The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse. Matilda Betham
And every rich and precious flower
Its fragrance on her spirit flings.
"There's not a star that shines above
But pours on her a partial ray;
Endearments, like maternal love,
Her love to Nature's self repay.
"Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart,
Close interlace the angel arm;
And with caresses heal the smart
Of every care, and every harm.
"Amid the wealth, amid the blaze
Of luxury and pomp around,
How poor is all the eye surveys
To what we know of fairy ground!"
She ceases, and her tears flow fast—
O! can this fit of softness last,
Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share
The sickly triumph of despair?
Upon the harp her head is thrown,
All round is like a vision flown;
And o'er a billowy surge her mind
Views lost delight left far behind.
THE LAY OF MARIE.
CANTO SECOND.
Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er,
Lamented that they heard no more;
While Brehan, from her broken lay,
Portended what she yet might say.
As the untarrying minutes flew,
More anxious and alarm'd he grew.
At length he spake:—"We wait too long
The remnant of this wilder'd song!
And too tenaciously we press
Upon the languor of distress!
'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd,
And in some noiseless chamber laid,
Attentive care, and soothing rest,
Appeas'd the anguish of her breast."
Low was his voice, but Marie heard:
He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd.
She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs,
Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes;
And, ere they dried upon her cheek,
Before she gather'd force to speak,
Convulsively her fingers play'd,
While his proud heart the prelude met,
Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd,
A loud, high measure, like a threat;
Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell
Which love and sorrow know so well.
"How solemn is the sick man's room
To friends or kindred lingering near!
Poring on that uncertain gloom
In silent heaviness and fear!
"How sad, his feeble hand in thine,
The start of every pulse to share!
With painful haste each wish divine,
Yet fed the hopelessness of care!
"To turn aside the full-fraught eye,
Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear!
To bear the weight of every sigh,
Lest it should reach that wakeful ear!
"In the dread stillness of the night,
To lose the faint, faint sound of breath!
To listen in restrain'd affright,
To deprecate each thought of death!
"And, when a movement chas'd that fear,
And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,
In thrilling awe the prayer to hear
Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low!
"The prayer of him whose holy tongue
Had never yet exceeded truth!
Upon whose guardian care had hung
The whole dependence of thy youth!
"Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild,
Was, for his very goodness, fear'd;
Belov'd with fondness like a child,
And like a blessed saint rever'd!
"I have known friends—but who can feel
The kindness such a father knew?
I serv'd him still with tender zeal,
But knew not then how much was due!
"And did not Providence ordain
That we should soon be laid as low,
No heart could such a stroke sustain—
No reason could survive the blow!
"After that fatal trial came,
The world no longer was the same.
I still had pleasures:—who could live
Without the healing aid they give?
But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain,
When radiant sunshine comes again,
Just wakes from a benumbing trance,
I caught a feverish, fitful glance.
The dove, that for a weary time
Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime,
And, with its head beneath its wing,
Awaited a more genial spring,
Went forth again to search around,
And some few leaves of olive found,
But not a bower which could impart
Its interchange of light and shade;
Not that soft down, to warm the heart,
Of which her former nest was made.
Smooth were the waves, the ether clear,
Yet all was desert, cold, and drear!
"Affection, o'er thy clouded sky
In flocks the birds of omen fly;
And oft the wandering harpy, Care,
Must thy delicious viands share:
But all the soul's interior light,
All that is soothing, sweet, and bright,
All fragrance, softness, colour, glow,
To thee, as to the sun, we owe!
"Years past away! swift, varied years!
I learnt the luxury of tears;
And all the orphan's wretched lot,
'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot.
"By turns applauded and despis'd,
Till one appear'd who duly priz'd;
Bound round my heart a welcome chain,
And earthward lur'd its hopes again;