With stealthy steps I gain'd the shade By the close-winding staircase made,
Into this darken'd cell, with beating heart, I ventured."
To gain whose smile, to shun whose mild rebuke, Your irksome task was learnt in silent nook, Though truant thoughts the while, your lot ex- And when the surly turnkey enter'd, changing But little dreaming in his mind With freer elves, were wood and meadow ranging;-Who follow'd him so close behind, And ye, who best the faithful virtues know Of a link'd partner, tried in weal and wo, Like the slight willow, now aloft, now bending, But, still unbroken, with the blast contending, Whose very look call'd virtuous vigour forth, Compelling you to match her noble worth; And ye, who in a sister's modest praise Feel manly pride, and think of other days, Pleased that the playmate of your native home Hath in her prime an honour'd name become And ye, who in a duteous child have known A daughter, helpmate, sister, blent in one, From whose dear hand which, to no hireling leaves Its task of love, your age sweet aid receives, Who reckless marks youth's waning faded hue, And thinks her bloom well spent, when spent foryou; Come all, whose thoughts such dear remembrance bear,
And to my short and faithful lay give ear.
Within a prison's hateful cell, Where, from the lofty window fell, Through grated bars, the sloping beam, Defined, but faint, on couch of stone, There sat a prisoner sad and lone, Like the dim tenant of a dismal dream. Deep in the shade, by low-arch'd door, With iron nails thick studded o'er, Whose threshold black is cross'd by those Who here their earthly being close, Or issue to the light again
A scaffold with their blood to stain,- Moved something softly. Wistful ears Are quick of sense, and from his book
The prisoner raised his eyes with eager look, "Is it a real form that through the gloom appears?"
It was indeed of flesh and blood, The form that quickly by him stood; Of stature low, of figure light, In motion like some happy sprite; Yet meaning eyes and varying cheek, Now red, now pale, seem'd to bespeak Of riper years the cares and feeling Which with a gentle heart were dealing. "Such sense in eyes so simply mild! Is it a woman or a child?
Then from the simple vest that braced Her gentle breast, a letter traced With well-known characters, he took, And with an eager, joyful look Her eyes up to his visage cast, His changing countenance to scan, As o'er the lines his keen glance pass'd. She saw a faint glow tinge the sickly wan; She saw his eyes through teardrops raise To heaven their look of silent praise, And hopes fresh touch undoing lines of care Which stress of evil times had deeply graven there. Mean while, the joy of sympathy to trace Upon her innocent and lovely face Had to the sternest, darkest skeptic given Some love of human kind, some faith in righteous Heaven.
What blessings on her youthful head Were by the grateful patriot shed, (For such he was, good and devoted, And had at risk of life promoted His country's freedom and her faith, Nor reckoning made of worldly skathe,) How warm, confiding, and sincere, He gave to her attentive ear The answer which her cautious sire Did to his secret note require:- How after this with 'quiries kind, He ask'd for all she left behind
In Redbraes' tower, her native dwelling, And set her artless tongue a-telling, Which urchin dear had tallest grown, Of lesson, sermon, psalm, and note, And which the greatest learning shown, And Sabbath questions learnt by rote, And merry tricks and gambols play'd By evening fire, and forfeits paid,-
I will not here rehearse, nor will I say, How, on that bless'd and long-remember'd day, The prisoner's son, deserving such a sire, First saw the tiny maid, and did admire, That one so young, and wise, and good, and fair, Should be an earthly thing that breathed this nether air.
E'en let my reader courteously suppose,
Who art thou, damsel sweet? are not mine eyes That from this visit happier days arose ;
"No; from the Redbraes' tower I come ; My father is Sir Patrick Hume; And he has sent me for thy good, His dearly honour'd Jerviswood.
Long have I round these walls been straying As if with other children playing; Long near the gate have kept my watch The sentry's changing time to catch.
Suppose the prisoner from his thraldom freed, And with our lay proceed.
