ERE down yon blue Carpathian hillsThe sun shall sink again,Farewell to life and all its ills,Farewell to cell and chain!
These prison shades are dark and cold,But, darker far than they,The shadow of a sorrow oldIs on my heart alway.
For since the day when Warkworth woodClosed o'er my steed, and I,An alien from my name and blood,A weed cast out to die,—
When, looking back in sunset light,I saw her turret gleam,And from its casement, far and white,Her sign of farewell stream,
Like one who, from some desert shore,Doth home's green isles descry,And, vainly longing, gazes o'erThe waste of wave and sky;
So from the desert of my fateI gaze across the past;Forever on life's dial-plateThe shade is backward cast!
I've wandered wide from shore to shore,I've knelt at many a shrine;And bowed me to the rocky floorWhere Bethlehem's tapers shine;
And by the Holy SepulchreI've pledged my knightly swordTo Christ, His blessed Church, and her,The Mother of our Lord.
Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife!How vain do all things seem!My soul is in the past, and lifeTo-day is but a dream.
In vain the penance strange and long,And hard for flesh to bear;The prayer, the fasting, and the thong,And sackcloth shirt of hair.
The eyes of memory will not sleep,Its ears are open still;And vigils with the past they keepAgainst my feeble will.
And still the loves and joys of oldDo evermore uprise;I see the flow of locks of gold,The shine of loving eyes!
Ah me! upon another's breastThose golden locks recline;I see upon another restThe glance that once was mine.
"O faithless priest! O perjured knight!"I hear the Master cry;"Shut out the vision from thy sight,Let Earth and Nature die.
"The Church of God is now thy spouse,And thou the bridegroom art;Then let the burden of thy vowsCrush down thy human heart!"
In vain! This heart its grief must know,Till life itself hath ceased,And falls beneath the self-same blowThe lover and the priest!
O pitying Mother! souls of light,And saints and martyrs old!Pray for a weak and sinful knight,A suffering man uphold.
Then let the Paynim work his will,And death unbind my chain,Ere down yon blue Carpathian hillThe sun shall fall again.1843
CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK. In 1658 two young persons, son and daughter of Lawrence Smithwick of Salem, who had himself been imprisoned and deprived of nearly all his property for having entertained Quakers at his house, were fined for non-attendance at church. They being unable to pay the fine, the General Court issued an order empowering "the Treasurer of the County to sell the said persons to any of the English nation of Virginia or Barbadoes, to answer said fines." An attempt was made to carry this order into execution, but no shipmaster was found willing to convey them to the West Indies.
To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing riseto-day,From the scoffer and the cruel He hath pluckedthe spoil away;Yea, He who cooled the furnace around the faithfulthree,And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set His hand-maid free!Last night I saw the sunset melt through my prisonbars,Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the palegleam of stars;In the coldness and the darkness all through thelong night-time,My grated casement whitened with autumn's earlyrime.Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour creptby;Star after star looked palely in and sank adownthe sky;No sound amid night's stillness, save that whichseemed to beThe dull and heavy beating of the pulses of the sea;
All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on themorrowThe ruler and the cruel priest would mock me inmy sorrow,Dragged to their place of market, and bargainedfor and sold,Like a lamb before the shambles, like a heiferfrom the fold!
Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there, theshrinking and the shame;And the low voice of the Tempter like whispers tome came:"Why sit'st thou thus forlornly," the wickedmurmur said,"Damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thymaiden bed?
"Where be the smiling faces, and voices soft andsweet,Seen in thy father's dwelling, heard in the pleasantstreet?Where be the youths whose glances, the summerSabbath through,Turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew?
"Why sit'st thou here, Cassandra?-Bethink thee with what mirth Thy happy schoolmates gather around the warm bright hearth; How the crimson shadows tremble on foreheads white and fair, On eyes of merry girlhood, half hid in golden hair.
"Not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, not forthee kind words are spoken,Not for thee the nuts of Wenham woods by laughingboys are broken;No first-fruits of the orchard within thy lap arelaid,For thee no flowers of autumn the youthful huntersbraid.
"O weak, deluded maiden!—by crazy fanciesled,With wild and raving railers an evil path to tread;To leave a wholesome worship, and teaching pureand sound,And mate with maniac women, loose-haired andsackcloth bound,—
"Mad scoffers of the priesthood; who mock atthings divine,Who rail against the pulpit, and holy bread andwine;Sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from thepillory lame,Rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorying intheir shame.
