Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen, The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps, Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands Returning homeward from the house of prayer. In peace they home resort. O blissful day! When all men worship God as conscience wills. Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew, A virtuous race, to godliness devote.
What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil The record of their fame! What though the men Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize
The sister-cause, Religion and the Law, With Superstition's name! yet, yet their deeds, Their constancy in torture, and in death,— These on tradition's tongue still live, these shall On history's honest page be pictured bright To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse Disdains the servile strain of Fashion's quire, May celebrate their unambitious names. With them each day was holy, every hour They stood prepared to die, a people doomed To death:-old men, and youths, and simple maids. With them each day was holy; but that morn On which the angel said, See where the Lord
Was laid, joyous arose; to die that day
Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways, O'er hills, thro' woods, o'er dreary wastes, they sought The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks, Dispart to different seas: Fast by such brooks, A little glen is sometimes scooped, a plat
With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers seem Amid the heathery wild, that all around Fatigues the eye: in solitudes like these Thy persecuted children, ScoTIA, foiled A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws: There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array, Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose On England's banner, and had powerless struck The infatuate monarch and his wavering host,) The lyart veteran heard the word of God By Cameron thundered, or by Renwick poured In gentle stream: then rose the song, the loud Acclaim of praise; the wheeling plover ceased Her plaint; the solitary place was glad,
And on the distant cairns, the watcher's ear * Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note. But years more gloomy followed; and no more
* Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills, to give warning of the approach of the military.
The assembled people dared, in face of day, To worship God, or even at the dead
Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce, And thunder-peals compelled the men of blood To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly The scattered few would meet, in some deep dell By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice, Their faithful pastor's voice: He by the gleam Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book, And words of comfort spake : Over their souls His accents soothing came,-as to her young The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve, She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast, They, cherished, cower amid the purple blooms.
But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale, The house of prayer itself,-no place inspires Emotions more accordant with the day,
Than does the field of graves, the land of rest :— Oft at the close of evening-prayer, the toll, The solemn funeral-toll, pausing, proclaims The service of the tomb; the homeward crowds Divide on either hand; the pomp draws near; The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing,
I am the resurrection and the life.
Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white, They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend Is gone, dead in her prime of years :-'twas she, The poor man's friend, who, when she could not give, With angel tongue pleaded to those who could; With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye, That ne'er besought in vain, save when she prayed For longer life, with heart resigned to die,— Rejoiced to die; for happy visions blessed Her voyage's last days,* and, hovering round, Alighted on her soul, giving presage
Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy
Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are closed! But all her loveliness is not yet flown:
She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake, In which the wintry stars all bright appear,
Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new world, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the appearance of birds, at first hovering round the ship, and then lighting on the rig ging.
Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast. Again that knell! The slow procession stops: The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick-embossed With melancholy ornaments,—(the name, The record of her blossoming age) appears Unveiled, and on it dust to dust is thrown, The final rite. Oh! hark that sullen sound! Upon the lowered bier the shovelled clay Falls fast, and fills the void.-
That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye, As if he coveted the closing grave?
And he does covet it; his wish is death: The dread resolve is fixed; his own right-hand Is sworn to do the deed: The day of rest No peace, no comfort, brings his woe-worn spirit; Self cursed, the hallowed dome he dreads to enter; He dares not pray; he dares not sigh a hope; Annihilation is his only heaven.
Loathsome the converse of his friends! he shuns The human face; in every careless eye
Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk.
Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws:
« AnteriorContinuar » |