The damsel, glad her mission'd task was done Back to her home long since had blithely gone; And there remain'd, a meek and duteous child Where useful toil, with play between, And pastime on the sunny green,
The weeks and months of passing years beguiled.
Scotland the while convulsive lay
Beneath a hateful tyrant's sway;
For James's bigot mind th' ascendant gain'd, And fiercely raged blind ruthless power;
While men, who true to conscience' voice remain'd, Were forced in caves and dens to cower; Bereft of home, or hold, or worldly wealth, Upon the bleak and blasted heath,
Pleased had you been to have beheld, Like fire-sparks from the stricken stone, Like sunbeams on the raindrop thrown, The kindling eye of sweet Griseld, When thus her mother spoke, for known Was his retreat to her alone.
The wary dame to none beside The dangerous secret might confide.
They sang their glorious Maker's praise by stealth, "O fear not, mother! I will go, Th' inclement sky beneath.
And some were forced to flee their native land, Or in the grated prison's gloom,
Dealt to them by corruption's hateful hand, Abide their fatal doom.
And there our former thrall, the good, The firm, the gentle Jerviswood Again was pent with sickness worn, Watching each pulse's feebler beat Which promised, ere the fated morn, The scaffold of its prey to cheat.
And now that patriot's ancient, faithful friend, Our maiden's sire, must to the tempest bend.
He too must quit his social hearth, The place where cheerful friends resort, And travellers rest and children sport, To lay him on the mouldering earth; Through days of lonely gloom to rest his head With them, who, in those times unblest, Alone had sure and fearless rest, The still, the envied dead.
Sad was his hiding place, I ween,
A fearful place, where sights had been, Full oft, by the benighted rustic seen; Ay, elrich forms in sheeted white, Which, in the waning moonlight blast, Pass by, nor shadow onward cast, Like any earthly wight;
A place, where midnight lights had shone Through charnel windows, and the glancing Of wandering flame, on church-path lone, Betray'd the hour when fiends and hags were dancing, Or to their vigil foul with trooping haste advancing. A place, whose gate with weeds o'ergrown, Hemlock and dock of deep dull green, That climbing rank the lintels screen, What time the moon is riding high
The very hounds went cowering by,
Or watch'd afar with howling moan;
Nor quick nor dead shall daunt me; no; Nor witch-fires, dancing in the dark, Nor owlet's shriek, not watch-dog's bark, For I will think, the while, I do God's blessed will. I'll be his active Brownie sprite,
To bring him needful food, and share his lonely night."
And she, ere stroke of midnight bell, Did bound her for that dismal cell; And took that haunted, fearful way Which, till that hour, in twilight gray She never by herself had past, Or e'en athwart its copse-wood cast A hasty glance, for dread of seeing The form of some unearthly being. But now, far other forms of fear To her sacred sight appear,
And, like a sudden fit of ague, move her; The stump of some old, blasted tree,
Or upright stone, or colt broke free
To range at will the dewy lea,
Seem lurking spy or rustic lover,
Who may, e'en through the dark, her secret drift discover.
She pauses oft.-"What whispers near? The babbling burn sounds in my ear. Some hasty form the pathway crosses :- "Tis but a branch the light wind tosses. What thing is that by churchyard gate, That seems like spearman tall to wait? 'Tis but the martyr's slender stone Which stands so stately and alone:
Why should I shrink? why should I fear?
The vault's black door is near." And she with icy fingers knock'd, And heard with joy the door unlock'd,
And felt the yawning fence give way,
As deep and harsh the sounding hinges bray.
For brutes, 'tis said, will see what meets no human But to describe their tender meeting,
You well may guess his faithful wife A heart of heavy cheer had then, Listening her household's hum of life, And thinking of his silent den.
"O! who will to that vault of death, At night's still watch repair, The dark and chilly sky beneath, And needful succour bear?
Many his wants, who bideth lonely there!"
Tears shed unseen, affection utter'd In broken words, and blessings mutter'd, With many a kiss and kindly greeting, I know not; would my feeble skill Were meeter yokemate to my will!