"And what a fate awaits thee!—a sadly toilingslave,Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondageto the grave!Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in hopelessthrall,The easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of all!"
Oh, ever as the Tempter spoke, and feeble Nature'sfearsWrung drop by drop the scalding flow of unavailingtears,I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove insilent prayer,To feel, O Helper of the weak! that Thou indeedwert there!
I thought of Paul and Silas, within Philippi's cell,And how from Peter's sleeping limbs the prisonshackles fell,Till I seemed to hear the trailing of an angel'srobe of white,And to feel a blessed presence invisible to sight.
Bless the Lord for all his mercies!—for the peaceand love I felt,Like dew of Hermon's holy hill, upon my spiritmelt;When "Get behind me, Satan!" was the languageof my heart,And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his doubtsdepart.
Slow broke the gray cold morning; again the sunshinefell,Flecked with the shade of bar and grate withinmy lonely cell;The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upwardfrom the streetCame careless laugh and idle word, and tread ofpassing feet.
At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door wasopen cast,And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long streetI passed;I heard the murmur round me, and felt, but darednot see,How, from every door and window, the peoplegazed on me.
And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burned uponmy cheek,Swam earth and sky around me, my tremblinglimbs grew weak:"O Lord! support thy handmaid; and from hersoul cast outThe fear of man, which brings a snare, the weaknessand the doubt."
Then the dreary shadows scattered, like a cloud inmorning's breeze,And a low deep voice within me seemed whisperingwords like these:"Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heavena brazen wall,Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is overall."
We paused at length, where at my feet the sunlitwaters brokeOn glaring reach of shining beach, and shinglywall of rock;The merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard clearlines on high,Tracing with rope and slender spar their networkon the sky.
And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrappedand grave and cold,And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzedand old,And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk athand,Sat dark and haughty Endicott, the ruler of theland.
And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's readyear,The priest leaned o'er his saddle, with laugh andscoff and jeer;It stirred my soul, and from my lips the seal ofsilence broke,As if through woman's weakness a warning spiritspoke.
I cried, "The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of themeek,Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler ofthe weak!Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones,—go turnthe prison lockOf the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolfamid the flock!"
Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with adeeper redO'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush ofanger spread;"Good people," quoth the white-lipped priest,"heed not her words so wild,Her Master speaks within her,—the Devil ownshis child!"
But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, thewhile the sheriff readThat law the wicked rulers against the poor havemade,Who to their house of Rimmon and idol priesthoodbringNo bended knee of worship, nor gainful offering.
Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning,said,—"Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take thisQuaker maid?In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia'sshore,You may hold her at a higher price than Indiangirl or Moor."
Grim and silent stood the captains; and whenagain he cried,"Speak out, my worthy seamen!"—no voice, nosign replied;But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kindwords met my ear,—"God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle girland dear!"
A weight seemed lifted from my heart, a pityingfriend was nigh,—I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in hiseye;And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, sokind to me,Growled back its stormy answer like the roaringof the sea,—
"Pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coinsof Spanish gold,From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage ofher hold,By the living God who made me!—I would soonerin your baySink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this childaway!"
"Well answered, worthy captain, shame on theircruel laws!"Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people'sjust applause."Like the herdsman of Tekoa, in Israel of old,Shall we see the poor and righteous again forsilver sold?"
I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon half-way drawn,Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hateand scorn;Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned insilence back,And sneering priest and baffled clerk rodemurmuring in his track.
Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul; Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment roll. "Good friends," he said, "since both have fled, the ruler and the priest, Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well released."
Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, sweptround the silent bay,As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade mego my way;For He who turns the courses of the streamlet ofthe glen,And the river of great waters, had turned thehearts of men.
Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changedbeneath my eye,A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls ofthe sky,A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream andwoodland lay,And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters ofthe bay.
Thanksgiving to the Lord of life! to Him allpraises be,Who from the hands of evil men hath set his hand-maid free;All praise to Him before whose power the mightyare afraid,Who takes the crafty in the snare which for thepoor is laid!
Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's twilightcalmUplift the loud thanksgiving, pour forth the gratefulpsalm;Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did thesaints of old,When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Petertold.
And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mightymen of wrong,The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His handupon the strong.Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour!Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to ravenand devour!
