It is the Evening of the brightest Day
The Year can boast; it is the last of May.
On my right Hand the Ocean fills the Eye,
Far on the East there, till it meets the Sky;
Westward, a Range of lofty Hills is seen;
A Farm’s large Lands and Mansion lie between—
A lonely Mansion. From the nearest Town
The Evening Bell comes faintly floating down;
While the vast Ocean rolls its Waves so near,
The fallen Billow strikes the listless Ear. 10
Before the Mansion, and extended wide,
A level Green appears on either Side;
Which, though so lovely it must seem to all,
Some would a Lawn and some a Meadow call:
On that same Green and gazing at the tide
A Lady stands, her Children at her Side;
Save yon light Boy, who tries with restless Zeal }
His Mother’s Spirit of its Wounds to heal, }
And make her love that life which ’tis his Joy to feel; }
When the sad Lady some poor Effort makes, 20
And a faint Smile repays the Pains he takes.
To these comes One, and see! he comes with speed
And cries, “No further on your Way proceed!
No further, dear Matilda, must you go,
To muse in secret and indulge your Woe.
Pride of my Life, but Grief as well as Pride,
Why will you thus in Wretchedness abide?
Why in these Scenes of Solitude delight?
It may be soothing, but cannot be right.”
Thus spake the Squire; for he was vext to find 30
His Sister sad; for all he meant was kind.
Yet this he added—“I will not believe
In thy Religion, if I see thee grieve.
Of that Religion hast thou not enough
To baffle Grief and make thee Sorrow-Proof?
Hast thou not said, that all Mankind endure
Finds in their Faith a Comfort or a Cure?
I know thy Prayers are offered day by day,
And yet thy Griefs will obstinately stay,
To war with Grace—Come, take a chearful View 40
Of Life, and think its Pleasures are thy due!
“Why mourn an Husband, were he good, so long?
But One like thine! ’Tis desperately wrong!
One who deceived thee, whom we should despise
A Wretch, all Falsehood, Treachery and Disguise!
“Nay, my Matilda, let me not offend:
Would’st have thy Brother be a Villain’s Friend?
A vile, false, flattering Scoundrel—nay, but how
Can you thus grieve? I’m speaking kindly now—
A base deceiver, studied to betray; 50
But, come! he’s gone, and I’ve no more to say.”
Pensive and silent, passive in her Woe,
She went with him, though indisposed to go;
And to the loud Reproof and threat’ning tone
She school’d her Heart, and said, “I’ll grieve alone.”
When near their Home, again the Brother cried:
“Come let thy Griefs be still, thine Eyes be dried!
Here Captain Gale, the May’r too from the Town,
And both their Wives and Children, are come down;
Do let them see, an English Woman’s heart 60
Forbears to take a foreign Scoundrel’s Part!”
Patient and firm, the gentle Dame obey’d.
“He was not foreign,” that alone she said,
And that he heard not.—Then the hours were spent
In small discourse and petty merriment—
Such as the Men with little Minds admire;
Such as became the May’r and pleased the Squire;
Such as the Mayor’s and the Captain’s Wife
Could best display and picture to the Life—
All the small Scandal of a Place so small 70
That we might wonder whence arose it all;
With Borough-Business of such high Concern,
That poor Matilda was compell’d to learn
What Honours fell upon their Heads, and how
The worthy Burgess took the Member’s Bow,
And how returned, and what a joyous Look
His face discover’d, when their hands they shook.
The Brother, grieving for the patient Grief
Of the fair Mourner, strove for her Relief;
And, finding Wrath disturbed her gentle Breast, 80
In gentler Tone his Love and Care exprest.
“’Tis now five Years, and this about the day,
Since the Bellair was wreckt in Liddel-Bay;
When Fredrick came a Sufferer to our Home,
As for our Sins destroying Angels come.
He came alone, in Misery, to our Care;
Then fled the Home and left the Misery there.
“Nay, Sister, be not thus to Anguish wrought;
I only try to think—what can be thought.
“All seemed so fair: he no Pretences made, 90
Was poor, and owned it—that could not persuade;
His Temper gay, his Mind without a Cloud, }
Of Honour and his Country justly proud. }
No Fear, no Mask—this all must be allow’d; }
And yet, he left us.—Sister, I must go,
To seek this Angel-Dæmon, Friend and Foe.”