Then from the struck flint flew the spark, And lighted taper, faint and small, Gave out its dun rays through the dark, On vaulted roof and crusted wall:
On stones reversed in crumbling mould, And blacken'd poles of bier decay'd That lumbering on the ground were laid; On sculptured wrecks, defaced and old, And shreds of painted 'scutcheons torn Which once, in pointed lozenge spread, The pillar'd church aloft had worn; While new-swept nook and lowly bed, Strange sight in such a place!
Betray'd a piteous case,—
And could there be in lovers meeting More powerful chords to move the mind, Fond heart to heart responsive beating, Than in that tender hour, pure, pious love entwined.
Thus, night succeeding night, her love Did its unwearied nature prove,
Tender and fearless; till, obscured by crimes, Again so darkly lower'd the changeful times,
Man from man's converse torn, the living with the That her good sire, though shut from light of day,
The basket's store of viands and bread, Produced with looks of kind inviting, Her hands with busy kindness spread; And he her kindly care requiting, Fell to with thanks and relish keen, Nodded and quaff'd her health between,
Might in that lowly den no longer stay.
From Edinbrough town a courier came, And round him flock'd the castle's dame, Children and servants, young and old. "What news? what news? thy visage sad Betrays too plainly tidings bad."
And so it did; alas! sad was the tale he told.
While she his glee return'd, her smiles with tears" From the oppressor's deadly hate
No lordling at his banquet rare
E'er tasted such delicious fare;
No beauty on her silken seat,
With lover kneeling at her feet,
Good Jerviswood has met his fate Upon the lofty scaffold, where
He bore himself with dauntless air; Albeit, with mortal sickness spent, Upon a woman's arm he leant.
E'er wept and smiled by turns with smiles so fondly From earth to heaven at yestere'en he went."
But soon youth's buoyant, gladsome nature, Spreads joy unmix'd o'er every feature, As she her tale is archly telling Of feuds within their busy dwelling, While, round the savoury table sitting, She gleans his meal, the rest unwitting, How she, their open eyes deceiving, So dexterous has become in thieving. She tells, how of some trifle prating, She stirs them all to keen debating, While into napkin'd lap she's sliding Her portion, oft renew'd, and hiding, Beneath the board, her store; amazing Her jealous Frere, oft on her gazing. Then with his voice and eager eye, She speaks in harmless mimickry. "Mother! was e'er the like beheld? Some wolf possesses our Griseld; She clears her dish, as I'm a sinner! Like ploughman at his new-year's dinner."
And what each urchin, one by one, Had best in sport or lesson done,
She fail'd not to repeat;
Though sorry tales they might appear To a fastidious critic's ear, They were to him most sweet.
But they must part till o'er the sky Night cast again her sable dye; For ah! her term is almost over! How fleetly hath it flown! As fleetly as with tristed lover
The stealthy hour is gone.
In silence deep the listeners stood, An instant horror chill'd their blood. The lady groan'd, and turn'd aside Her fears and troubled thoughts to hide. The children wept, then went to play; The servants cried "Awaladay!" But O! what inward sights, which borrow The forms that are not, changing still, Like shadows on a broken rill,
Were blended with our damsel's sorrow! Those lips, those eyes so sweetly mild, That bless'd her as a humble child; The block in sable, deadly trim, The kneeling form, the headsman grim, The sever'd head with life-blood streaming,- Were ever 'thwart her fancy gleaming. Her father, too, in perilous state,
He may be seized, and like his friend Upon the fatal scaffold bend.
May Heaven preserve him still from such a dreadful end!
And then she thought, if this must be, Who, honour'd sire, will wait on thee, And serve thy wants with decent pride, Like Baillie's kinswoman, subduing fear With fearless love, thy last sad scene to cheer, E'en on the scaffold standing by thy side?
A friend like his, dear father, thou shalt have, To serve thee to the last, and linger round thy grave. XXV.
