Classic Poem

(From " Tales of the Hall " )

R ICHARD would wait till George the tale should ask,
Nor waited long. — He then resumed the task.

" South in the port, and eastward in the street,
Rose a small dwelling, my beloved retreat,
Where lived a pair, then old; the sons had fled
The home they filled: a part of them were dead;
Married a part; while some at sea remained,
And stillness in the seaman's mansion reigned;
Lord of some petty craft, by night and day
The man had fished each fathom of the bay.

" My friend the matron wooed me, quickly won,
To fill the station of an absent son
(Him whom at school I knew, and Peter known,
I took his home and mother for my own):
I read, and doubly was I paid to hear
Events that fell upon no listless ear:
She grieved to say her parents could neglect
Her education! — 'twas a sore defect;
She, who had ever such a vast delight
To learn, and now could neither read nor write:
But hear she could, and from our stores I took,
Librarian meet! at her desire, our book.

" Full twenty volumes — I would not exceed
The modest truth — were there for me to read;
These a long shelf contained, and they were found
Books truly speaking, volumes fairly bound:
The rest — for some of other kinds remained,
And these a board beneath the shelf contained —
Had their deficiencies in part; they lacked
One side or both, or were no longer backed;
But now became degraded from their place,
And were but pamphlets of a bulkier race.
Yet had we pamphlets, an inviting store,
From sixpence downwards — nay, a part were more;
Learning abundance, and the various kinds
For relaxation — food for different minds;
A piece of Wingate — thanks for all we have —
What we of figures needed, fully gave;
Culpepper, new in numbers, cost but thrice
The ancient volume's unassuming price,
But told what planet o'er each herb had power,
And how to take it in the lucky hour.

" History we had — wars, treasons, treaties, crimes,
From Julius Caesar to the present times;
Questions and answers, teaching what to ask
And what reply, — a kind, laborious task:
A scholar's book it was, who, giving, swore
It held the whole he wished to know, and more.
And we had poets, hymns and songs divine;
The most we read not, but allowed them fine.

" Our tracts were many, on the boldest themes —
We had our metaphysics, spirits, dreams,
Visions and warnings, and portentous sights,
Seen, though but dimly, in the doleful nights,
When the good wife her wintry vigil keeps,
And thinks alone of him at sea, and weeps.

" Add to all these our works in single sheets,
That our Cassandras sing about the streets:
These, as I read, the grave good man would say,
" Nay, Hannah!" and she answered, " What is Nay?
What is there, pray, so hurtful in a song?
It is our fancy only makes it wrong;
His purer mind no evil thoughts alarm,
And innocence protects him like a charm."
Then would the matron, when the song had passed,
And her laugh over, ask a hymn at last;
To the coarse jest she would attention lend,
And to the pious psalm in reverence bend:
She gave her every power and all her mind,
As chance directed, or as taste inclined.

" More of our learning I will now omit;
We had our Cyclopaedias of Wit,
And all our works — rare fate! — were to our genius fit.

" When I had read, and we were weary grown
Of other minds, the dame disclosed her own:
And long have I in pleasing terror stayed
To hear of boys trepanned, and girls betrayed;
Ashamed so long to stay, and yet to go afraid.
I could perceive, though Hannah bore full well
The ills of life, that few with her would dwell,
But pass away, like shadows o'er the plain
From flying clouds, and leave it fair again;
Still every evil, be it great or small,
Would one past sorrow to the mind recall,
The grand disease of life, to which she turns,
And common cares and lighter suffering spurns.
" O! these are nothing, — they will never heed
Such idle contests, who have fought indeed,
And have the wounds unclosed." — I understood
My hint to speak, and my design pursued,
Curious the secret of that heart to find,
To mirth, to song, to laughter loud inclined,
And yet to bear and feel a weight of grief behind:
How does she thus her little sunshine throw
Always before her? — I should like to know.
My friend perceived, and would no longer hide
The bosom's sorrow. — Could she not confide
In one who wept, unhurt — in one who felt, untried?

" " Dear child, I show you sins and sufferings strange,
But you, like Adam, must for knowledge change
That blissful ignorance: remember, then,
What now you feel should be a check on men;
For then your passions no debate allow,
And therefore lay up resolution now.
'Tis not enough, that, when you can persuade
A maid to love, you know there's promise made;
'Tis not enough that you design to keep
That promise made, nor leave your lass to weep:
But you must guard yourself against the sin,
And think it such to draw the party in:
Nay, the more weak and easy to be won,
The viler you who have the mischief done.