The gentle Mourner for a while appeared
Absorbed in thought; her Brother’s Words she feared,
His Love she owned; she thanked him from her Soul,
But begged he would these angry thoughts controul. 100
“You must not meet,” she said, with deep-drawn Sigh
And flowing Tears—“you must not, nor must I.”
There was a Pause; but Richard could not hide
The rising Anger or the wounded Pride.
“Ask me not, Sister, while Your Wrong is mine,
To bear a Blow and like a Dog to whine!
But, if I could my Sense of Wrong subdue,
I must revenge an Insult offered you.
Let him for all account, for all repent,
For all atone; and then I may relent. 110
Him I must seek; for never Man of Sense
Can live in all this horrible Suspense.
Him must I seek.”—
“Nay Richard, Brother, Friend!
Grieve not thy Sister, whom thou wouldst defend!
War not with Death or Sorrow; what I crave
Is Peace on Earth. O war not with the Grave!
Let all that Death can touch untroubled lie,
And who would strive with that which cannot die!”—
“Is he no more?”—
“’Tis painful to reply.
To us he is; and let the Subject die! 120
For, if he lives, he suffers, and he feels
The Pangs that Death concludes—at least conceals.”
“I know not this; or, grant repentance true,
I still am wronged[, and] Vengeance is my due.
You may forgive your Husband, if you can;
But I must wreak my Vengeance on the Man.
You had refused him; but for my Request
That thought disturbs me. Hence I cannot rest.
True, he was handsome; all that Women love
In Air and Manner, all that Men approve 130
In Sense and Courage; yet, before he fled,
The better Spirit of the Man was dead.
You saw he grieved and moped alone about;
The Date of Virtue, Love and Peace was out;
He for a Man of Worth awhile was known,
And then the Devil came to claim his own.”—
“No more, my Brother! I must now prepare
The one sad Secret of my Soul to share;
To make my mystic Fortune understood,
And keep thee free from peril and from blood.— 140
But I must bind thee, Richard; thou must keep
The Peace, and let thy strong Resentment sleep!”
He gave Assent.
“To know my present State,
I must a Portion of the past relate.
Remember you, before my Fred’rick’s flight,
How anxious grew that Spirit once so light?
You laught at this—”
“’Tis true; for I supposed
The Man was hypped, and Wine and Mirth proposed;
For I had some Misgiving, and could trace
The Marks that Mystics term the Signs of Grace. 150
Then, was it so? Alas! ere yet he fled,
I saw that something in his Mind had bred.
But yet I spoke not, thinking every Day
Life’s common Cares would wear the gloom away;
Indeed, I jested; for your Husband’s Style
And his sad look would often cause a smile.
But now proceed!”—
“You recollect the Praise
You gave that Spirit in our early Days.
From a light Heart we said those Spirits rise;
’Tis Virtue sparkles in those brilliant Eyes; 160
That Mirth arises from the Soul’s Content,
And all is Gay, for all is innocent.
But oh, my Brother! I had Cause to fear }
That all within that Heart did not appear; }
Frank as he ever seemed, he was not now sincere. }
His Sleep was troubled; in the solemn Night
He woke in Terror and demanded Light.
He then some Guilt with fearful Haste Avow’d,
And bade his Silent Wife not speak so loud.
Yet was he cautious, and his Words were weighed 170}
With fretful Care, like One who seems afraid }
By his own speech his Crime should be betrayed. }
Temperate before, he now would often fly }
To Wine for Aid, that treacherous Ally }
That undermines the Strength it should supply; }
That, like to Money borrowed in Distress,
Seems to increase our Power, but makes it less.—
All this I saw, not hopeless; I believed
A Man, awakened, for his Error grieved;
His seemed to me the Salutary Storm 180
That shakes the Soul it will at Length reform.
“I spoke in Love and Pity, ‘Let us Pray!’
Wherefore he cried, and turned Alarmed away.
This I had known: the new Awaken’d hide
Their Fears from Man—it is false Nature’s Pride—
But Hope still whispered, ‘Ease will follow Pain;
The broken Heart will soon be healed again.’
Nor knew I yet there was the Part unsound;
Untouched, unseen, the ever rankling Wound!
