Chapter 5

'Twas by this Eden of the northern land, Upon the fertile banks of the fair stream, Where nature's beauties to the noonday spread, And in the golden sunset sparkle more, As charm to charm is added ever new, Until the eye is weary to behold The bounty of the grandeur there contained, To watch the peaceful bosom of the stream Sparkle, as with a thousand diamonds set; While softly moving, as by inward life Inspired, to guide it in the bidden course, As it glides on and onward to the firth; While in its rural bed the silver trout Runs pouting freely, darts from stone to stone, As of that sport it never should be sore. And from the banks, amid the sylvan brake, A life of melody is rising here and there From wood-wild songsters, which their glory take To mete a measure ever sweet and fair; As though the task were for a victory, And each endeavoured to advance its notes In sweetest sounds and fairest melody. 'Tis sweetly soothing to the weary mind, Which here hath turned a little time for rest. Amid this scene the happy swains delight To dwell, and draw the vigor of their life With all the fulness nature can supply, And every morn awake to new delights Robust and hale, and of a healthy mind, And so go forth to labor, and to take The fulness of the land they labor on, And in the meadows feed their favored kine, So full and ready that they low and long The maid with pails to ease the milky load. Sweet is this scene in early hours when viewed, What time the rising sun comes proudly forth, Midway to east, between the south and north, And chases quick the lingering night away, Which, as a schoolboy, loiters on the way; Or in the tranquil of a closing day It is beheld in charms surpassing sweet, Just as the sun has done his bidden course, And goes to slumber in the favored west, Yet lingers long to take a parting look Upon the land which he shall leave behind, As seeming loth to wander from the scene, But, called of duty, moves at length away, And draws his train behind the distant hills, Till all is lost to the admiring gaze, Which feasted on the beauties to the last. For darkness comes with night, his paramour, And cast their shadows over all the land; And in their stilly presence creeps repose, And folds his arms around the lifeful sounds, Till all is hushed of nature into rest, And all the tuneful throng is mutely still, And comes no sound of labor from the hill. Then thrilling is the grandeur of the calm; The only sounds which come upon the ear, To tell the mind that life remaineth near, Are the soft murmurings of the silvery stream, The gentle winds which whisper to the trees As they go wandering in the border woods, Or now and then the screeching of an owl, The bleeting lamb, or distant watch-dog's howl.