Her father then, who narrowly With life escaped, was forced to fly His dangerous home, a home no more, And cross the sea. A friendly shore Received the fugitive, and there, Like prey broke from the spoiler's snare,
To join her hapless lord, the dame With all her numerous family came; And found asylum, where th' opprest Of Scotland's patriot sons had rest, Like sea fowl clustering in the rock To shun some rising tempest's shock. XXVI.
But said I all the family? no: Word incorrect! it was not so: For one, the youngest child, confined With fell disease, was left behind; While certain things, as thus by stealth They fled, regarding worldly wealth Of much import, were left undone; And who will now that peril run, Again to visit Scotland's shore, From whence they did in fear depart, And to each parent's yearning heart The darling child restore?
And who did for affection's sake This task of peril undertake? O! who but she, whose bosom swell'd With feelings high, whose self-devotion Follow'd each generous, strong emotion, The young, the sweet, the good, the brave Griseld. XXVIII.
Yes; she again cross'd o'er the main, And things of moment left undone, Though o'er her head had scarcely run Her nineteenth year, no whit deluded By wily fraud, she there concluded, And bore the youngling to its home again.
But when she reach'd the Belgian strand, Hard was her lot. Fast fell the rain, And there lay many miles of land, A stranger's land, ere she might gain The nearest town. With hardship crost, The wayward child its shoes had lost; Their coin was spent, their garments light, And dark and dreary was the night. Then like some gipsy girl on desert moor, Her helpless charge upon her back she bore. Who then had guess'd that figure slight, So bending in such humble plight, Was one of proud and gentle race, Possessing all that well became
Th' accomplish'd maid or high-born dame, Befitting princely hall or monarch's court to grace?
XXXI. And well, with ready hand and heart, Each task of toilsome duty taking, Did one dear inmate play her part, The last asleep, the earliest waking. Her hands each nightly couch prepared, And frugal meal on which they fared: Unfolding spread the servet white, And deck'd the board with tankard bright. Through fretted hose and garment rent, Her tiny needle deftly went, Till hateful penury, so graced, Was scarcely in their dwelling traced. With reverence to the old she clung, With sweet affection to the young. To her was crabbed lesson said, To her the sly petition made, To her was told each petty care; By her was lisp'd the tardy prayer, What time the urchin, half undrest And half asleep, was put to rest.
There is a sight all hearts beguiling.- A youthful mother to her infant smiling, Who, with spread arms and dancing feet, And cooing voice, returns its answer sweet. Who does not love to see the grandame mild, Lesson with yearning looks the listening child? But 'tis a thing of saintlier nature, Amidst her friends of pigmy stature, To see the maid in youth's fair bloom, A guardian sister's charge assume, And, like a touch of angel's bliss, Receive from each its grateful kiss. To see them, when their hour of love is past, Aside their grave demeanour cast. With her in mimic war they wrestle; Beneath her twisted robe they nestle; Upon her glowing cheek they revel, Low bended to their tiny level; While oft, her lovely neck bestriding Crows some arch imp, like huntsman riding. This is a sight the coldest heart may feel;-
To make down rugged cheeks the kindly tear to steal.
But when the toilsome sun was set, And evening groups together met, (For other strangers shelter'd there Would seek with them to lighten care,) Her feet still in the dance moved lightest, Her eye with merry glance beam❜d brightest, Her braided locks were coil'd the neatest, Her carol song was thrill'd the sweetest ; And round the fire, in winter cold, No archer tale than hers was told.
O! spirits gay, and kindly heart! Precious the blessings ye impart ! Though all unwittingly the while, Ye make the pining exile smile, And transient gladness charm his pain, Who ne'er shall see his home again. Ye make the stern misanthrope's brow With tint of passing kindness glow,
And age spring from his elbow-chair The sport of lightsome glee to share. Thus did our joyous maid bestow Her beamy soul on want and wo; While proud, poor men, in threadbare suit, Frisk'd on the floor with lightsome foot, And from her magic circle chase The fiends that vex the human race.
