CHAPTER V.
I had received several letters from my parents since my return; they were both well, and urged me to procure a furlough and go home to see them. It was some time before I could accomplish this; but at length it was effected, and having taken a seat on the coach, I set off on my journey home. On reaching Dublin Iluckily found a vessel prepared to sail for Irvine, and securing a passage, I embarked next morning. The wind being favourable, we set sail, and were soon fairly in the Channel, holding on our course; the breeze continued steady all that day, and by night we had run a long way down the coast.
Feeling little inclination to sleep, about midnight I came on deck. Considering the season of the year, it was a delightful night: the moon shed her silver radiance o’er reposing nature, like the smile of a fond mother over her sleeping infant, and as I gazed on her, sailing through the blue expanse of heaven, with her attendant train of myriads of sparkling orbs, I felt my mind soar beyond this earth and all its concerns.
Who ever gazed upon them shining,And turned to earth without repining,Nor wished for wings to fly away,And mix in their eternal ray.
Who ever gazed upon them shining,And turned to earth without repining,Nor wished for wings to fly away,And mix in their eternal ray.
Who ever gazed upon them shining,And turned to earth without repining,Nor wished for wings to fly away,And mix in their eternal ray.
Who ever gazed upon them shining,
And turned to earth without repining,
Nor wished for wings to fly away,
And mix in their eternal ray.
While I leaned over the ship’s bow, watching the moonbeams dancing on the glassy bosom of the deep—my ear soothed with the rippling of the vessel, as she urged her way through the waters,—I felt as if shut out from the world, and emancipated from its laws and control. At sea is the place for reflection and contemplation—there the memory, as if secure in her privacy, unlocks and draws forth her secret treasures, and broods over them with miser care.
Before me the softened outline of the distant coast of Scotland could be seen, its rugged points bursting through the gauzy film with which they were enveloped; but the well known rock of Ailsa stood forth in bold relief, its giant mass towering proudly above the waves, alike defying their fury and the hand of time. The sight of that rock, which the emigrant associates with the farewell to his country, called forth in my bosom a tide of recollections. When I last saw it, I was returning as now, from one of my wild adventures in search of happiness and fame; the result of both were nearly equal—misery and disappointment; the last,however, had been the most severe lesson, and I was now, like the prodigal son, retracing my way from a far country, where I had been glad, literally, to feed on the husks which formed the food of the swine. My past life glided in review before my mind, and I could not help exclaiming, What a fool have I been? I have bartered every privilege which was my birthright, in the pursuit of wild and vain dreams of renown and happiness. Setting aside the misery and hardship I have endured, has not the last six years of my life been a blank? That period of time employed in my education at home, what might I not have been? but my doom is fixed, I have sealed it myself—there was distraction in the thought.
That day I landed at Irvine, and resolved to pursue my journey homeward without stopping. As I travelled along, I felt that tumultuous fluttering and overflowing of the heart, and buoyancy of tread, which every sensitive being must have felt on re-visiting the land of his birth, after years of separation from all that was dear to him. The sun was setting when I reached the wood of Curcarth. It had been the haunt of many of my childish wanderings; there I had often roved, unconscious of where I was going. My soul, awed with the deep shade that the trees cast around, I trod as if on holy ground, while the ceaseless hum of its insect inhabitants, mingled with the wail of the cushat, cherished the deep pensive feeling which the scene had excited in my bosom. It was here that I first learned to commune with my own heart, and my imagination first soared into the realms of faëry. Near its margin was the stream, on whose banks I have lain listening to its murmuring, my gaze fixed on the world, portrayed in its transparent bosom so beautiful, so bright, I could scarcely believe it was not some world of spirituality, some realm of bliss. The scene was changed—winter had stripped it of all its attractions—the blast howled through the leafless trees—and the stream that had meandered so sweetly through the verdant plain, was now roaring down its channel with impetuous force.The scene was changed; but he who looked on it was not less so.
Morning of life! too soon o’ercast,Young days of bliss, too dear to lose;Ah! whither have thy visions pastThat brighten’d all my childish views?For never yet when poets muse,Or maidens dream in bowers alone,Were glorious visions more profuse,Ah! whither have those visions gone?[17]
Morning of life! too soon o’ercast,Young days of bliss, too dear to lose;Ah! whither have thy visions pastThat brighten’d all my childish views?For never yet when poets muse,Or maidens dream in bowers alone,Were glorious visions more profuse,Ah! whither have those visions gone?[17]
Morning of life! too soon o’ercast,Young days of bliss, too dear to lose;Ah! whither have thy visions pastThat brighten’d all my childish views?For never yet when poets muse,Or maidens dream in bowers alone,Were glorious visions more profuse,Ah! whither have those visions gone?[17]
Morning of life! too soon o’ercast,
Young days of bliss, too dear to lose;
Ah! whither have thy visions past
That brighten’d all my childish views?
For never yet when poets muse,
Or maidens dream in bowers alone,
Were glorious visions more profuse,
Ah! whither have those visions gone?[17]
I was roused from one of memory’s sweetest dreams, by the distant sound of bells—they were those of my native city—I had often heard them at the same hour—they spoke of wo, devotion, and joy, and scenes long gone by. In this softened state of feeling I entered the town, and, heedless of the throng, I hurried on to the home of my parents—reached the house—threw myself into their arms, and the first tumult of feeling over, I sat at the fireside, with my father on the one side, and my mother at the other, gazing affectionately upon me, while I talked of all I had seen, and all I had felt.
Being tired after my journey, my mother suggested the propriety of my going to rest; and the tender hand that had often smoothed my pillow, again performed that office. I could not help comparing my situation with the nights that I had lain exposed to the storm, with the cold earth for my bed; and I felt a lively impulse of gratitude—worth a thousand formal prayers—to the Divine Being, who had watched over, and protected me through every danger, and brought me in safety back to my home and my parents.
While my mind was occupied in these reflections, my mother again entered my chamber to see if I wanted anything. ‘Are you asleep, Joseph’—my eyes were shut, and I did not reply. She stood over me with the light in her hand gazing on my weather-beaten countenance. ‘My poor wanderer!’ she ejaculated, ‘whatmust you have endured since I last saw you. Danger and death has surrounded you, fatigue and hunger attended your steps; but yet you have been kindly dealt with, mercifully preserved. I return thee thanks, thou Almighty giver of every good, for thy bounteous mercy to my poor boy—O guide him to thyself!’ She stooped to kiss my forehead—her warm tears fell upon my face—my emotions became too strong for concealment, and afraid that she had disturbed my sleep, she softly left the room.
Those who have felt the rude storms of adversity, and the endearing kindness of a mother, will appreciate my feelings on this occasion.
FOOTNOTES:[17]This expression of my feelings may appear, to some, like bombast or affected feeling—I care not. I appeal to those who have felt an enthusiastic love of nature; if it touches a responding chord in their bosoms, I am satisfied.
[17]This expression of my feelings may appear, to some, like bombast or affected feeling—I care not. I appeal to those who have felt an enthusiastic love of nature; if it touches a responding chord in their bosoms, I am satisfied.
[17]This expression of my feelings may appear, to some, like bombast or affected feeling—I care not. I appeal to those who have felt an enthusiastic love of nature; if it touches a responding chord in their bosoms, I am satisfied.