Classic Poem

Once — in a social summer's walk,
The gaudy day was fled;
They cheated time with cheerful talk,
When thus Sir Ardolph said:

" Thy father was the firmest friend
" That e'er my being blest;
" And ev'ry virtue Heaven could send,
" Fast bound him to my breast.

" Together did we learn to bear
" The casque and ample shield;
" Together learn'd in many a war
" The deathful spear to wield.

" To make our union still more dear,
" We both were doom'd to prove,
" What is most sweet and most severe
" In heart-dissolving love.

" The daughter of a neighbouring knight
" Did my fond heart engage;
" And ne'er did Heav'n the virtues write
" Upon a fairer page.

" His bosom felt an equal wound,
" Nor sigh'd we long in vain;
" One summer's sun beheld us bound
" In Hymen's holy chain.

" Thou wast Sir Eldred's only child,
" Thy father's darling joy;
On me a lovely daughter smil'd,
" On me a blooming boy.

" But man has woes, has clouds of care,
" That dim his star of life —
" My arms receiv'd the little pair,
" The earth's cold breast, my wife.

" Forgive, thou gentle knight, forgive,
" Fond foolish tears will flow;
" One day like mine thy heart may heave,
" And mourns its lot of we.

" But grant, kind Heaven! thou ne'er mayst know
" The pangs I now impart;
" Nor ever feel the parting blow
" That rives a husband's heart.

" Beside the blooming banks of Tay,
" My angel's ashes sleep;
" And wherefore should her Ardolph stay,
" Except to watch and weep?

" I bore my beauteous babes away,
" With many a gushing tear;
" I left the blooming banks of Tay,
" And brought my darlings here.

" I watch'd my little household cares,
" And form'd their growing youth;
" And fondly train'd their infant years
" To piety and truth. "

" Thy blooming Birtha here I see, "
Sir Eldred straight rejoin'd;
" But why thy son is not with thee,
" Resolve my doubting mind. "

When Birtha did the question hear,
She sigh'd, but could not speak;
And many a soft and silent tear
Stray'd down her damask cheek.

Then pass'd o'er good Sir Ardolph's face,
A cast of deadly pale;
But soon compos'd, with manly grace,
He thus renew'd his tale:

" For him my heart too much has bled;
" For him, my darling son,
" Has sorrow prest my hoary bend:
" But Heav'n's high will be done!

" Scarce eighteen winters had revolv'd,
" To crown the circling year,
" Before my valiant boy resolv'd
" The warrior's lance to bear.

" Too high I priz'd my native land,
" Too dear his fame I held,
" T' oppose a parent's stern command,
" And keep him from the field.

" He left me — left his sister too,
" Yet tears bedew'd his face —
" What could a feeble old man do?
" He burst from my embrace.

" O, thirst of glory, fatal flame!
" O, laurels dearly bought!
" Yet sweet is death, when earn'd with fame,
" So virtuous Edwy thought.

" Full manfully the brave boy strove,
" Though pressing ranks oppose;
" But weak the strongest arm must prove
" Against an host of foes.

" A deadly wound my son receives,
" A spear assails his side:
" Grief does not kill — for Ardolph lives
" To tell that Edwy died.

" His long-lov'd mother died again
" In Edwy's parting groan;
" I wept for her, yet wept in vain —
" I wept for both in one.

" I would have died — I sought to die,
" But Heaven restrain'd the thought,
" And to my passion-clouded eye
" My helpless Birtha brought.

" When, lo! array'd in robes of light,
" A nymph celestial came,
" She clear'd the mists that dimm'd my sight —
" Religion was her name.

" She prov'd the chastisement divine,
" And bade me kiss the rod;
" She taught this rebel heart of mine
" Submission to its God.

" Religion taught me to sustain
" What nature bade me feel;
" And piety reliev'd the pain
" Which time can never heal. "

He ceas'd — with sorrow and delight
The tale Sir Eldred hears;
Then weeping cries — " Thou noble knight,
" For thanks accept my tears.

" O Ardolph, might I dare aspire
" To claim so bright a boon!
" Good old Sir Eldred was my sire —
" And thou hast lost a son.

" And though I want a worthier plea,
" To urge so dear a cause;
" Yet, let me to thy bosom be
" What once thy Edwy was.

" My trembling tongue its aid denies;
" For thou mayst disapprove:
" Then read it in my ardent eyes,
" Oh! read the tale of love.

" Thy beauteous Birtha! " — " Gracious Power!
" How could I e'er repine, "
Cries Ardolph, " since I see this hour?
" Yes — Birtha shall be thine. "

A little transient gleam of red
Shot faintly e'er her face,
And ev'ry trembling feature spread
With sweat disorder'd grace.

The tender father kindly smiled
With fulness of content;
And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bashful, blush'd consent.

O then to paint the vast delight
That fill'd Sir Eldred's heart,
To tell the transports of the knight
Would mock the muse's art.

But ev'ry kind and gracious soul,
Where gentle passions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole,
Than any muse can tell.