And do not, gentle reader, chide, If I record her harmless pride, Who sacrificed the hours of sleep, Some show of better times to keep; That, though as humble soldier dight,
A stripling brother might more trimly stand With pointed cuff and collar white,
Like one of gentler race mix'd with a homelier band. And in that band of low degree Another youth of gentle blood
Was found, who late had cross'd the sea, The son of virtuous Jerviswood, Who did as common sentry wait Before a foreign prince's gate. And if his eye, oft on the watch, One look of sweet Griseld might catch, It was to him no dull nor irksome state. XXXVI.
And thus some happy years stole by; Adversity with virtue mated, Her state of low obscurity,
Set forth but as deep shadows, fated
By Heaven's high will to make the light
Of future skies appear more bright.
And with those worthies, 'twas a happy doom Right fairly earn'd, embark'd, Sir Patrick Hume. Their fleet, though long at sea, and tempest-tost, In happy hour at last arrived on England's coast. XXXIX.
Meantime his dame and our fair maid Still on the coast of Holland stay'd, With anxious and misgiving minds, Listening the sound of warring winds: The ocean rose with deafening roar, And beat upon the trembling shore, Whilst breakers dash'd their whitening spray O'er mound and dyke with angry bray,
As if it would ingulf again
The land once rescued from its wild domain.
Oft on the beach our damsel stood
Midst groups of many a fearful wight, Who view'd, like her, the billowy flood,
Silent and sad, with visage shrunk and white, While bloated corse and splinter'd mast, And bale and cask on shore were cast,- A sad and rueful sight!
But when, at the Almighty will, The tempest ceased, and sea was still, From Britain's isle glad tidings came, Received with loud and long acclaim.
But joy appears with shrouded head To those who sorrow o'er the dead; For, struck with sore disease, while there They tarried pent in noisome air,
And thus, at lowest ebb, man's thoughts are oft The sister of her heart, whom she
He deems not that the very struggle
Of active virtue, and the war
She bravely holds with present ill,
Sustain'd by hope, does by the skill
Of some conceal'd and happy juggle,
Had watch'd and tended lovingly,
Like blighted branch whose blossoms fade, That day was in her coffin laid.
She heard the chimed bells loudly ringing, She heard the caroll'd triumph singing, And clamorous throng, and shouting boys,
Become itself the good which yet seems distant far. And thought how vain are human joys!
So, when their lamp of fortune burn'd
With brightest ray, our worthies turn'd,
A recollection, fondly bent,
Howbeit, her grief at length gives way To happier thoughts, as dawns the day
On these, their happiest years, in humble dwelling When her kind parent and herself depart, spent.
At length the sky, so long with clouds o'ercast, Unveil'd its cope of azure hue, And gave its fair expanse to view ;- The pelting storm of tyranny was past.
For he, the prince of glorious memory, The prince, who shall, as passing ages fly, Be blest; whose wise, enlighten'd, manly mind, E'en when but with a stripling's years combined, Had with unyielding courage oft contended For Europe's freedom,-for religion, blended With just, forbearing charity, and all
To man most dear;-now, at the honour'd call Of Britain's patriot sons, the ocean plough'd With gallant fleet, encompass'd by a crowd Of soldiers, statesmen, souls of proof, who vow'd Firm by his side to stand, let good or ill befall.
In royal Mary's gentle train,
To join, ere long, the dearest to her heart,
In their own native land again.
They soon their own fair island hail'd,
As on the rippling sea they sail'd. Ye well may guess their joyful cry, With upraised hands and glistening eye, When, rising from the ocean blue, Her chalky cliffs first met their view, Whose white verge on th' horizon rear'd, Like wall of noonday clouds appear'd.
These ye may guess, for well the show And outward signs of joy we know. But cease we on this theme to dwell, For pen or pencil cannot tell
The thrill of keen delight from which they flow. Such moments of ecstatic pleasure Are fancy's fairest, brightest treasure,
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