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Two years were past, since to a distant town
He had repaired to ply the artist's trade.
What tears of bitter grief, till then unknown-
What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed!
To him we turned: we had no other aid.
Like one revived, upon his neck I wept :
And her whom he had loved in joy, he said
He well could love in grief: his faith he kept;
And in a quiet home once more my father slept.

We lived in peace and comfort; and were blest
With daily bread, by constant toil supplied.
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast;
And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed,
And knew not why. My happy father died
When sad distress reduced the children's meal;
Thrice happy! that from him the grave did hide
The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel,

And tears that flowed for ills which patience could not heal.
'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come;
We had no hope, and no relief could gain.
But soon, day after day, the noisy drum

Beat round to sweep the streets of want and pain.
My husband's arms now only served to strain
Me and his children hungering in his view:

In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain :
To join those miserable men he flew :

And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more we drew.

There, long were we neglected, and we bore
Much sorrow ere the fleet its anchor weighed;
Green fields before us and our native shore,
We breathed a pestilential air that made
Ravage for which no knell was heard. We prayed
For our departure; wished and wished--nor knew
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes delayed,
That happier days we never more must view:
The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew.

But the calm summer season now was past.
On as we drove, the equinoctial deep
Ran mountains high before the howling blast;
And many perished in the whirlwind's sweep.
We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep,
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue,
Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap,
That we the mercy of the waves should rue.

We reached the Western World, a poor, devoted crew.

The pains and plagues that on our heads came down,
Disease and famine, agony and fear,

In wood or wilderness, in camp or town,
It would thy brain unsettle, even to hear.
All perished-all, in one remorseless year,

Husband and children! one by one, by sword
And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear
Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board

A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored.

Peaceful as some immeasurable plain

By the first beams of dawning light inprest,
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main:
The very ocean has its hour of rest.

I too was calm, though heavily distrest!
Oh me, how quiet sky and ocean were!
My heart was hushed within me, I was blest,
And looked, and looked along the silent air,
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.

Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps!
And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke:
The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps!
The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke;
The shriek that from the distant battle broke!
The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host,
Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke
To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish tossed,
Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!

At midnight once the storming army came,-
Yet do I see the miserable sight,

The bayonet, the soldier, and the flame
That followed us and faced us in our flight:
When rape and murder by the ghastly light

Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!

But I must leave these thoughts.-From night to night,
From day to day, the air breathed soft and mild;
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and ocean smiled.

Some mighty gulf of separation past,

I seemed transported to another world :

A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast
The impatient mariner the sail unfurled,

And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home,
And from all hope I was for ever hurled.

For me-furthest from earthly port to roam

Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)

That I at last a resting-place had found;

"Here will I dwell," said I, "my whole life long,

Roaming the illimitable waters round:

Here will I live:-of every friend disowned,

And end my days upon the ocean flood."

To break my dream the vessel reached its bound:
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,

And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.

By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock;
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.
I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the cock,
From the cross timber of an out-house hung;
Dismally tolled, that night, the city clock !
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.

So passed another day, and so the third;
Then did I try in vain the crowd's resort.
-In deep despair by frightful wishes stirred,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort:
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall,
And I had many interruptions short

Of hideous sense; I sank, nor step could crawl,
And thence was carried to a neighbouring hospital.

Recovery came with food; but still, my brain
Was weak, nor of the past had memory.

I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain
Of many things which never troubled me:
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee;

Of looks where common kindness had no part;

Of service done with careless cruelty,

Fretting the fever round the languid heart;

And groans, which, as they said, might make a dead man start.

These things just served to stir the torpid sense,

Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.

My memory and my strength returned; and thence
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed

At houses, men, and common light, amazed,

The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired,

Came, where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
The travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired,

And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desired.

My heart is touched to think that men like these,
Wild houseless wanderers, were my first relief:
How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease!
And their long holiday that feared not grief!
For all belonged to all, and each was chief.
No plough their sinews strained; on grating road
No wain they drove; and yet the yellow sheaf
In every vale for their delight was stowed;
In every field, with milk their dairy overflowed.

They with their panniered asses semblance made
Of potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me portrayed,
And other joys my fancy to allure;
The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor

In barn uplighted, and companions boon
Well met from far, with revelry secure,
Among the forest glades, when jocund June

Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.

But ill they suited me; those journeys dark
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch !
To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark,
Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch;

The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,

Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:

Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.

What could I do, unaided and unblest?

My father! gone was every friend of thine:
And kindred of dead husband are at best

Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.

Ill was I then for toil or service fit:

With tears whose course no efforts could confine,
By the road-side forgetful would I sit

Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.

I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I lived upon what casual bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
Is, that I have my inner self abused,

Foregone the home delight of constant truth,

And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.

Three years thus wandering, often have I viewed,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude
And now across this moor my steps I bend-
Oh! tell me whither- -for no earthly friend
Have I.

She ceased, and weeping turned away,
As if because her tale was at an end
She wept; because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

Poems Founded on the Affections.

I.

THE BROTHERS.*

THESE tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,

Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted some, as wise,
Upon the forehead of a jutting crag

Sit perched, with book and pencil on their knee,
And look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, from that moping son of idleness-
Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,

open

air

Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves." To Jane, his wife
Thus spake the homely priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long store seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage,-as it chanced, that day,
Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
His wife sat near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards, toothed with glittering wire,
He fed the spindle of his youngest child,
Who turned her large round wheel in the
With back and forward steps. Towards the field
In which the parish chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent
Many a long look of wonder; and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge
Of carded wool which the old man had piled,
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other locked; and, down the path
Which from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.

"Twas one well known to him in former days,
A shepherd lad;-who ere his sixteenth year,

*This poem was intended to conclude a series of pastorals, the scene of which was laid among the mountains of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I mention this to apologize for the abruptness with which the poem begins.

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