The more the knight his Birtha knew,
The more he priz'd the maid;
Some worth each day produced to view,
Some grace each hour betray'd.

The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear accomplish'd youth;
His single breast she strove to warm,
And crown'd, with love, his truth.

Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who general homage claim;
Who court the universal gaze,
And pant for public fame.

Then beauty but on merit smiled,
Nor were her chaste smiles sold:
No venal father gave his child
For grandeur or for gold.

The ardour of young Eldred's flame
But ill could brook delay,
And oft he press'd the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.

The fond impatience of his breast
'Twas all in vain to hide,
But she his eager suit represt
With modest maiden pride.

When oft Sir Eldred press'd the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful sire would sigh and say,
" O happy state of youth!

" It little reeks the woes which wait
" To scare its dreams of joy;
" Nor thinks to-morrow's alter'd fate
" May all those dreams destroy.

" And though the flatterer Hope deceives,
" And painted prospects shows;
" Yet man, still cheated, still believes
" Till death the bright scene close.

" So look'd my bride, so sweetly mild,
" On me her beauty's slave;
" But whilst she look'd, and whilst she smiled,
" She sunk into the grave.

" Yet, O forgive an old man's care,
" Forgive a father's zeal;
" Who fondly loves must greatly fear,
" Who fears must greatly feel.

" Once more in soft and sacred bands
" Shall love and hymen meet;
" To-morrow shall unite your hands,
" And — be your bless complete! "

The rising sun inflam'd the sky,
The golden orient blush'd;
But Birtha's cheeks a sweeter dye,
A brighter crimson flush'd.

The priest, in milk-white vestments clad.
Perform'd the mystic rite;
Love lit the hallow'd torch that led
To Hymen's chaste delight.

How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeasurable joy,
That fir'd Sir Eldred's ardent cheek,
And triumph'd in his eye!

Sir Ardolph's pleasure stood confest,
A pleasure all his own;
The guarded pleasure of a breast
Which many a grief had known.

'Twas such a sober sense of joy
As angels well might keep;
A joy chastis'd by piety,
A joy prepar'd to weep.

To recollect her scatter'd thought,
And shun the noon-tide hour,
The lovely bride in secret sought
The coolness of her bower.

Long she remain'd — th' enamour'd knight
Impatient at her stay;
And all unfit to taste delight
When Birtha was away;

Betakes him to the secret bower;
His footsteps softly move;
Impell'd by ev'ry tender power,
He steals upon his love.

O, horror! horror! blasting sight!
He sees his Birtha's charms,
Reclin'd with melting, fond delight,
Within a stranger's arms.

Wild frenzy fires his frantic hand,
Distracted at the sight,
He flies to where the lovers stand,
And stabs the stranger knight.

" Die, traitor, die! thy guilty flames
" Demand th' avenging steel! " —
" It is my brother, " she exclaims,
" 'Tis Edwy — O farewell! "

An aged peasant, Edwy's guide,
The good old Ardolph sought;
He told him that his bosom's pride,
His Edwy, he had brought.

O how the father's feelings melt!
How faint, and how revive!
Just so the Hebrew patriarch felt,
To find his son alive.

Let me behold my darling's face,
" And bless him ere I die! "
Then with a swift and vigorous pace,
He to the bower did hie.

O sad reverse! — sunk on the ground,
His slaughtered son he view'd;
And dying Birtha, close he found,
In brother's blood imbrued.

Cold, speechless, senseless, Eldred near,
Gaz'd on the deed he'd done;
Like the blank statue of Despair,
Or Madness graved in stone.

The father saw — so Jephthah stood,
So turn'd his wo-fraught eye,
When the dear, destin'd child he view'd,
His zeal had doom'd to die.

He look'd the we he could not speak.
And on the pale corse prest
His wan, discolour'd dying cheek,
And, silent, sunk to rest.

Then Birtha faintly rais'd her eye,
Which long had ceas'd to stream,
On Eldred fixed, with many a sigh,
Its dim departing beam.

The cold, cold dews of hastening death,
Upon her pale face stand;
And quick and short her failing breath,
And tremulous her hand.

The cold, cold dews of hastening death,
The dim departing eye,
The quivering hand, the short quick breath,
He view'd — and did not die.

He saw her spirit mount in air,
Its kindred skies to seek!
His heart its anguish could not bear,
And yet it would not break.

The mournful muse forbears to tell
How wretched Eldred died:
She draws the Grecian painter's veil
The vast distress to hide.

*****

Yet Heaven's decrees are just and wise,
And man is born to hear:
Joy is the portion of the skies;
Beneath them, all is care.

Yet blame not Heaven; 'tis erring man,
Who mars his own best joys;
Whose passions uncontrolled, the plan
Of promised bliss destroys.

Had Eldred paused , before the blow,
His hand had never err'd;
What guilt, what complicated wo,
His soul had then been spar'd!

The deadliest wounds with which we bleed,
Our crimes inflict alone;
Man's mercies from God's hand proceed,
His miseries from his own .