Wild Flowers | Page 9

things vex'd,?Till with one mingled caw above his head,?Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread,?The rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up;?He guess'd the cause, and down he set the cup,?And listening, heard, amidst the general hum,?A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"--?Soon Herbert's cheerful voice was heard above,?Amidst the rustling hand-maids of his love,?And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread,?The broad oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread;?Light tript the party, gay as gay could be,?Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he!?And with a look that guilt could ne'er withstand,?Approach'd his niece and caught her by the hand,
Anger disarmed.
"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no??Tell me at once, before I let you go!"?Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing,?But the same moment felt the wedding ring,?And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th' empassion'd tear,?"I am, I am; but is my father here?"?Herbert stood by, and sharing with his bride,?That perturbation which she strove to hide;?"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time,?Indeed here's not the shadow of a crime;?But where's your brother? When did you arrive??We waited long, for Nathan went at five!"
All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek:?He knew not what to think, nor how to speak.?The case was this; that Nathan with a cart?To fetch them both at day-break was to start,
An Explanation.
And so he did--but ere he could proceed,?He suck'd a charming portion with a reed,?Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day?To make the hearts of all the village gay;?Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall,?And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all;?Till growing giddy with his morning cup.?He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up;?The horse graz'd soberly without mishap,?And Nathan had a most delightful nap?For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke,?Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke,?With double haste perform'd just half his part,?And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart:?And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high,?And while young Herbert waited his reply,
A general Meeting.
The sound of rattling wheels was at the door;?"There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more,?The bridegroom glided like an arrow down,?And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown,?With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs?They bore old John in triumph up the stairs:?Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check,?Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck,?And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard,?And marvelling at virtue's rich reward,?Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before,?Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor!?They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why,?But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye?The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears,?And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears;
Gilbert put upon his Defense.
Around the uncle in a ring they came,?And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame.?"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true?What meant this cudgel? What was it to do??I know your heart suspected me of wrong,?And that most true affection urg'd along?Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside?Till now the rightful guardian of the bride.?But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case,?Or else to day you had not seen my face,?But John about the girl was so perplex'd,?And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd,?That when he broke this crutch, and stampt and cried,?For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died,?I know I could; for she was such a child,?So tractable, so sensible, and mild,
The plain Truth.
That if between you roguery had grown,?(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own;?She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came?And had you only sought to blast her fame,?Been base enough to act as hundreds would,?And ruin a poor maid--because you could,?With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown)?An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down."
A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall,?And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all,?Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control?The sweet unbridled transport of her soul?Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss?Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss.
Mirth and Reconciliation.
"Welcome, my friends; good Gilbert, here's my hand;?Eat, drink, or rest, they're all at your command:?And whatsoever pranks the rest may play,?Still you shall be the hero of to-day,?Doubts might torment, and blunders may have teaz'd,?But ale can cure them; let us all be pleas'd.?Thou, venerable man, let me defend?The father of my new dear bosom friend;?You broke your crutch, well, well, worse luck might be,?I'll be your crutch, John Meldrum, lean on me,?And when your lovely daughter shall complain,?Send Gilbert's wooden argument again.?If still you wonder that I take a wife?From the unpolish'd walks of humble life,?I'll tell you on what ground my love began,?And let the wise confute it if they can.?I saw a girl, with nature's untaught grace,?Turn from my gaze a most engaging face;
Herbert's Apology.
I saw her drop the tear, I knew full well?She