Chapter 2

Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace! Nor of him were tidings heard. Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer Back again to England steer'd. 60 To his Castle Hubert sped; He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, And at an hour which nobody could name.

None could tell if it were night-time, Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one Of the proclamation-horn. But bold Hubert lives in glee: Months and years went smilingly; 70 With plenty was his table spread; And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.

Likewise he had Sons and Daughters; And, as good men do, he sate At his board by these surrounded, Flourishing in fair estate. And, while thus in open day Once he sate, as old books say, A blast was utter'd from the Horn, Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80

'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! He is come to claim his right: Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains Hear the challenge with delight. Hubert! though the blast be blown He is helpless and alone: Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word! And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Lord.

Speak! astounded Hubert cannot; And if power to speak he had, 90 All are daunted, all the household Smitten to the heart, and sad. 'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be Living Man, it must be he! Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of: To his Brother then he came, Made confession, ask'd forgiveness, Ask'd it by a Brother's name, 100 And by all the saints in heaven; And of Eustace was forgiv'n: Then in a Convent went to hide His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels Had preserv'd from Murderers' hands, And from Pagan chains had rescued, Liv'd with honour on his lands. Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs: And through ages, Heirs of Heirs, 110 A long posterity renown'd, Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.

THE AFFLICTION of MARGARET ---- OF ----

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Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? Oh find me prosperous or undone! Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same That I may rest; and neither blame, Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

Seven years, alas, to have received No tidings of an only child; To have despair'd, and have believ'd, 10 And be for evermore beguil'd; Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss! I catch at them, and then I miss; Was ever darkness like to this?

He was among the prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold; Well born, well bred; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base; 20 And never blush was on my face.

Ah! little doth the Young One dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power hath even his wildest scream, Heard by his Mother unawares! He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to a Mother bring distress; But do not make her love the less.

Neglect me! no I suffer'd long From that ill thought; and being blind, 30 Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong; Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:" and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew.

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, Oh! do not dread thy mother's door; Think not of me with grief and pain: I now can see with better eyes; 40 And worldly grandeur I despise, And fortune with her gifts and lies

Alas! the fowls of Heaven have wings, And blasts of Heaven will aid their flight; They mount, how short a voyage brings The Wanderers back to their delight! Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 50 Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a Desart thrown Inheritest the Lion's Den; Or hast been summoned to the Deep, Thou, Thou and all thy mates, to keep An incommunicable sleep.

I look for Ghosts; but none will force Their way to me; 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Betwixt the living and the dead; 60 For, surely, then I should have sight Of Him I wait for day and night, With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds; I dread the rustling of the grass; The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass: I question things, and do not find One that will answer to my mind; And all the world appears unkind. 70

Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend.

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.

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That way look, my Infant, lo! What a pretty baby show! See the Kitten on the Wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Wither'd leaves, one, two, and three, From the lofty Elder-tree! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly: one might think, 10 From the motions that are made, Every little leaf convey'd Sylph or Faery hither tending, To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. --But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts; First at one and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; 20 There are many now--now one-- Now they stop; and there are none-- What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian Conjuror; 30 Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics play'd in the eye Of a thousand Standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the Crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40

'Tis a pretty Baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet: Here, for neither Babe or me, Other Play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings, (In the sun or under shade Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, 50 Made this Orchard's narrow space, And this Vale so blithe a place; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day: Some are sleeping; some in Bands Travell'd into distant Lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood, And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, 60 With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside, --Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree, Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out, Hung with head towards the ground, Flutter'd, perch'd; into a round 70 Bound himself, and then unbound; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin, Prettiest Tumbler ever seen, Light of heart, and light of limb, What is now become of Him? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sober'd by this time. If you look to vale or hill, 80 If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring Rill; That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitters hill and plain, And the air is calm in vain; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure; Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy: 90 Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety?

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every Creature, Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, 100 Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks, Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Laura's face; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair! 110 And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness. --Pleas'd by any random toy; By a Kitten's busy joy, Or an infant's laughing eye Sharing in the extacy; 120 I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss; Keep the sprightly soul awake, And have faculties to take Even from things by sorrow wrought Matter for a jocund thought; Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.

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Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald, All Children of one Mother: I could not say in one short day What love they bore each other, A Garland of seven Lilies wrought! Seven Sisters that together dwell; But he, bold Knight as ever fought, Their Father, took of them no thought, He loved the Wars so well. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, 10 The Solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering: Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. 20 Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away they fly to left to right-- Of your fair household, Father Knight, 30 Methinks you take small heed! Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly, And, over Hill and Hollow, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow. Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam: Enough for him to find The empty House when he comes home; 40 For us your yellow ringlets comb, For us be fair and kind!" Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Some close behind, some side by side, Like clouds in stormy weather, They run, and cry, "Nay let us die, And let us die together." A Lake was near; the shore was steep; There never Foot had been; 50 They ran, and with a desperate leap Together plung'd into the deep, Nor ever more were seen. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

The Stream that flows out of the Lake, As through the glen it rambles, Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone, For those seven lovely Campbells. Seven little Islands, green and bare, 60 Have risen from out the deep: The Fishers say, those Sisters fair By Faeries are all buried there, And there together sleep. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully The Solitude of Binnorie.

To H. C.,

SIX YEARS OLD.

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O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; Thou Faery Voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy Boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10 O blessed Vision! happy Child! That art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with, many fears For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee.

