The Anglican Friar, and the Fish which he Took by Hook and by Crook. active 19th century Novice
must forsake,
Or else the heart that loved so true will break.
This I'll resolve, if he to health revives,
And for my hand again as suitor strives,
I'll fancy that we were betrothed before,
And try to love him as we loved of yore.'
What joy! what bliss! what rapture! filled my heart.
'One word, and I from her shall never part.
But oh! she loves another one,' thought I
(And fell Despair and Grief again drew nigh),
'Who may more worthy be, though I deny
That he can love more true, more ardently.
Still can my heart accept this sacrifice,
Which duty forced her spirit to devise?
Should selfish feelings have sufficient weight
To wish two hearts betrothed to separate?
No, I would rather lonely, ling'ring, die,
Than thus my peace with so much suff'ring buy.'
A shiv'ring seized me, and I heard her rise;
Yet closely clenched I sealed my quiv'ring eyes;
While on my cheek I felt her warm, sweet breath—
Oh, 'twas a struggle fierce as life with death!
For, weaker grown, I scarcely could restrain
The varied feelings battling in my brain;
For Hope, Fear, Justice, in succession reigned,
Until Delirium conquered all again.
Then trembling Life o'erpower'd seemed to have fled,
And with a piercing scream she told them I was dead.
"But health and strength returning, by degrees
Brought to my mind that long-lost stranger Ease;
But weeks and weeks passed silently before
I dared request to see her face once more.
The youth she loved then entered by her side,
And on the morrow she became his bride.
"An officer for India bound was he,
And with her mother soon they crossed the sea,
While I roamed o'er the Continent to find
Relief and comfort for my restless mind.
But scarcely past a twelvemonth spent at Rome
Ere mournful tidings summoned me back home.
My worthy uncle had died suddenly,
And made me heir to all his property.
"But what is treasure but a gilded toy?
The wounded spirit never can enjoy
Its hollow pomp, which ne'er can satisfy
The craving heart (where hope bloomed but to die).
Yes, ev'ry tie which bound to earth had flown,
And I seemed left forsaken and alone;
The guiding star which cheered me with its light
Had, sinking, left me overwhelmed with night.
Years past, but still my feelings were the same,
When melancholy news from India came,—
The youthful husband in the war was slain,
(Her mother long time in the grave had lain,)
And poor Rosina, worn with care and grief,
In childhood's scenes resolved to seek relief:
But deep disease was rooted in her breast,
And soon her gentle spirit sank to rest.
'My child! my child! Oh, guard it for my sake!'
Were the last words she ere departing spake.
'An orphan's life from infancy was thine,
O then in pity aid and succour mine!'
"This sacred trust has yielded me more joy
Than all my wealth, by serving to employ
My vacant thoughts, and giving Hope fresh life,
Who all but perished in that mental strife.
"The portrait of Rosina you have seen,
Her daughter, too (my housekeeper, I mean),
You've also met,—who now must waiting be
I fear, for I have long delayed the tea.
"O never then, my friend, let grim Despair
Reign o'er thy soul; a balm to soothe the care
Which wrecks thy peace may suddenly appear,
The drooping heart and gloomy thoughts to cheer."
In chat and song the evening passed away,
For oft Rosina with some Irish lay,
Of touching sweetness, charmed th' enraptured ear,
So soft and plaintive like the whisp'rings near
Of some bright spirit sent from Eden's bowers
To cheer awhile this dark, cold world of ours.
The tale to see
I asked, but he
Begged I would take it home with me.
"At leisure you
Can there read through
What really I believe is true;
For ruins near,
As proofs appear,
That once an abbey flourished here,
And I the name of Mary found
Carved on a stone from underground,
While in the family for years
The tale has been; and it appears
My grandfather searched o'er the place,
And ev'ry record he could trace,
Who said, from all he'd seen and knew,
The legend without doubt was true.
A smatt'ring, too, of facts I've heard
From folks who never, on my word,
Have seen the tale, or could have guessed
That I the manuscript possessed.
The river, too, in which to-day
We fished, through forests wends its way,
And many (if you so desire)
Can show you where our worthy friar
In vain his basket tried to fill,
Not from the want of fish but skill;
Which place since then has haunted been;
For oft on dusky nights is seen
A fisherman, who strives in vain
Advantage o'er a fish to gain,
Until you near, when with a scream
He