" " I am not angry, love; but men should know
They cannot always pay the debt they owe
Their plighted honour; they may cause the ill
They cannot lessen, though they feel a will;
For he had truth with love, but love in youth
Does wrong, that cannot be repaired by truth.

" " Ruth — I may tell, too oft had she been told —
Was tall and fair, and comely to behold,
Gentle and simple, in her native place
Not one compared with her in form or face;
She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.

" " There was a sailor boy, and people said
He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
But not in this — for he was ever glad,
While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad;
A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
In meditation: tender, mild, and meek!
Her loved the lad most truly; and, in truth,
She took an early liking to the youth:
To her alone were his attentions paid,
And they became the bachelor and maid.
He wished to marry, but so prudent we
And worldly wise, we said it could not be:
They took the counsel, — may be, they approved, —
But still they grieved and waited, hoped and loved.

" " Now, my young friend, when of such state I speak
As one of danger, you will be to seek;
You know not, Richard, where the danger lies
In loving hearts, kind words, and speaking eyes;
For lovers speak their wishes with their looks
As plainly, love, as you can read your books.
Then, too, the meetings and the partings, all
The playful quarrels in which lovers fall,
Serve to one end — each lover is a child,
Quick to resent and to be reconciled;
And then their peace brings kindness that remains,
And so the lover from the quarrel gains:
When he has fault that she reproves, his fear
And grief assure her she was too severe,
And that brings kindness; when he bears an ill,
Or disappointment, and is calm and still,
She feels his own obedient to her will,
And that brings kindness — and what kindness brings
I cannot tell you: — these were trying things.
They were as children, and they fell at length;
The trial, doubtless, is beyond their strength
Whom grace supports not; and will grace support
The too confiding, who their danger court?
Then they would marry, but were now too late;
All could their fault in sport or malice state;
And though the day was fixed and now drew on,
I could perceive my daughter's peace was gone;
She could not bear the bold and laughing eye
That gazed on her, — reproach she could not fly;
Her grief she would not show, her shame could not deny:
For some with many virtues come to shame,
And some that lose them all preserve their name.

" " Fixed was the day; but ere that day appeared,
A frightful rumour through the place was heard;
War, who had slept a while, awaked once more,
And gangs came pressing till they swept the shore:
Our youth was seized and quickly sent away,
Nor would the wretches for his marriage stay,
But bore him off, in barbarous triumph bore,
And left us all our miseries to deplore:
There were wives, maids, and mothers on the beach,
And some sad story appertained to each;
Most sad to Ruth — to neither could she go!
But sat apart, and suffered matchless woe!
On the vile ship they turned their earnest view,
Not one last look allowed, — not one adieu!
They saw the men on deck, but none distinctly knew.
And there she stayed, regardless of each eye,
With but one hope — a fervent hope to die:
Nor cared she now for kindness — all beheld
Her, who invited none, and none repelled;
For there are griefs, my child, that sufferers hide,
And there are griefs that men display with pride;
But there are other griefs that, so we feel,
We care not to display them nor conceal:
Such were our sorrows on that fatal day,
More than our lives the spoilers tore away;
Nor did we heed their insult — some distress
No form or manner can make more or less,
And this is of that kind — this misery of a Press!
They say such things must be — perhaps they must;
But, sure, they need not fright us and disgust;
They need not soulless crews of ruffians send
At once the ties of humble love to rend:
A single day had Thomas stayed on shore,
He might have wedded, and we asked no more;
And that stern man, who forced the lad away,
Might have attended, and have graced the day;
His pride and honour might have been at rest,
It is no stain to make a couple blessed!
Blessed! — no, alas! it was to ease the heart
Of one sore pang, and then to weep and part!
But this he would not. — English seamen fight
For England's gain and glory — it is right:
But will that public spirit be so strong,
Filled, as it must be, with their private wrong?
Forbid it, honour! one in all the fleet
Should hide in war, or from the foe retreat;
But is it just, that he who so defends
His country's cause should hide him from her friends?
Sure, if they must upon our children seize,
They might prevent such injuries as these;
Might hours — nay, days — in many a case allow,
And soften all the griefs we suffer now.
Some laws, some orders, might in part redress
The licensed insults of a British Press,
That keeps the honest and the brave in awe,
Where might is right, and violence is law.
Be not alarmed, my child; there's none regard
What you and I conceive so cruel-hard:
There is compassion, I believe; but still
One wants the power to help, and one the will,
And so from war to war the wrongs remain,
While Reason pleads, and Misery sighs in vain.