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'Twas on this scene Lord Henry loved to dwell-- A noble bearer of a noble name-- Lured by the tranquil of a country home To muse upon the beauties of the land. 'Twas here the castle of his fathers stood-- Time honored and of pleasing memories, Adorned of nature and of every art Which the devising of the mind can give To feed the fancy of admiring man. But in these pleasants soon there came a time When he got weary of the lonesome life, Which led him, day by day, in the same scenes, And did not still the longings of his soul. For now he felt the presence of a power Which all men feel, that moves the will at ease Unto a bondage which they fain would shun, Yet loving well the while the gentle guile Which bids the soul unto the presence sweet Of some fair maid, whose winning charms had wrought Well on the strongholds of a purposed heart, Until the entrance hath been fully made, And it is captive to her choosing will, And all the forms to wedlock which pertain. This mystic power incited on him more, Till he resolved to seek a maiden fair, And share with her the blessings of his home, And mete with her the measure of his life. Thus said the voice which whispered to his soul: "And she shall cheer me in the heavy hours, And give a spirit to my lonesome life; And she shall be a maiden, young, and fair, And gentle, and be termed the sweetest flower Of all the land for many measures round; And such a maiden I shall love, and serve, And honor, and revere, with all the love Which an admiring soul can give to one Who is the perfect image of his heart." And, ere a while, Lord Henry loved, and wooed, And wed a maiden of a worthy line, And led her gently to his country home, And used every power to make her glad, And loved and served her with a constant love, And had no mind to other than to her. For she was sweet, and fair, and gentle (more Than the bright picture he had fancied of); And they were happy in such tranquil joys, As day by day went fleeting on its course, And saw them still in one united love, And one to one the source of sweetest joy. These bore their record ere they passed away Of some distinguished pleasure to imply-- A sweetness to the retrospective thought. She was his sole companion day and night. Oft he would lead her to the flowery lawn, And in the rosy bowers bedeck her hair, And watch the image of his soul repose In all her beauty 'neath a rosy crown; Amid the fragrance of the blooming eve, And the soft cadence from the sylvan towers, Beheld the heaving of her gentle breast, Moved by the passing of a peaceful breath, Until of love his soul would overflow; Then he would bend and lay his lips to hers, And pour a shower of mellow kisses there. Then he loved well to hear the harp reply-- The silvery harp--unto her nimble touch, And shower its floods of melody away, To mingle with the songs of nature by; For it knew well the softness of her touch, And gladly gave its music in return. But more he loved than music of the harp, Or songs of many valleys in the Spring, When every fragment of the air is full Of song and all the arts of melody, To hear the sweetness of her full-tuned voice, Raised to the measure of some favored song; A life-like presence lending to the theme, Until the soul is fervent in return Of they who listen to its thrilling power. Then they would wander to the village oft, Now by the path along the bridge, and then Across the water by the ferry-boat; For the coy village is across the stream, Near on a line from where the castle stands, And nigh it well, that when the breeze accords, Or calm prevails, the sounds come floating o'er Of mirthful lads in gambol on the green, Or the part song of buxom damsel raised, Who lightly busies at her noonday task; Anon the chime of the church clock, which tells Another hour departed of the year. And all these sounds familiar to them come, And all the village holds them in respect, Which as they near the rustic boys will doff Their brown worn caps in manner rustic like, While dame and damsel pay a reverence meet Unto the lady they have learnt to love; For she is loved by all the people well, And held in honor as a God-sent friend,-- Kind-hearted to the poor, and to the sick A double help and kindly comforter. In manner thus the seasons quickly pass, One after one,--the flowery Summer and The golden Autumn, with her bounty hand; Then, in the background, Winter, and again, When Spring, the early Summer; it was then, Her full time having come, the lady went Unto her chamber, and brought forth a child. And it was robed, and brought, and put into The father's hand, and he was very glad With the full joy which fills a father's heart, And went and kissed his wife, and bade Her speedy well, and all things seemed good; And in his ear a sweet, soft voice foretold: "Thine is a happy lot of years to come, All full of tranquil and domestic bliss; Thy paths are by the ways of harmony, And a fair train of love shall ever tend, With all her blessings largely to bestow, Upon thy head as dew in Summer night." Again he went unto his wife, to see How quickly she got well and how she fared For he was weary to be wanting her, And longed to see her graceful form again Come quickly here and there about his home. But lo! he saw the hand of sickness had Upon his loved one laid a ruthless hold, And that the lustre of her eye had gone, And that her voice had lost its brightest chords. Then day and night he watched her, and bestowed Of every tendence he could think to give, Which would allay the fever, or imply Relief awhile unto her aching head. But day and night he saw her further wane, Her life-stream ebbing every hour away; Until at last he saw her wane and die, Beheld her sink into the arms of death. Then woeful was the scene, to see him bend Upon the lifeless form in floods of woe, Whose bitter torrents overwhelmed long; And much he wept in full and heavy tears, Till they who saw it thought his heart would break; And for long hours he gazed upon her form, Nor could conceive that she was truly dead. And all the household wept, and many came To give him comfort, but he turned away, And could not hearken to their kindly words, And rose and left the house to wander out, And passed the old domestic at the door, Who dare not question where his master went. And to the woods he wandered. It was night, And long the warblers of the dale had sung Their last glad anthem to the dying day, And gone to slumber in the sylvan bowers Until the dawning of another morn. And on he wandered, but he knew not whence, For all his thoughts were maddened and confused. Then to the bower he came, where oft in time But lately gone he had his loved one led, And with the fairest flowers bedecked her hair. He paused awhile, and, with a heavy sigh, Spake to the flowers, "O ye fair flowers, receive The lamentations of a widowed heart. Thy gay perfections have no further charms; And those sweet odors are diffused now As fragrance is unto a wasted land, Since she who loved them has for ever gone." Then on he pressed into the deepest depths Of the still woods, his mournful story told In tears and sighs unto the woods and wilds; And they made answer in a murmur