Sabella;
A METRICAL TALE.
Near twilight, in a forest vast,
Which close tall trees did well adorn;
Surrounded by a heathy waste,
Where rang’d the deer with branched horn.
No marks of culture there were shewn,
But passing Flora, from her lap,
Some borders had profusely strewn
With seeds, and Phœbus nurs’d them up.
An op’ning small the wood divides,
Where runs a riv’let chrystal clear,
And plants and flowers bedeck the sides,
In all its windings far and near.
Off either bank the blast to ward,
Stand the straight oak and comely larch,
The silent pathway’s lofty guard,
Join’d by the sweetly smelling birch.
The falling dew they did imbibe,
Scent, beauty, freshness, to repair;
And on their boughs, a plumy tribe
Pour’d sweetest woodnotes on the air.
Calm was the scene, not e’en a breath
The smallest quiv’ring leaf did shake;
When slowly stepping o’er the heath,
Advanc’d a nymph of graceful make.
When she approach’d to where the rill
Out of a little fountain rose;
’Twas so inviting, soft, and still,
Its devious walk the damsel chose.
Now said she, as she stept along,
This is a favourable place,
To search what in me is so wrong,
And ever robs me of my peace.
My bosom is not torn with spite,
Nor dark revenge, nor fell remorse;
No! what my youthful bloom doth blight,
Arises from another source.
Credulity has been my wreck,
Too easy won by feign’d regard;
Affection whispering, don’t suspect,—
Reflection’s voice was not yet heard.
Long blinded, I did long believe,
Was loath to think his heart so bad,
As with such treachery to deceive,
Then basely slight a trusting maid.
But long neglect has made me own
His fondest vows were only feign’d;
He roves through fields to me unknown,—
Nor one farewell epistle deign’d.
Now to some favourite fair he’ll jest,
And speak of me, with taunting scorn;
Oh! how this weakness I detest,
And yet cannot forbear to mourn.
My heart from every thing around,
Displeas’d, dissatisfied, turns back!
Cease cheerful birds! that echoing sound
Does still my forlorn mind distract.
Thinking herself unseen, unheard,
Aloud her sad complaint began,
When, leaning on his staff, appeared
A venerable aged man.
“Daughter,” he said, “be not alarm’d,
“Pursue your walk, nor tremble so
“At one, by seventy years disarm’d,
“From being a formidable foe.
“I only in the forest stopt,
“As from my work I did retire;
“And these few faded branches lopt,
“A faggot for my lonely fire.”
“By seventy years,” replied the maid,
Whose looks much pity did express—
“And still must work, you sure have had
“Uncommon family distress.”
“Ah! why recall that tender name,”
The old man with a sigh rejoin’d,—
“Forgive me, you are not to blame,
“’Tis never absent from my mind.
“Wouldst thou accompany so old
“A man as I’m to yonder bank,
“Hear his advice, or hist’ry told?”
She said—“for both I would you thank.
“Of good advice I’m much in want,
“Sick of deceitful trifling youth;
“I’ll hear the voice of age intent,
“And lend a willing ear to truth.
“I’ll not inquisitive enquire”—
When seated, thus the sage began:
“The cause why you so much desire
“To wander from th’ abodes of man?
“Amidst the foliage envelop’d,
“This much I both have heard and seen,
“By gestures and expressions dropt,
“Your heart is press’d with anguish keen.
“O! listen then while I relate
“The wasting griefs myself have known,
“Nought interesting to repeat,
“Befell me till to manhood grown.
“I was arrived at age mature,
“Before my honour’d parents died,
“A passion stronger but as pure,
“The place of filial love supplied.
“One night, my day’s employment done,
“In twilight’s pale but soothing reign;
“The busy world I wish’d to shun,
“And sought a long neglected plain.
“The moon arose with cheering rays—
“I walk’d on lighted by the same,
“Where oftentimes in boyish days,
“I with my mother went and came.
“Till by some secret impulse led,
“Near to the margin of a fount,
“Where a neat cottage rais’d its head,
“Of no contemptible account.
“Its owner wealthy was and proud,
“Had been a hero brave in youth;
“His daughter’s praises fame sang loud,
“Nor deviated from the truth.
“Her merits I had oft’ been told;
“Had long esteem’d the lovely maid;
“Another feeling made me bold,
“And I its dictates quick obey’d.
“Struck with a whimsical conceit,
“To try if welcome as a guest,
“I enter’d the half open’d gate.
“Nine times five years have not effac’d
“From memory, the sudden joy
“That then my raptur’d bosom felt.
“An object caught my eager eye,
“On which it long with pleasure dwelt.
“I saw the fair Amelia stand,
“Midst her domestic maidens young;
“Industrious was each busy hand,
“Whilst to her side an orphan clung.”
“Poor little child” she said, “bereft
“Of parents in thy tender years,
“But not an helpless outcast left,
“To break thine heart with sighs and tears.
“No! I will shield from want and cold,
“And teach thee all myself have known;
“Virtue and truth to thee unfold,
“As far as light to me is shewn.”
“She stopt, I hastily retir’d,
“Nor waited for a sentence more;
“Durst not approach what I admir’d,
“But unobserved reach’d the door.
“Went home, but no amusement, then,
“Could from my purpose make me swerve;
“I visited the maid again,
“And told my mind without reserve.
