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With haughty indigpation, spurned the thought Fluttering its pinions, almost within reach,
I pass the raptures of the pair ;—such theme
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
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,
If ever an obtrusive word were dropped
Upon the altar, to the Maid he loved.
“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.
Have you observed a tuft of winged seed
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 !
Of her affections ? so they blindly asked
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,
Upbraided him with slackness, he returned
No answer, only took the mother's hand
And kissed it ; seemingly devoid of pain,
Or care that what so tenderly he pressed
Was a dependent on the obdurate heart
Of one who came to disunite their lives
For ever-sad alternative! preferred,
By the unbending Parents of the Maid,
To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.
--So be it!
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
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;
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.
- The Moon's in heaven, as Betty sees,
And Betty's drooping at the heart,
be he is so late?
roke of one ;
Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.
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.
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 !
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 !
And like the very soul of evil,
He's galloping away, away,
And so will gallop on for aye,
I to the Muses have been bound
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;
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.