbid !” poor Susan cries. “What can I do?” says Betty, going, “What can I do to ease your pain? Good Susan, tell me, and I'll stay ; I fear you're in a dreadful way,, But I shall soon be back again.' “Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go! There's nothing that can ease my pain," Then off she hies; but with a prayer That God poor Susan's life would spare, Till she comes back again. So, through the moonlight lane she goes, And far into the moonlight dale ; And how she ran, and how she walked, And all that to herself she talked, Would surely be a tedious tale. In high and low, above, below, In great and small, in round and square In tree and tower was Johnny seen, In bush and brake, in black and green; 'Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where. And while she crossed the bridge, there came A thought with which her heart is soreJohnny perhaps his horse forsook, To hunt the moon within the brook, And never will be heard of more. Now is she high upon the down, Alone amid a prospect wide ; There's neither Johnny nor his Horse Among the fern or in the gorse ; There's neither Doctor nor his Guide. "Oh saints ! what is become of him? Perhaps he's climbed into an oak, Where he will stay till he is dead; Or, sadly he has been misled, And joined the wandering gipsy-folk.

Oh carry

Or him that wicked Pony's carried

Poor Betty now has lost all hope, To the dark cave, the goblin's hall,

Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin, Or in the castle he's pursuing

A green-grown pond she just has past, Among the ghosts his own undoing;

And from the brink she hurries fast, Or playing with the waterfall."

Lest she should drown herself therein. At poor old Susan then she railed,

And now she sits her down and weeps ; While to the town she posts away;

Such tears she never shed before ; If Susan had not been so ill,

“Oh dear, dear Pony! my sweet joy! Alas ! I should have had him still,


Idiot Boy !
My Johnny, till my dying day.”

And we will ne'er o'erload thee more.” Poor Betty, in this sad distemper,

A thought is come into her head : The Doctor's self could hardly spare :

The Pony he is mild and good, Unworthy things she talked, and wild ; And we have always used him well; Even he, of cattle the most mild,

Perhaps he's gone along the dell, The Pony had his share.

And carried Johnny to the wood. But now she's fairly in the town,


up she springs as if on wings ; And to the Doctor's door she hies;

She thinks no more of deadly sin ; 'Tis silence all on every side ;

If Betty fifty ponds should see, The town so long, the town so wide,

The last of all her thoughts would be Is silent as the skies.

To drown herself therein. And now she's at the Doctor's door,

O Reader! now that I might tell She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap;

What Johnny and his Horse are doing ! The Doctor at the casement shows

What they've been doing all this time, His glimmering eyes that peepand dose ; Oh could I put it into rhyme, And one hand rubs his old night-cap.

A most delightful tale pursuing ! “Oh Doctor! Doctor! where's my Johnny?" Perhaps, and no unlikely thought! I'm here, what is't you want with me?'

He with his Pony now doth roam “Oh Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy,

The cliffs and peaks so high that are, And I have lost my poor dear Boy,

To lay his hands upon a star, You know him-him you often see;

And in his pocket bring it home. He's not so wise as some folks be :"

Perhaps he's turned himself

about, “The devil take his wisdom !” said

His face unto his horse's tail, The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,

And, still and mute, in wonder lost, “What, Woman! should I know of him?" All silent as a horseman-ghost, And, grumbling, he went back to bed!

He travels slowly down the vale. “O woe is me! O woe is me!

And now, perhaps, is hunting sheep, Here will I die ; here will I die;

A fierce and dreadful hunter he; I thought to find my lost one here,

Yon valley, now so trim and green, But he is neither far nor near,

In five months' time, should he be seen, Oh! what a wretched Mother I !"

A desert wilderness will be !
She stops, she stands, she looks about ; Perhaps, with head and heels on fire,
Which way to turn she cannot tell.

And like the very soul of evil,
Poor Betty! it would ease her pain

He's galloping away, away,
If she had heart to knock again;

And so will gallop on for aye,
-The clock strikes three-a dismal knell ! The bane of all that dread the devil !
Then up along the town she hies,

I to the Muses have been bound
No wonder if her senses fail;

These fourteen years, by strong indentures: This piteous news so much it shocked her, O gentle Muses ! let me tell She quite forgot to send the Doctor

But half of what to him befel;
To comfort

old Susan Gale.

He surely met with strange adventures. And now she's high upon the down,

O gentle Muses ! is this kind ? And she can see a mile of road :

Why will ye thus my suit repel? “O cruel ! I'm almost threescore;

Why of your further aid bereave me? Such night as this was ne'er before,

And can ye thus unfriended leave me; There's not a single soul abroad.”

Ye Muses ! whom I love so well! She listens, but she cannot hear


yon, that, near the waterfall, The foot of horse, the voice of man;

Which thunders down with headlong forca The streams with softest sound are flowing, Beneath the moon, yet shining fair, The grass you almost hear it growing,

As careless as if nothing were, You hear it now, if e'er you can.

Sits upright on a feeding horse? The owlets through the long blue night Unto his horse-there feeding free, Are shouting to each other still :

He seems, I think, the rein to give ; Fond lovers ! yet not quite hob nob,

Of moon or stars he takes no heed ; They lengthen out the tremulous sob,

Of such we in romances read: That echoes far from hill to hill.

--'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.

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