Oh! too industrious folly! Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! 20 Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of tomorrow?

Thou art a Dew-drop, which, the morn brings forth, Not doom'd to jostle with unkindly shocks; Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth; A Gem that glitters while it lives, 30 And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife Slips in a moment out of life.

_Among all lovely things my Love had been_

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Among all lovely things my Love had been; Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew About her home; but she had never seen A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

While riding near her home one stormy night A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy; I gave a fervent welcome to the sight, And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay, To bear it with me through the stormy night: 10 And, as before, it shone without dismay; Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the Dwelling of my Love I came, I went into the Orchard quietly; And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name, Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.

The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear; At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree: I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here!" Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me! 20

_I travell'd among unknown Men_

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I travell'd among unknown Men, In Lands beyond the Sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; 10 And She I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings shew'd--thy nights conceal'd The bowers where Lucy play'd; And thine is, too, the last green field Which Lucy's eyes survey'd!

ODE TO DUTY.

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Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a Light to guide, a Rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry.

There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10 Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: May joy be theirs while life shall last! And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. 20 And bless'd are they who in the main This faith, even now, do entertain: Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: Resolved that nothing e'er should press Upon my present happiness, 30 I shoved unwelcome tasks away; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy controul; But in the quietness of thought: Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose which ever is the same. 40

Yet not the less would I throughout Still act according to the voice Of my own wish; and feel past doubt That my submissiveness was choice: Not seeking in the school of pride For "precepts over dignified," Denial and restraint I prize No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; 50 Nor know we any thing so fair As is the smile upon thy face; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; And Fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; And the most ancient Heavens through Thee are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh! let my weakness have an end! 60 Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!

POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR, CHIEFLY ON FOOT.

1. _BEGGARS_.

She had a tall Man's height, or more; No bonnet screen'd her from the heat; A long drab-colour'd Cloak she wore, A Mantle reaching to her feet: What other dress she had I could not know; Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.

In all my walks, through field or town, Such Figure had I never seen: Her face was of Egyptian brown: Fit person was she for a Queen, 10 To head those ancient Amazonian files: Or ruling Bandit's Wife, among the Grecian Isles.

Before me begging did she stand, Pouring out sorrows like a sea; Grief after grief:--on English Land Such woes I knew could never be; And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!

I left her, and pursued my way; And soon before me did espy 20 A pair of little Boys at play, Chasing a crimson butterfly; The Taller follow'd with his hat in hand, Wreath'd round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land.

The Other wore a rimless crown, With leaves of laurel stuck about: And they both follow'd up and down, Each whooping with a merry shout; Two Brothers seem'd they, eight and ten years old; And like that Woman's face as gold is like to gold. 30

They bolted on me thus, and lo! Each ready with a plaintive whine; Said I, "Not half an hour ago Your Mother has had alms of mine." "That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead." "Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."

"She has been dead, Sir, many a day." "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie"; "It was your Mother, as I say--" And in the twinkling of an eye, 40 "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado, Off to some other play they both together flew.

2. _TO A SKY-LARK_.

Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With all the heav'ns about thee ringing, Lift me, guide me, till I find That spot which seems so to thy mind!

I have walk'd through wildernesses dreary, And today my heart is weary; Had I now the soul of a Faery, 10 Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Up with me, up with me, high and high, To thy banqueting-place in the sky! 15 Joyous as Morning, Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest: And, though little troubled with sloth, Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20 To be such a Traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver! With a soul as strong as a mountain River, Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, Joy and jollity be with us both! Hearing thee, or else some other, As merry a Brother, I on the earth will go plodding on, By myself, chearfully, till the day is done.

3. _With how sad Steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the Sky_

3.

"With how sad steps, O Moon thou climb'st the sky. How silently, and with how wan a face!" [2] Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race? Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! The Northern Wind, to call thee to the chace, Must blow tonight his bugle horn. Had I The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven, Should sally forth to keep thee company. What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'n Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee! But, Cynthia, should to Thee the palm be giv'n, Queen both for beauty and for majesty.

[Footnote 2: From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.]

4. ALICE FELL.

The Post-boy drove with fierce career, For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd; When suddenly I seem'd to hear A moan, a lamentable sound.

As if the wind blew many ways I heard the sound, and more and more: It seem'd to follow with the Chaise, And still I heard it as before.

At length I to the Boy call'd out, He stopp'd his horses at the word; 10 But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout, Nor aught else like it could be heard.

The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fast The horses scamper'd through the rain; And soon I heard upon the blast The voice, and bade him halt again.

Said I, alighting on the ground, "What can it be, this piteous moan?" And there a little Girl I found, Sitting behind the Chaise, alone. 20

"My Cloak!" the word was last and first, And loud and bitterly she wept, As if her very heart would burst; And down from off the Chaise she leapt.

"What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather beaten Rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled.

'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke; Her help she lent, and with good heed 30 Together we released the Cloak; A wretched, wretched rag indeed!

"And whither are you going, Child, To night along these lonesome ways?" "To Durham" answer'd she half wild-- "Then come with me into the chaise."

She sate like one past all relief; Sob after sob she forth did send In wretchedness, as if her grief Could never, never, have an end. 40

"My Child, in Durham do you dwell?" She check'd herself in her distress, And said, "My name is Alice Fell; I'm fatherless and motherless."

"And I to Durham, Sir, belong." And then, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.

The chaise drove on; our journey's end Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 50 As if she'd lost her only friend She wept, nor would be pacified.