deep, Which ran from tree to tree adown the break; While from the stream a low lamenting came, And the clear heavens wept gentle tear-drops down, And every star seemed as a pitying eye-- An eye of love with sparkling tear-drops full. And all around was mute, and the pale moon Came forth to take a survey of her realm, Parading in a calm majestic air From end to end, and casting here and there, Through the condenseness of the sylvan boughs, Her sidelong glances, which intrude the depths, And lay strange shadows wrangling on the ground. Then for a while he stood amazed amid The awful tremor of this death-like calm, And for a time his grief forgot its depth; For a calm wonder sat enthroned instead Upon his soul, which shewed the great, and good, And grand conception of the God who made The earth and heavens in order so profound. And, growing weary, there he sat him down Beneath the cover of a spreading tree; For it was many days since he had slept Or rested for his earnest watchfulness. He breathed a silent prayer that God would send Him comfort in and strength to bear the grief, Then drew his mantle o'er him, and remained Wrapt in the sadness of his mournful thoughts, Until the gentle arms of slumber closed Around him, and he slept a deep, soft sleep. And in the watches of the night there came A bright and wondrous vision on his mind. He dreamt that on a lovely eve he sat Beneath the shadow of a spreading tree, In adoration of the beauties round But heartsore with the burden of his woe; When the sweet fragments of a heavenly song Broke on his ear. He raised his eyes, and lo! Amid the tranquil heights above he saw Forth from the portals of the eternal gates Two angel forms descending unto him. Their garments were as white as Winter snow, And on their brows were sparkling crowns of gold, And they had wings as angels, and each held A banner in her hand, on which these words In golden letters were so strangely wrought: "'Tis peace, and love, and joy eternally Adorns the precincts of our blessed home." And bright their presence was as dazzling suns, Which send a radiance through the heavens wide. They now before him stood, and she who spake Was lovely to behold; her perfect form Was as the form of his departed one, Yet lovelier far; and the sweet voice did seem The same sweet voice he had been wont to hear. In fervent power, yet softly, thus she spake: "Dear Henry, rise and mourn no more for me, Since I am in a sweet eternity, And dwell in peace, and joy, and love, and songs, Which are for ever gladly rising there. Sweet were our days together spent below, But sweeter far they shall be when above We are united through unending days With her, an angel too, who was our babe, And who hath come to bear me presence here." Then by the hand she took him, and thus spake In kind and pleading words: "The laws of man Would hold and deem it just that, if a man In time of his prosperity forget To render to his God a full return Of thankfulness and praise, then he shall be In time of his adversity forgot. But God is more compassionate, and says That if a man turn from his heedless ways, And bear a true repentance, he shall live. Then I, the spirit of your once fond wife, Come from the realms of bliss, do thee adjure; Turn to thy God, and give Him worship due, And mourn not with a needless sorrow more. Then, but a season longer, ye shall come And join me in this never-ending bliss." Awe-struck and dumb the wondering Henry stood, And took communion from the Holy One; In adoration bound, he knew not whence To make an answer fit, and would have knelt, Like as before a God, to worship them. But, ere he knew, they had on pinions bright Resumed their course unto the regions whence He saw them come; and, with a wondering look, He watched them still ascend, until the gates Of heaven opened, and they entered in. Then it was morn, and Henry woke from sleep, And looked in wonder on the things around, And felt bewildered for a time to know How hither he had come, and whence the cause. Then fragments of the dream broke on his mind, And yet awhile the joys, the cares, the woes Came clear in their intensity, as when He had endured them in the days just gone. The chilly numbness from his limbs removed, He turned to wander homeward, being now Refreshed by sleep and more in spirit soothed, Reflecting long and deep on the stern truths And troubles tending on the lives of men. Then came the vision of the night before Clear as the waters of a Summer stream, And bore its beauties to his soul anew, Wherefrom he saw a lucent line ascend, Of comfort and of warning to his life, Bidding his soul to higher things ascend, As vapors rise--as vapors rise and flow-- To seek the presence of the sunny heights, Sore of their sojourn in the sphere below; And thus reflected on his bygone days: "Ah me! ah me! my latter life hath been A sorry semblance of the lives of men, Who seek for pleasures in a barren land, And look for comfort in an empty urn, And lose the aim wherefore they live and die Amid the luring of deluding joys. O error bold! ye now thyself reveal Within the chaos of departed time, That she, my wife, received the honor due Unto my God, for she was as my God,-- The idol I adored, my constant theme. Forget! forgive! I will return again Unto a nobler purpose, and will give Unto my God the reverence which is meet, And yet a cherished recollection hold, Because of her who hath departed, and Who came to warn me of my error here. Then in a future day I shall ascend, And share beside her an eternal joy." Again he thought, "But can the babe be dead? It which should be my only comfort now. But now I cannot murmur; I will say, 'God's will be done!' He knoweth what is good." In manner thus he pondered full and deep, Until the hall he reached, then entered in. And all the household wondered whence he came, For that their lord had been the night away, But none could ask him whither he had been; And when they told him that the child was dead, For it was sickly ere he wandered forth, He shed a silent tear, and calmly said, "Great are my woes, but I can bear them now." And 'twas the vision of the fallen night That stood a comfort to his spirit then; Yet he had hoped to see the child survive, And be a last lone comfort to his soul Of earthly kind. And they were glad to see That the full torrent of his grief had gone, And that a peaceful sadness moved him now. Then on the fifth day from her death it was, All due obsequies made, the castle gates Were opened, and emerged therefrom, in deep And sombre black, a mournful train, which bore Unto the grave the mother and the child. There in the ancients' tombs they were reposed Together, by the graves where many years Had slept his fathers in a silent sleep. The old church bell tolled mournfully, and all The village mourned, while many wept among The aged and the feeble, who had known The kindness of her way, and the full hand With which in trouble she had come to them. Then Henry rose, and left the well-loved spot, Nor could he brook to linger on the scene, Where had been spent so many happy hours With her he loved, and where she lived and died; But in a foreign land he sought a home, And there sojourned many years away.