“Yet more distressed he grew; and then I cried, 190
‘Go to the Priest and take him for thy Guide!’
But Frederick’s Grief was not the transient Rage
Of Clouds that Winds collect and Rains asswage;
But still more Dark the mental Prospect grew,
And weary Hope could not her smile renew.
“Alas! I erred; I knew not that the Sin
Of my poor Frederick rankled yet within,
Nor granted Rest; but all his Crime had gained,
What Sin had purchased, that with him remained.
I saw his Self-reproach, and I could View 200
Through all his Care his Self-denial too.
He wants, I said, some meek religious Guide,
And is forbid to seek him by his Pride.
In fact, my Husband had ere this address’d }
A meek good priest; he had in part confest }
His bosom’s wound, but had in part supprest. }
“I urged my Love.—‘Thy Love shall I requite
With endless Suffering?’ I maintain’d my Right
To what he said—the Right that Martyrs have
To lingering Torture and an early Grave. 210
“‘Would I had yet,’ he said, ‘myself restrained,
And not this knowledge with this Evil gained!
Go to the Priest, thou said’st; and I receive
My Sight of Sin; I tremble and believe.
Why should I go to hear that warning Voice?
Let them attend who hearing can rejoice;
Let them exult who feel that all is well!
Why talk of Heavens to a Child of Hell?
Thy tender Sins are nipt and gently die
Without a Pang, like Girls in Infancy; 220
My Crimes are strong, and ’tis a dreadful Part
At once to tear them from the wounded heart.
Nor that the worst! I know the mighty Cost
Of my dear Sin: or that or Heav’n is lost—
And Heav’n is lost. That Sin, if Sin it be, }
Clings to the Soul, that never can be free; }
I cannot lose thee, Love, and thou art Sin to me.’” }
“Oh, my poor Sister,” Richard said, in Haste;
“What a strange Fancy has the Man embraced!
He wished to please thee and thy Way to take, 230
And lost his Reason for Matilda’s sake.
Puzzled and vext, he heard, he pray’d, he read,
Love in his Heart and Frenzy in his Head;
Led, as I doubt not Mystics always lead,
Their Flocks; no Wonder Frenzy should succeed!
But, when so sound a Mind is wrecked, we feel
Pity and Wrath and Curse the mad’ning Zeal.
Strange that a Man, from all Delusion free
And all Conceit, should not the Folly see!”—
“No, my dear Richard; Facts I now must state 240
A different Cause assign and different Fate
Describe: ’tis true that he was sore afraid
And, pierced by Sorrows, to his Maker prayed;
True that, by Guilt as well as Grief oppressed,
He asked for Mercy as he longed for Rest;
But his true Reason was an inward Sense
And a deep feeling of his own Offence.
“See, my dear Brother, when his restless Mind
Urged him to leave us, what he left behind.
Thus wrote th’ unhappy Man before he fled; 250
Read thou, and judge my feelings as I read!
Then will you learn why thus, from day to day,
Hopeless I grieve and weep my Hours away.
My Boy afflicts me, when he dares not ask,
Where is he gone, and sees I wear a Mask.
He reads my Looks; he saddens at my Sigh,
And fears alike my Silence and Reply.
My Girl, yet younger, wonders at my Woes
And seems to question whence the Grief arose.
The very Infant takes a solemn tone 260
Of silent woe [nor] lets me grieve alone.
But why is Sorrow wordy? Now receive
What he relates, nor wonder that I grieve.”—
“Bear Witness, Heav’n and all the Powers above,
Ye who in boundless, endless Glory dwell:
It is with breaking Heart I speak of Love,
For I must bid to Love and Hope farewell.
“I came to thee, when thou wert all content,
Loving and loved, a Creature half-divine;
I came, a Robber for thy Misery sent, 270
Whilst thou wert anxious in removing mine.
“On a Sick-bed, attended, soothed, caressed,
Healed of my Wounds, but smitten in my heart—
‘And must we part?’ were Words my Love exprest;
Some listening Daemon eccho’d: ‘Must you part?
“‘Art thou not dead to all the World beside,
Save these, the kind Preservers of thy Life?
Can’st thou not ask that Angel for thy Bride,
And quit the Woman who is now thy Wife?
“‘’Tis a sad Truth; but Truth may be denied. 280
Who would not Strive this matchless Maid to Win?
