The Boy is in the arms of Wharf,
And strangled by a merciless force;
For never more was young Romilly seen Till he rose a lifeless corse.
Now there is stillness in the Vale, And deep, unspeaking sorrow: Wharf shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow.
If for a lover the Lady wept, A solace she might borrow
From death, and from the passion of death ;- Old Wharf might heal her sorrow.
She weeps not for the wedding-day Which was to be to-morrow : Her hope was a further-looking hope, And hers is a Mother's sorrow.
He was a Tree that stood alone, And proudly did its branches wave; And the root of this delightful Tree Was in her Husband's grave!
Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, "Let there be In Bolton, on the Field of Wharf, A stately Priory!"
The stately Priory was reared; And Wharf, as he moved along,
To Matins joined a mournful voice, Nor failed at Even-song.
And the Lady prayed in heaviness That looked not for relief!
But slowly did her succour come, And a patience to her grief.
Oh! there is never sorrow of heart That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn, and ask
Of Him to be our Friend!
THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET.
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 despaired, and have believed, And be for evermore beguiled; 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; And never blush was on my face.
Ah! little doth the Young-one dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power is in 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 suffered long
From that ill thought; and, being blind, 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; 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, Maimed, mangled by inhuman men ; Or thou upon a desert 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 Between the living and the dead; 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.
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!
OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN.
[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the Desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other Tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern Latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.]
BEFORE I see another day, Oh let my body die away!
In sleep I heard the northern gleams; The stars were mingled with my dreams; In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive, And yet they are upon my eyes, And yet I am alive; Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away.
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