Miscellaneous Poems | Page 5

command might be.
The night was dark, the lanes were deep,?And one by one they took their way;?He bade me lay me down and sleep,?I only wept and wish'd for day.
Accursed be the love he bore,?Accursed was the force he used,?So let him of his God implore?For mercy, and be so refused!
You frown again,--to show my wrong?Can I in gentle language speak??My woes are deep, my words are strong, -?And hear me, or my heart will break.
MAGISTRATE.
I hear thy words, I feel thy pain;?Forbear awhile to speak thy woes;?Receive our aid, and then again?The story of thy life disclose.
For, though seduced and led astray,?Thou'st travell'd far and wander'd long;?Thy God hath seen thee all the way,?And all the turns that led thee wrong.
PART II.
Quondam ridentes oculi, nunc fonte perenni?Deplorant poenas nocte dieque suas.
CORNEILLE.

MAGISTRATE.
Come, now again thy woes impart,?Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;?We cannot heal the throbbing heart?Till we discern the wounds within.
Compunction weeps our guilt away,?The sinner's safety is his pain;?Such pangs for our offences pay,?And these severer griefs are gain.
VAGRANT.
The son came back--he found us wed,?Then dreadful was the oath he swore;?His way through Blackburn Forest led, -?His father we beheld no more.
Of all our daring clan not one?Would on the doubtful subject dwell;?For all esteem'd the injured son,?And fear'd the tale which he could tell.
But I had mightier cause for fear,?For slow and mournful round my bed?I saw a dreadful form appear, -?It came when I and Aaron wed.
Yes! we were wed, I know my crime, -?We slept beneath the elmin tree;?But I was grieving all the time,?And Aaron frown'd my tears to see.
For he not yet had felt the pain?That rankles in a wounded breast;?He waked to sin, then slept again,?Forsook his God, yet took his rest.
But I was forced to feign delight,?And joy in mirth and music sought, -?And mem'ry now recalls the night,?With such surprise and horror fraught,?That reason felt a moment's flight,?And left a mind to madness wrought.
When waking, on my heaving breast?I felt a hand as cold as death:?A sudden fear my voice suppress'd,?A chilling terror stopp'd my breath.
I seem'd--no words can utter how!?For there my father-husband stood,?And thus he said: --"Will God allow,?The great Avenger just and Good,?A wife to break her marriage vow??A son to shed his father's blood?"
I trembled at the dismal sounds,?But vainly strove a word to say;?So, pointing to his bleeding wounds,?The threat'ning spectre stalk'd away.
I brought a lovely daughter forth,?His father's child, in Aaron's bed;?He took her from me in his wrath,?"Where is my child?"--"Thy child is dead."
'Twas false--we wander'd far and wide,?Through town and country, field and fen,?Till Aaron, fighting, fell and died,?And I became a wife again.
I then was young: --my husband sold?My fancied charms for wicked price;?He gave me oft for sinful gold,?The slave, but not the friend of vice: -?Behold me, Heaven! my pains behold,?And let them for my sins suffice.
The wretch who lent me thus for gain,?Despised me when my youth was fled;?Then came disease, and brought me pain: -?Come, Death, and bear me to the dead!?For though I grieve, my grief is vain,?And fruitless all the tears I shed.
True, I was not to virtue train'd,?Yet well I knew my deeds were ill;?By each offence my heart was pain'd?I wept, but I offended still;?My better thoughts my life disdain'd,?But yet the viler led my will.
My husband died, and now no more?My smile was sought, or ask'd my hand,?A widow'd vagrant, vile and poor,?Beneath a vagrant's vile command.
Ceaseless I roved the country round,?To win my bread by fraudful arts,?And long a poor subsistence found,?By spreading nets for simple hearts.
Though poor, and abject, and despised,?Their fortunes to the crowd I told;?I gave the young the love they prized,?And promised wealth to bless the old.?Schemes for the doubtful I devised,?And charms for the forsaken sold.
At length for arts like these confined?In prison with a lawless crew,?I soon perceived a kindred mind,?And there my long-lost daughter knew;
His father's child, whom Aaron gave?To wander with a distant clan,?The miseries of the world to brave,?And be the slave of vice and man.
She knew my name--we met in pain;?Our parting pangs can I express??She sail'd a convict o'er the main,?And left an heir to her distress.
This is that heir to shame and pain,?For whom I only could descry?A world of trouble and disdain:?Yet, could I bear to see her die,?Or stretch her feeble hands in vain,?And, weeping, beg of me supply?
No! though the fate thy mother knew?Was shameful! shameful though thy race?Have wander'd all a lawless crew,?Outcasts despised in every place;
Yet as the dark and muddy tide,?When far from its polluted source,?Becomes more pure and purified,?Flows in a clear and happy course;
In thee, dear infant! so may end?Our shame, in thee our sorrows cease,?And thy pure course will then extend,?In floods of joy, o'er vales of peace.
Oh! by