She slept not nor well fared, but restless dwelt
On her past life, and past afflictions felt :
The man she loved, the brother and the foe
Of him she married!—It had wrought her woe;
But still she loved him-wonder'd where he stray'd
In this loud night! and if he were afraid.
More than one hour she thought, and dropping then In sudden sleep, cried loudly, "Spare him, men! "And do no murder!"-then awaked she rose, And thought no more of trying for repose.
'Twas past the dead of night, when every sound
That nature mingles might be heard around.
Softly she left her door, her garden gate,
And seem'd as then committed to her fate;
Oft as she glided on in that sad night,
She stopp'd to listen, and she look'd for light;
And now, of night and nervous terror bred,
Arose a strong and superstitious dread;
She heard strange noises, and the shapes she saw
Of fancied beings bound her soul in awe.
The moon was risen, and she sometimes shone Through thick white clouds, that flew tumultuous on, Passing beneath her with an eagle's speed, That her soft light imprison'd and then freed; The fitful glimmering through the hedgerow green Gave a strange beauty to the changing scene; And roaring winds and rushing waters lent Their mingled voice that to the spirit went.
To these she listen'd; but new
And sight more startling to her soul appear'd;
There were low lengthen'd tones with sobs between,
And near at hand, but nothing yet was seen;
She hurried on, and "Who is there?" she cried.
"A dying wretch!" was from the earth replied.
It was her lover-was the man she gave The price she paid, himself from death to save; With whom, expiring, she must kneel and pray, While the soul flitted from the shivering clay That press'd the dewy ground, and bled its life away!
This was the part that duty bade her take,
Instant and ere her feelings were awake;
But now they waked to anguish; there came then, Hurrying with lights, loud-speaking, eager men.
"And here, my lord, we met
"The keeper's wife-Ah! woman, go not near! "There lies the man that was the head of all
"See, in his temples went the fatal ball!
"And James that instant, who was then our guide, "Felt in his heart the adverse shot and died!
"It was a sudden meeting, and the light
"Of a dull moon made indistinct our fight;
"He foremost fell!-But see, the woman creeps
"Like a lost thing, that wanders as she sleeps.
"See, here her husband's body—but she knows
"That other dead! and that her action shows.
"Rachel! why look you at your mortal foe?— "She does not hear us.-Whither will she go
Now, more attentive, on the dead they gazed, And they were brothers: sorrowing and amazed, On all a momentary silence came,
A common softness, and a moral shame.
"Seized you the poachers?" said my lord." They fled,
"And we pursued not,—one of them was dead, "And one of us: they hurried through the wood, "Two lives were gone, and we no more pursued. "Two lives of men, of valiant brothers lost! "Enough, my lord, do hares and pheasants cost!"
So many thought, and there is found a heart
To dwell upon the deaths on either part;
Since this their morals have been more correct,
The cruel spirit in the place is check'd;
His lordship holds not in such sacred care,
Nor takes such dreadful vengeance for a hare;
The smugglers fear, the poacher stands in awe
Of Heaven's own act, and reverence the law;
There was, there is, a terror in the place
That operates on man's offending race;
Such acts will stamp their moral on the soul,
And while the bad they threaten and control,
Will to the pious and the humble say,
Yours is the right, the safe, the certain way,
'Tis wisdom to be good, 'tis virtue to obey.
So Rachel thinks, the pure, the good, the meek, Whose outward acts the inward purpose speak.
As men will children at their sports behold,
And smile to see them, though unmoved and cold,
Smile at the recollected games, and then
Depart and mix in the affairs of men :
So Rachel looks upon the world, and sees
It can no longer pain her, longer please,
But just detain the passing thought, or cause
A gentle smile of pity or applause ;
And then the recollected soul repairs
Her slumbering hope, and heeds her own affairs.
THE BOY-LOVER OF THE FAIR
GEORGE had of late indulged unusual fears
And dangerous hopes: he wept unconscious tears ;—
Whether for camp or college, well he knew
He must at present bid his friends adieu;
His father, mother, sisters, could he part
With these, and feel no sorrow at his heart?
But from that lovely lady could he go?
That fonder, fairer, dearer mother?—No!
For while his father spoke, he fix'd his eyes
On that dear face, and felt a warmth arise,
A trembling flush of joy, that he could ill disguise—
Then ask'd himself from whence this growing bliss,
This new-found joy, and all that waits on this?
Why sinks that voice so sweetly in mine ear?
What makes it now a livelier joy to hear?
Why gives that touch-still, still do I retain
The fierce delight that tingled through each vein-
Why at her presence with such quickness flows
The vital current?-Well a lover knows.
O! tell me not of years,- -can she be old?
Those eyes, those lips, can man unmoved behold?
Has time that bosom chill'd? are cheeks so rosy cold?
* Taken from the tale of "The Lady Barbara."
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