" " Thus my poor Ruth was wretched and undone,
Nor had a husband for her only son,
Nor had he father; hope she did a while,
And would not weep, although she could not smile;
Till news was brought us that the youth was slain,
And then, I think, she never smiled again;
Or, if she did, it was but to express
A feeling far, indeed, from happiness!
Something that her bewildered mind conceived:
When she informed us that she never grieved,
But was right merry, then her head was wild,
And grief had gained possession of my child:
Yet, though bewildered for a time, and prone
To ramble much and speak aloud, alone,
Yet did she all that duty ever asked,
And more, her will self-governed and untasked;
With meekness bearing all reproach, all joy
To her was lost; she wept upon her boy,
Wished for his death, in fear that he might live
New sorrow to a burdened heart to give.

" " There was a Teacher, where my husband went —
Sent , as he told the people — what he meant
You cannot understand, but — he was sent:
This man from meeting came, and strove to win
Her mind to peace by drawing off the sin,
Or what it was, that, working in her breast,
Robbed it of comfort, confidence, and rest:
He came and reasoned, and she seemed to feel
The pains he took — her griefs began to heal;
She ever answered kindly when he spoke,
And always thanked him for the pains he took;
So, after three long years, and all the while
Wrapped up in grief, she blessed us with a smile,
And spoke in comfort; but she mixed no more
With younger persons, as she did before.

" " Still Ruth was pretty; in her person neat;
So thought the Teacher, when they chanced to meet:
He was a weaver by his worldly trade,
But powerful work in the assemblies made;
People came leagues to town to hear him sift
The holy text, — he had the grace and gift;
Widows and maidens flocked to hear his voice;
Of either kind he might have had his choice; —
But he had chosen — we had seen how shy
The girl was getting, my good man and I, —
That when the weaver came, she kept with us,
Where he his points and doctrines might discuss;
But in our bit of garden, or the room
We call our parlour, there he must not come:
She loved him not, and though she could attend
To his discourses, as her guide and friend,
Yet now to these she gave a listless ear,
As if a friend she would no longer hear;
This might he take for woman's art, and cried,
" Spouse of my heart, I must not be denied! " —
Fearless he spoke, and I had hope to see
My girl a wife — but this was not to be.

" " My husband, thinking of his worldly store,
And not, frail man, enduring to be poor,
Seeing his friend would for his child provide
And hers, he grieved to have the man denied:
For Ruth, when pressed, rejected him and grew
To her old sorrow, as if that were new.
" Who shall support her? " said her father, " how
Can I, infirm and weak as I am now? "
But peace again is fled: the Teacher comes,
And new importance, haughtier air assumes.

" " No hapless victim of a tyrant's love
More keenly felt, or more resisting strove
Against her fate: she looked on every side,
But there were none to help her, none to guide; —
And he, the man who should have taught the soul,
Wished but the body in his base control.

She left her infant on the Sunday morn,
A creature doomed to shame! in sorrow born;
A thing that languished, nor arrived at age
When the man's thoughts with sin and pain engage —
She came not home to share our humble meal,
Her father thinking what his child would feel
From his hard sentence — still she came not home.
The night grew dark, and yet she was not come;
The east-wind roared, the sea returned the sound,
And the rain fell as if the world were drowned:
There were no lights without, and my good man,
To kindness frightened, with a groan began
To talk of Ruth, and pray: and then he took
The Bible down, and read the holy book;
For he had learning: and when that was done
We sat in silence — Whither could we run?
We said; and then rushed frightened from the door,
For we could bear our own conceit no more:
We called on neighbours — there she had not been;
We met some wanderers — ours they had not seen;
We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south,
Then joined, and wandered to our haven's mouth:
Where rushed the falling waters wildly out,
I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,
Who saw a something on the billow ride,
And — " Heaven have mercy on our sins! " he cried,
" It is my child! " — and to the present hour
So he believes — and spirits have the power.

" " And she was gone! the waters wide and deep
Rolled o'er her body as she lay asleep.
She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
She heard no more the threatening of mankind;
Wrapped in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
To the hard rock was borne her comely form!

" " But, oh! what storm was in that mind! what strife!
That could compel her to lay down her life!
For she was seen within the sea to wade,
By one at distance, when she first had prayed;
Then to a rock within the hither shoal
Softly and with a fearful step she stole;
Then, when she gained it, on the top she stood
A moment still — and dropped into the flood!
The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain, —
She heard not then — she never heard again!
She had — pray, Heaven! — she had that world in sight,
Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;
But, sure, in this her portion such has been,
Well had it still remained a world unseen!"

" Thus far the dame: the passions will dispense
To such a wild and rapid eloquence —
Will to the weakest mind their strength impart,
And give the tongue the language of the heart. "