| |
| FAR from the world, its pleasures and its strife, | |
| The good St. Aubin passed his tranquil life; | |
| Deep in a glen the rural mansion rose, | |
| And half an acre spann’d its modest close; | |
| Just by the door a living streamlet roll’d, | 5 |
| Whose pebbly bottom gleam’d with sandy gold, | |
| There first the woodlark hail’d propitious spring, | |
| The humming insect dipp’d his glossy wing, | |
| The branching elms in ancient grandeur spread, | |
| Inweaved with myrtles near its babbling head. | 10 |
| Behind, vast mountains closed the wondrous view, | |
| Hung o’er the horizon veil’d in hazy blue, | |
| Save when the shutting eve mid vapors hoar | |
| Roll’d its last gleams their woody summits o’er; | |
| And, seen at distance, through some opening brake | 15 |
| Transparent brightness lit the neighboring lake. | |
| —Scenes, where Salvator’s soul had joy’d to climb | |
| Mid wilds abrupt, and images sublime, | |
| Or caught with kindling glance the bold designs, | |
| Where horror’s form on beauty’s lap reclines. | 20 |
| Meek was St. Aubin’s soul, his gentle air, | |
| Spoke to the searching glance the man of care; | |
| Unlike the giant oak, which propp’d on high, | |
| Looks o’er the storm, and dares its bolts defy, | |
| But as the humbler reed, whose pliant train | 25 |
| Bend to the breeze, and rise to bloom again. | |
| His ready smile relieved the welcome poor, | |
| Who throng’d with daily joy his opening door; | |
| Unskill’d by worldly arts the soul to scan, | |
| His social nature loved the race of man; | 30 |
| Nor sought by godly rites religious praise, | |
| More pleased to pay obeisance, than to raise; | |
| Nor wish’d the book-taught lore, whose schemes confined | |
| To one small spot the charities of mind. | |
| Let the vain Levite pass the other side | 35 |
| In courtly pomp, in dull, official pride, | |
| His proffer’d alms the wandering stranger found, | |
| Wine for his heart, and ointment for his wound; | |
| The cheer reply, the scholar’s modest jest, | |
| In want a shelter, and a home for rest. | 40 |
| One darling daughter claim’d the good man’s care, | |
| Gay, as the lark, but scarce more gay than fair; | |
| Light were the sportive locks, whose curls profuse | |
| Hung o’er her neck in native wildness loose; | |
| Blue were the speaking eyes, whose bended lash | 45 |
| Half hid and half betray’d a fluttering flash; | |
| Health’s glowing rose, in shadow’d lustre sleek, | |
| Diffused its virgin blush o’er either cheek; | |
| Love in her form the bright perfection traced, | |
| Yet dress’d the model, still to nature chaste; | 50 |
| No sober tricks, no mawkish whims confined | |
| Her lively ease, her innocence of mind; | |
| A parent’s taste, each pure refinement taught, | |
| And fix’d the polish, when it form’d the thought, | |
| To fancy’s lustre lent the touch of art, | 55 |
| And gave the judgment force to guide the heart. | |
| Up with the morn the hermit skimm’d the dew, | |
| And through the echoing woods his shrill horn blew; | |
| At noon well pleased beside some rippling stream | |
| Wove blameless fiction’s legendary dream, | 60 |
| Or, lull’d to peace, with curious love pursued | |
| The courteous muse through every changing mood, | |
| Wept at her woes, of many a tear beguiled, | |
| And felt her joys, and acted o’er the child. | |
| But when the curfew toll’d the hour of rest, | 65 |
| And eve’s fine blush imbued the glowing west, | |
| Beneath a shadowy bower, with myrtles crown’d, | |
| His moral lectures constant audience found. | |
| Charm’d to his knees his cheerful infant came | |
| To lisp with trembling voice a father’s name, | 70 |
| Rehearsed her early task, and pleased awhile | |
| With earnest sweetness drew his anxious smile. | |
| There too in riper age the artless Jane | |
| Pour’d in wild tones her melancholy strain, | |
| Or touch’d the lute with many a pensive air, | 75 |
| Or breath’d her grateful soul in thanks and prayer; | |
| Such holy rites the good man loved to keep, | |
| Till praise and blessing brought the hour of sleep. | |
| Well may remembrance love the favor’d day | |
| My truant footsteps chance to pass that way, | 80 |
| When on his door-stone sat the sage and told, | |
| How mind and sense their gradual powers unfold; | |
| Then higher raised the moral pleasures traced, | |
| Whose touch harmonious charms the nascent taste, | |
| With love and rapture warms the poet’s page, | 85 |
