Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs Part 5

A long-lost Father found, the mystery clear'd, What mingled transports in _her_ face appear'd!

The gazing _Veteran_ stood with hands uprais'd-- 'Art thou _indeed_ my Child! then, G.o.d be prais'd.'

O'er his rough cheeks the tears profusely spread: Such as fools say become not Men to shed; Past hours of bliss, regenerated charms, Rose, when he felt his Daughter in his arms: So tender was the scene, the generous Dame Wept, as she told of _Phoebe's_ virtuous fame, And the good Host, with gestures pa.s.sing strange, Abstracted seem'd through fields of joy to range: Rejoicing that his favour'd Roof should prove Virtue's asylum, and the nurse of Love; Rejoicing that to him the task was given, his full Soul was mounting up to Heav'n.

_The Adopted Daughter_.

But now, as from a dream, his Reason sprung, And heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue; The sounding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd: 'Soldier,' he cried, 'you've found your Girl; 'tis true: But suffer _me_ to be a Father too; For, never Child that blest a Parent's knee, Could show more duty than she has to met Strangely she came; Affliction chas'd her hard: I pitied her;--and this is my reward!

Here sit you down; recount your perils o'er: Henceforth be this your home; and grieve no more: Plenty hath shower'd her dewdrops on my head; Care visits not my Table, nor my Bed.

My heart's warm wishes thus then I fulfill:-- My Dame and I can live without the Mill: _George_, take the whole; I'll near you still remain To guide your judgment in the choice of Grain:

_Perfect Content: hopes and prospects of Goodness_.

In Virtue's path commence your prosperous life; And from my hand receive your worthy Wife.

Rise, _Phoebe_; rise, my Girl!--kneel not to me; But to THAT POW'R who interpos'd for thee.

Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth; Fair budding Honour, Constancy, and Truth: Go to his arms;--and may unsullied joys Bring smiling round me, rosy Girls and Boys!

I'll love them for thy sake. And may your days Glide on, as glides the Stream that never stays; Bright as whose s.h.i.+ngled bed, till life's decline, May all your Worth, and all your Virtues s.h.i.+ne!'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLa.s.s.

Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again: Companion of the lonely hour!

Spring thirty times hath fed with rain And cloath'd with leaves my humble bower, Since thou hast stood In frame of wood, On Chest or Window by my side: At every Birth still thou wert near, Still spoke thine admonitions clear.-- And, when my Husband died,

I've often watch'd thy streaming sand And seen the growing Mountain rise, And often found Life's hopes to stand On props as weak in Wisdom's eyes: Its conic crown Still sliding down, Again heap'd up, then down again; The sand above more hollow grew, Like days and years still filt'ring through, And mingling joy and pain.

While thus I spin and sometimes sing, (For now and then my heart will glow) Thou measur'st Time's expanding wing By thee the noontide hour I know: Though silent thou, Still shalt thou flow, And jog along thy destin'd way: But when I glean the sultry fields, When Earth her yellow Harvest yields, Thou get'st a Holiday.

Steady as Truth, on either end Thy daily task performing well, Thou'rt Meditation's constant friend, And strik'st the Heart without a Bell: Come, lovely May!

Thy lengthen'd day Shall gild once more thy native plain; Curl inward here, sweet Woodbine flow'r;-- 'Companion of the lonely hour, 'I'll turn thee up again.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MARKET-NIGHT.

'O Winds, howl not so long and loud; Nor with your vengeance arm the snow: Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud; And let the twinkling Star-beams glow.

'Now sweeping floods rush down the slope, Wide scattering ruin.--Stars, s.h.i.+ne soon!

No other light my Love can hope; Midnight will want the joyous _Moon_.

'O guardian Spirits!--Ye that dwell Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways, The lone night-trav'ler's fancy swell With fearful tales, of older days,--

'Press round him:--guide his willing steed Through darkness, dangers, currents, snows; Wait where, from shelt'ring thickets freed, The dreary Heath's rude whirlwind blows.

'From darkness rus.h.i.+ng o'er his way, The Thorn's white load it bears on high!

Where the short furze all shrouded lay, Mounts the dried gra.s.s;--Earth's bosom dry.

'Then o'er the Hill with furious sweep It rends the elevated tree-- Sure-footed beast, thy road thou'lt keep; Nor storm nor darkness startles thee!

'O blest a.s.surance, (trusty steed,) To thee the buried road is known; _Home_, all the spur thy footsteps need, When loose the frozen rein is thrown,

'Between the roaring blasts that shake The naked Elder at the door, Though not one prattler to me speak, Their sleeping sighs delight me more.

'Sound is their rest:--they little know What pain, what cold, their Father feels; But dream, perhaps, they see him now, While each the promis'd Orange peels.

Would it were so!--the fire burns bright, And on the warming trencher gleams; In Expectation's raptur'd sight How precious his arrival seems!

'I'll look abroad!--'tis piercing cold!-- How the bleak wind a.s.sails his breast!

Yet some faint light mine eyes, behold: The storm is verging o'er the West.

'There s.h.i.+nes a _Star!_--O welcome sight!-- Through the thin vapours brightening still!

Yet, 'twas beneath the fairest night The murd'rer stained yon lonely Hill.

'Mercy, kind Heav'n! such thoughts dispel!

No voice, no footstep can I hear!

(Where Night and Silence brooding dwell, Spreads thy cold reign, heart-chilling Fear.)

'Distressing hour! uncertain fate!

O Mercy, Mercy, guide him home!-- Hark!--then I heard the distant gate;-- Repeat it, Echo; quickly, come!

'One minute now will ease my fears-- Or, still more wretched must I be?

No: surely Heaven has spar'd our tears: I see him, cloath'd in snow;--'_tis_ he.--

'Where have you stay'd? put down your load.

How have you borne the storm, the cold?

What horrors did I not forebode-- That Beast is worth his weight in gold.'

Thus spoke the joyful Wife;--then ran And hid in grateful steams her head: Dapple was hous'd, the hungry Man With joy glanc'd o'er the Children's bed.

'What, all asleep!--so best;' he cried: O what a night I've travell'd through!

Unseen, unheard, I might have died; But Heaven has brought me safe to you.

'Dear Partner of my nights and days, That smile becomes thee!--Let us then Learn, though mishap may cross our ways, It is not ours to reckon when.'

THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

A Ballad.

The Lawns were dry in Euston Park; (Here Truth [1] inspires my Tale) The lonely footpath, still and dark, Led over Hill and Dale.

[Footnote 1: This Ballad is founded on a fact. The circ.u.mstance occurred perhaps long before I was born: but is still related by my Mother, and some of the oldest inhabitants in that part of the country. R.B.]