“She heard me with a patient ear,—
“Our families of old were one;
“Suspended betwixt hope and fear!
“I listen’d, while she thus began:”
“Sincerity’s engaging form,
“I love, admire, and reverence;
“Its accents the affections warm,
“Nor fail to win our confidence.”
“Could I these protestations trust,
“My heart your suit would not disown;
“Treat not this frankness with disgust,
“Dissembling is to me unknown.
“O to remember that blest hour,
“My happiness seem’d then complete;
“Our mothers both long time before,
“Friendship did more than blood unite.
“To wed the daughter of her friend,
“My mother wish’d me many a day,
“Hers too the same would recommend,
“But still a bar was in our way.
“Her sire our union did prevent,
“And charg’d her ne’er to see me more;
“At last an unforeseen event,
“Rob’d him of all his golden store,
“Of which he boasted.—With delight,
“And wing’d with hope, to them I flew;
“His sentiments were alter’d quite,
“He own’d Amelia was my due.
“That treasure then I did espouse,—
“Heaven soon recall’d the precious pearl;
“Two pledges of our faithful vows,
“She left an infant boy and girl.
“Their opening minds with care I rear’d,
“With learning suited to their birth:
“My son adventurous appear’d,
“My daughter studied private worth.
“Some men their place of birth esteem,
“They prize its woods and mountains more
“Than places which with plenty teem,
“Of rarest fruits and richest ore.
“Not so, my son, for he t’ acquire
“A splendid fortune, so was bent,
“He left his home, his sister, sire,
“And to a land far distant went.
“By no endearing ties deterr’d,
“Fair Caledonia he would leave;
“Columbia’s fertile plains preferr’d,
“For them encounter’d wind and wave.
“I letters wrote from time to time,
“Entreating that he would return;
“At last I learn’d that foreign clime,
“Had brought him to an early urn.
“The darling of my anxious cares—
“My daughter too was in decline,
“But hid her pains, restrain’d her tears,
“Conceal’d her grief to comfort mine.
“While slow consumptive symptoms wore,
“I saw her like a lily drop;
“And death relentless from me tore
“My last remaining earthly prop.
“Relations now to own refuse,
“Because they know that at my death,
“To raise their mercenary views,
“I have no riches to bequeath.
“To summer’s sun and winter’s storm,
“This tottering frame I must expose,
“When feeble hands and limbs infirm,
“Plead loud for ease and soft repose:
“But not at Heaven’s all-wise decree,
“Should we once murmur in the least;
“A little longer—then we’ll be
“Where no afflicting cares infest.
“These birds to their Creator’s throne,
“Send up, of praise, a willing rent;
“And should we, as it were, lock on
“With peevish fretful discontent.
“We’re more indebted far than they,
“With reason’s light we are endow’d,
“And many favors ev’ry day,
“Are bounteously on us bestow’d.
“The current of this little brook,
“A picture does of time convey;
“Ere we a moment thereon look,
“The silent water glides away.
“To us what lesson does it speak,
“Time plainly whispers in our ear,
“Beyond my bounds your thoughts direct—
“’Tis shadow here, ’tis substance there.”
“The nightly shades now falling fast,
“Perhaps I ne’er will see you more.”
He said, her hand then softly press’d,
“May Heaven your wonted peace restore.”
“Once more indulge me,” said the fair,
“And lead me to your humble home,
“My every wish is center’d there,
“Respecting all this side the tomb.
“My youthful hopes have all expir’d,
“O let me come with you to live,
“In station of a servant hir’d,
“My best assistance you shall have.”
His utmost eloquence was us’d,
From such wild fancies to dissuade.
With faltering voice, and eyes suffus’d
With tears, return’d the weeping maid—
“No aged parents of my own,
“Or friends now my assistance claim,
“And temperate or torrid zone,
“To poor Sabella is the same.”
Fearing her intellects derang’d,
He with reluctance let her go;
But soon this rash opinion chang’d,
Her conduct show’d it was not so.
She call’d him “father,” when that name
Again soft sounded in his ear;
He her embrac’d—and did exclaim—
“Heaven bless thee! O my daughter dear!
“A parent’s duties I’ll fulfil,
“Whilst Heaven is pleas’d my life to spare.”
“It is enough,” she said, “I will
“Endeavour to deserve your care.”
With every thing convenient,
She comforted his hours of rest;
A pleasing calm, if not content,
At length possess’d her youthful breast.
He taught her lore from many a page,
For ancient books he knew full well:
Of history grave in every age,
How empires rose and how they fell.
And here let the narrator pause,
Who much admires the pleasant sight—
One evening thus employ’d he was,
And she attending with delight;
A youth advanc’d across the vale,
Declar’d himself the old man’s son;
And oh! remarkable to tell—
Sabella’s lover both in one.
Not to be tedious or minute,
An explanation soon took place;
The youth renew’d his former suit,
But was refus’d with modest grace.
“I’ll leave this house, my master will,”
She said, “no longer want my care.”
Both sire and son t’ entreaties fell,
And a third pleader too was there.
Affection, far from being extinct,
Now rose a powerful foe to pride:
What could she speak, or act, or think—
She smil’d consented, was his bride.
The sire, four-score and ten years old,
His faculties not much impair’d;
Grand-children did with joy behold,
Then died in peace, lov’d and rever’d.