But let the humble ones arise, the poor in heartbe glad,And let the mourning ones again with robes ofpraise be clad.For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed thestormy wave,And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still tosave!1843.
The following ballad is founded upon one of the marvellous legends connected with the famous General ——, of Hampton, New Hampshire, who was regarded by his neighbors as a Yankee Faust, in league with the adversary. I give the story, as I heard it when a child, from a venerable family visitant.
DARK the halls, and cold the feast,Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest.All is over, all is done,Twain of yesterday are one!Blooming girl and manhood gray,Autumn in the arms of May!
Hushed within and hushed without,Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout;Dies the bonfire on the hill;All is dark and all is still,Save the starlight, save the breezeMoaning through the graveyard trees,And the great sea-waves below,Pulse of the midnight beating slow.
From the brief dream of a brideShe hath wakened, at his side.With half-uttered shriek and start,—Feels she not his beating heart?And the pressure of his arm,And his breathing near and warm?
Lightly from the bridal bedSprings that fair dishevelled head,And a feeling, new, intense,Half of shame, half innocence,Maiden fear and wonder speaksThrough her lips and changing cheeks.
From the oaken mantel glowing,Faintest light the lamp is throwingOn the mirror's antique mould,High-backed chair, and wainscot old,And, through faded curtains stealing,His dark sleeping face revealing.
Listless lies the strong man there,Silver-streaked his careless hair;Lips of love have left no traceOn that hard and haughty face;And that forehead's knitted thoughtLove's soft hand hath not unwrought.
"Yet," she sighs, "he loves me well,More than these calm lips will tell.Stooping to my lowly state,He hath made me rich and great,And I bless him, though he beHard and stern to all save me!"
While she speaketh, falls the lightO'er her fingers small and white;Gold and gem, and costly ringBack the timid lustre fling,—Love's selectest gifts, and rare,His proud hand had fastened there.
Gratefully she marks the glowFrom those tapering lines of snow;Fondly o'er the sleeper bendingHis black hair with golden blending,In her soft and light caress,Cheek and lip together press.
Ha!—that start of horror! whyThat wild stare and wilder cry,Full of terror, full of pain?Is there madness in her brain?Hark! that gasping, hoarse and low,"Spare me,—spare me,—let me go!"
God have mercy!—icy coldSpectral hands her own enfold,Drawing silently from themLove's fair gifts of gold and gem."Waken! save me!" still as deathAt her side he slumbereth.
Ring and bracelet all are gone,And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;But she hears a murmur low,Full of sweetness, full of woe,Half a sigh and half a moan"Fear not! give the dead her own!"
Ah!—the dead wife's voice she knows!That cold hand whose pressure froze,Once in warmest life had borneGem and band her own hath worn."Wake thee! wake thee!" Lo, his eyesOpen with a dull surprise.
In his arms the strong man folds her,Closer to his breast he holds her;Trembling limbs his own are meeting,And he feels her heart's quick beating"Nay, my dearest, why this fear?""Hush!" she saith, "the dead is here!"
"Nay, a dream,—an idle dream."But before the lamp's pale gleamTremblingly her hand she raises.There no more the diamond blazes,Clasp of pearl, or ring of gold,—"Ah!" she sighs, "her hand was cold!"
Broken words of cheer he saith,But his dark lip quivereth,And as o'er the past he thinketh,From his young wife's arms he shrinketh;Can those soft arms round him lie,Underneath his dead wife's eye?
She her fair young head can restSoothed and childlike on his breast,And in trustful innocenceDraw new strength and courage thence;He, the proud man, feels withinBut the cowardice of sin!
She can murmur in her thoughtSimple prayers her mother taught,And His blessed angels call,Whose great love is over all;He, alone, in prayerless pride,Meets the dark Past at her side!
One, who living shrank with dreadFrom his look, or word, or tread,Unto whom her early graveWas as freedom to the slave,Moves him at this midnight hour,With the dead's unconscious power!
Ah, the dead, the unforgot!From their solemn homes of thought,Where the cypress shadows blendDarkly over foe and friend,Or in love or sad rebuke,Back upon the living look.
And the tenderest ones and weakest,Who their wrongs have borne the meekest,Lifting from those dark, still places,Sweet and sad-remembered faces,O'er the guilty hearts behindAn unwitting triumph find.
1843