The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse. Matilda Betham
To save thee, dearest, dar'd resign
Thy worldly good! it was not mine!
But, O! I felt around thee twin'd
My very self—my heart and mind!
All that may chance is dead to me,
Save only as it touches thee!
Could self-infliction but atone
For one who lives in thee alone;
If my repentance and my tears
Could spare thy future smiling years,
The fatal curse should only rest
Upon this firm, though guilty breast?
Yet, tendering from thy vessel's freight
Offerings of such exceeding weight,
And free thee from one earthly chain!
Envy and over-weening hate
Would on thy orphan greatness wait;
Folly that supple nature bend
For parasites to scorn thy friend;
And pamper'd vanity incline
To wilful blindness such as mine!
"'Thee to the altar yet I bring!
Hear me, my Saviour and my King!
Again I for my child resign
All worldly good! but make her thine!
Let her soft footsteps gently move,
Nor waken grief, nor injure love;
Carelessly trampling on the ground
That priceless gem, so rarely found;
That treasure, which, should angels guard,
Would all their vigilance reward!
"'My mind refuses still to fear
She should be cold or insincere;
That aught like meanness should debase
One of our rash and wayward race,
No! most I dread intemperate pride,
Deaf ardour, reckless, and untried,
With firm controul and skilful rein,
Its hurrying fever to restrain!
"'Others might wish their soul's delight
Should be most lovely to the sight;
And beauty vainly I ador'd,
Serv'd with my eye, my tongue, my sword;
Nay, let me not from truth depart!
Enshrin'd and worship'd it at heart.
Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze,
Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze,
Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd,
Transcendant thus to see my child:
But now, for charms of form or face,
Save only purity and grace;
Save sweetness, which all rage disarms,
Would lure an infant to her arms
In instantaneous love; and make
A heart, like mine, with fondness ache;
I little care, so she be free
From such remorse as preys on me!'
"My dearest father!—Yet he grew
Profoundly anxious, as he knew
More of the dangers lurking round;
But I was on enchanted ground!
Delighted with my minstrel art,
I had a thousand lays by heart;
And while my yet unpractis'd tongue
Descanted on the strains I sung,
Still seeking treasure, like a bee,
I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee!
"Delicious moments then I knew,
When the rough winds against me blew:
When, from the top of mountain steep,
I glanc'd my eye along the deep;
Or, proud the keener air to breathe,
Exulting saw the vale beneath.
When, launch'd in some lone boat, I sought
A little kingdom for my thought,
Within a river's winding cove,
Whose forests form a double grove,
And, from the water's silent flow,
Appear more beautiful below;
While their large leaves the lilies lave,
Or plash upon the shadow'd wave;
While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly
Across that still intenser sky;
Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap,
Or arrow-flight across the deep;
And stilted insects, light-o-limb,
Would dimple o'er the even brim;
If, with my hand, in play, I chose
The cold, smooth current to oppose,
As fine a spell my senses bound
As vacant bosom ever found!
"And when I took my proudest post,
Near him on earth I valued most,
(No after-time could banish thence
A father's dear pre-eminence,)
And felt the kind, protecting charm,
The clasp of a paternal arm;
Felt, as instinctively it prest,
The sacred magnet of his breast,
'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow,
With that deep fondness none can know,
Whom Providence does not assign
A parent excellent as mine!
That faith beyond, above mistrust,
That gratitude, so wholly just,
Each several, crowding claim forgot,
Whose source was light, without a blot;
No moment of unkindness shrouding,
No speck of anger overclouding:
An awful and a sweet controul,
A rainbow arching o'er the soul;
A soothing, tender thrill, which clung
Around the heart, while, all unstrung,
The thought was still, and mute the tongue!
"O! in that morn of life is given
To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower!
Joys, which have flown direct from heaven,
And Graces, captive in her bower.
"Thoughts which can sail along the skies,
Or poise upon the buoyant air;
And make a peasant's soul arise
A monarch's mighty power to share.
"When all that we perceive below,
By land or sea, by night or day,
The past, the future, and the flow
Of present times, their tribute pay.
"Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower,
Bears her a blessing on