MY MOTHER'S DEATH.

It is a mournful song I sing-- A loving mother dead. Who can so hard a tiding bring, Or deeper sorrow bid.

THE MESSAGE.

Soft as an angel's breath, Swift as the wings of death, Through all the haunts of men, By lake and by river, Across forest and fen, Onward they sped, paused they never. By hamlet or hall, Mystic their pall, Hied as a spirit hidden from view, Faithless nor wavering, ever more true. Onward these words sped-- "Your mother is dead." Quick as a dart, Piercing the heart, Bore they upon me; Reeling the blow sent me. Oh! for the woe lent me, How could I stand.

THE AFFLICTOR.

Was it the hand of God lifted the rod? Oh how hard does it seem, wonderful God! Mighty and marvellous, we but behold In wonder and awe Thy mysteries told-- The work of Thy hand Throughout all the land, Bearing on mankind-- Man frail and mortal. Dark and ambiguous, mighty and grand, All Thy works are; Thee, whom all the angels adore, Falling in prostration before Thy radiant throne. In beauty of state The archangels wait, Seeking Thy glory, Great God, alone. How shall we bend, Seeking to lend Humble adorance, worship before Thee? How shall we yield us meekly submissive Unto Thy will? So prone is the heart oft to rebel, Murmuring still; From morning until night, And From darkness until light, It doth rebel. Send, O Lord! the spirit of meekness, And dispel All turbulent thought And vainglory sought. We are but nought In the presence of Thy greatness.