| Or moulds to deeds divine a slothful age; | |
| And thence, as holier purpose fired his soul, | |
| Sung the First Cause, whose wisdom form’d the whole. | |
| The while he spoke, methought his spirit shed | |
| Some heavenly dew of mingled hope and dread; | 90 |
| Mysterious influence seem’d to haunt the shade, | |
| And round his face transfiguring brightness play’d. | |
| But all is past, and scarce the eye can trace | |
| One ruin’d monument of former grace. | |
| Short is the tale, nor power, nor harsh disdain, | 95 |
| With lordly triumph grasp’d his small domain, | |
| Nor base seduction lured by syren charms | |
| His rifled treasure from a father’s arms: | |
| Heaven frown’d severe, its awful mandate sent, | |
| And claim’d the darling hope its bounty lent. | 100 |
| Beside the couch, where Jane expiring lay, | |
| The hermit knelt, and prayed, or seem’d to pray, | |
| Dim were his eyes, with anxious vigils worn, | |
| Yet spoke a soul with no harsh tumults torn; | |
| E’en in the agonies of dumb despair, | 105 |
| Devotion’s smile was seen and cherish’d there: | |
| And, as the lingering powers of life decayed, | |
| Faith beam’d her radiance through the deepening shade, | |
| With firm reliance drank the parting breath, | |
| Kiss’d the pale lips, and closed the eyes in death. | 110 |
| Through brighter realms the unbodied cherub sought, | |
| Realms pure in bliss beyond the soar of thought. | |
| Slow through the narrow path, by misery worn, | |
| Pass’d the veil’d corpse, in shrouded silence borne; | |
| No vain parade, no courtly pageant spread | 115 |
| Their sickly honors round the virgin dead; | |
| Strew’d o’er the bier some vernal flowers were seen, | |
| And here and there a sweet briar fell between. | |
| The father came in sorrow’s holiest gloom, | |
| His raised eye fix’d on hopes beyond the tomb, | 120 |
| Still, as the tempest, hush’d in dread suspense, | |
| Yet mild, as twilight greets the wakening sense; | |
| No mutter’d groans, no stifled anguish shook | |
| His meek repose, his calm, unalter’d look, | |
| Save, when the ritual closed its sainted strain, | 125 |
| And o’er the coffin roll’d the earth again, | |
| One lingering tear, that seem’d the man to speak, | |
| With briny lustre trickled down his cheek, | |
| One lingering tear was all his spirit gave, | |
| Then bow’d a last farewell, and left the grave! | 130 |
| Yet had not memory lost her soothing art, | |
| Nor fancy closed her empire in the heart: | |
| When up the groves unclouded moonlight stream’d | |
| At the lone hour, to goblins sacred deem’d, | |
| When sober day, mid vapory glooms descried, | 135 |
| Shot its faint crimson round at eventide, | |
| Oft would he rove some mountain’s brow along, | |
| And pour in shatter’d tones his plaintive song; | |
| Kiss the stray flowers, which dress’d the streamlet’s marge, | |
| Or row athwart the lake his aged barge; | 140 |
| And when some spot, where Jane was wont to roam | |
| Some favorite pastime call’d his spirit home, | |
| If once a sigh his heaving bosom press’d, | |
| His trust in heaven was all that sigh express’d. | |
| Oft would he trim his wintry hearth, and court | 145 |
| Remember’d scenes of pleasantry and sport, | |
| Mark, where the lute secured its dusty place, | |
| The needled landscape on the wainscot trace, | |
| The quaint remark, the evening task review, | |
| And chase the fleeting shades, and dream anew. | 150 |
| Nor smile, ye proud, if thoughts, like these, engage | |
| The friendless soul in melancholy age, | |
| More sweet, than all the hymns of active joy, | |
| One moment sacred to this chaste employ, | |
| One pious hour, to moral musing given, | 155 |
| Its relish truth, its harmonies from heaven! | |
| And, as the hapless wretch, by storms o’ercast, | |
| Clings, shuddering clings him, to the fatal mast, | |
| So hope and love, yet buoyant on the wave, | |
| Shall snatch their relics from the ravenous grave, | 160 |
| And most, as life recedes, with fond alarms | |
| Fold the dear types immortal in their arms. | |
| Near where a cypress shades the lonely heath, | |
| Long has St. Aubin slept the sleep of death; | |
| O’er the rude hillock waves the rank grass high, | 165 |
| And moans the wild blast, as it hurtles by: | |
| One simple stone, with village rhymes bedight, | |
| Just tells the tale to every passing wight, | |
| And bids his drooping soul aspire to raise | |
| Such love in life, in death such honest praise. | 170 |
| |