THE COMFORTER.

O Lord! reach us Thy hand, rich in comfort and love; Our grief soothe, and raise us above The tide of woe in which we move; In this loss console us; sweet may Our mourning be; oh! let us say, "God hath removed her; He took her away." And, Lord, teach us In all things Thy wisdom to see. Thou wouldst not have us alway be Wandering this vale of misery.

HER SUFFERING.

Great had her sorrow been, Anguish and woe, Pouring their full fury, Bearing her low. But, in agony sore, The affliction she bore Meek as a child. Though every breath was in agony seethed, Yet not a murmur her parched lips breathed, So passively mild. All the earth's gladness Is but as sadness Unto her now. All its gay pleasures And its great treasures Are but as measures Empty and vain. Peace, peace in her soul Has fullest control.

HER DEATH.

Then the deliverer came, And, in the glorious name Of the great God, took her away High unto the regions of day. And, ere she yielded her breath Unto the angel of death, These were the last words she spoke-- How sweetly from her lips they broke!-- "Saviour, receive my spirit," Breathed in all the merit Of her Redeemer's love. He stood waiting above, Watching the angels move Unto His throne. And thus the angel came and went; But they who by the pillow bent Were not the power of vision lent To see the holy being sent Among them then, And moving when He passed away, Felt not the soft zephyrs lay Room for his wing, Heard not the heavenly throng Their glad anthem sing, Till the fulness of their song Made the high arches ring.

THE LAST FAREWELL.

Well I remember Her long, lingering look,-- The last farewell I took, Returning from home. 'Twas early September, The cornfields looked yellow, And garden fruits mellow Were beginning to come. She came to the gate with me, And faltered, "Farewell!" But oh! it was a hard one; The silent tear fell Down from her eye. Merrily the birds sang, But in her heart rang A more sorrowful lay, As she saw me away, Watching the turn Where ripples the burn, Till I had gone past; And this was the last-- The last of farewells. Oh how Time tells His wonderful power, So stern in the hour!

REFLECTIONS.

Low the flowing crops bent, With their fulness content; And many a sickle was sent Into the rustling fields, While the gay reaper wields The bounty which God yields In his goodness to man. But as I heard these reapers sing, Thought not Death's reaper would bring To me sorrow so soon; Thought not he would come and remove The one dearest object of love, The earth's greatest boon, From my presence away. Hallowed shall be that day, In memory alway Most dear unto me; For, though I did not see The angel of death near, She may have seen His sable garments peer From the long ranks of time, And heard his voice chime, "I shall come to bring thee Unto eternity." Dead! dead! Oh! bid My trembling heart be still. It cannot brook this ill; This strange and burdened truth It cannot bear. The brightness of my youth It chills to hear. Ah me! and has she gone, Who in sickness watched me long, Smoothed my pillow, hushed the throng, And said To childhood's fears, "Begone!" Who in error chid, And would gently bid A rising rage be still, Or check a stubborn will, In childhood seeming ill. I think I see her now (The smile upon her brow) Sit in the woody shade, Adown the rural glade, So full in song. And watch her fondled boy, With some much cherished toy, Run raptured long. Ah yes! too truly she hath gone. The vacant seat to fill There is none other, there is none To take her place. A mother lost Is ever most A home can bear. Can time never more That image restore? Has that voice gone to keep Its long silent sleep With the dead in the grave? She whom God hath said Should have reverence paid, Here on the earth, All of her birth, Called to give honor, Long life the donor, God hath said shall have. Dead, they all tell me. So strange, it doth seem Like a vision befel me-- A wonderful dream, That I no more may breathe That name ever dear, Save in a mournful voice Hushed silent in fear.

THE FUNERAL.