Is it a Sin to be to Truth allied;
Or, if it be, who could escape the sin?’
“Wretch that I am, to wear a vile disguise
With Virtue, Truth and Piety in View!
My Words, my Thoughts, my very looks were Lyes;
My Vow alone and my fond Love were true.
“Why hast thou shown me that I went astray;
Why tell What Sin the World’s Redeemer Cost?
I heard and trembled, forced myself to pray, 290
Pray’d for Conviction, was convinced—and lost.
“Chearful and Gay my Years of Unbelief;
They fled, and now a sad Reverse I see:
Like Judas I, or like the dying Thief,
But not the One who said, ‘Remember Me!’
“I go, Matilda, for my Peace is gone;
Nor would thy Heart a Lawless Love allow.
I dare not die; but must a Wretch live on,
And Life once blest must be my Torment now.
“Oh! when convinced that Jesus died for man, 300
For Sinners Suffered on th’ accursed Tree,
A dreadful Choice to shake my Soul began—
Loss of the Soul’s best Hope or loss of thee.
“I said, as Cain when Banished said before:
’Tis more than I can bear, for what can I?
From thee ’tis Death to part, from Heav’n is more;
’Tis worse than Death to that which cannot die.
“A vain, weak Boy, I took the offered Hand
Of One who with it her poor Pittance gave;
Then fled to Sea, and wrecked upon your Land, 310
To live their Bane who snatch’d me from the Grave.
“And yet, to leave thee! leave that rosy Boy,
A Life of Toil and Penury to share!
To quit all worldly Good, all earthly Joy—
It is too hard, and more than I can bear.
“For none beside thee will I ever live—
For thee I must not, though so fond and true;
But must to Heav’ns high Will my Being Give,
And pray for Strength to bid the World adieu.”
The Brother read; it grieved him at his heart, 320
And Pity softly questioned, “Must they part?”
“They must,” more calm in reasoning, he replied,
“And I remain her sole Support and Guide.
I loved to hear him, nay I loved to speak
Of Men religious as the Crazed and Weak;
And weak they were, but foolish Men will bring
When Sinners judge, Disgrace on everything.
Religion’s Self our Rashness dar’d condemn,
Because like Folly it appeared in them.
But, if an Actor plays the King amiss, 330
Shall I the Monarch in the Mimic hiss?
The thing itself is holy just and good,
When duly sought and justly understood;
But, when such weak and vain Expounders try
To force my Faith, the more resisting I.
And many a Laugh had we, not all confined
To those Expounders, though for them designed;
Cool and contemptuous we the Man survey’d,
And smil’d at Prayer, because a Bigot prayed.
I see it now—and he, unhappy! saw 340
The Aweful Truth, and he abides in Awe!—
Me too this Lesson shall to thought restore;
I may offend, but will deride no more.
Yet hope, Matilda! thy pure Bosom feels
No Pains but those which thy Devotion heals;
Time and thy Duties will their Balm afford,
The Works of God His Wonders and His Word.
If thou thy Peace, and I my Pardon, gain,
Then shall this Suffering not be lent in vain.”
Years pass’d; the School-days of the Boy were come, 350
And now the happier Girls are schooled at Home.
The Widowed Mother her sad Part sustained; }
She still a Widow in her Heart remained; }
Nor in her State repined nor of her State complain’d. }
Sometimes her pensive Spirit took the Way
To the lone Beach, where best she loved to stray.
There was a chosen Place that she would seek—
A rare Indulgence not of ev’ry Week;
But, at some Seasons, she, with Heart oppressed,
Prayed Grief away and then returned at rest. 360
This Place she loved, where, far as Eye could reach,
There seemed a boundless Length of peb’ly beach.
She loved the deep green hollow Lane, where grow
The Ferns that flourish o’er the Rill below;
In the small Course the limpid Waters run
And feed the Herbs that never feel the Sun.
She loved the still broad Lake, that in the Night
Of the full Moon reflected glorious light;
And every brilliant Star appeared to glow
With softened Lustre in the Lake below. 370
Nor less she loved the deep and solemn Shade,
By Antient Oaks of mighty Stature made;
Yet in their Strength and Glory that had Cast
Their welcome Shade on Generations past,
And to the aged and to the Young shall prove
The Ease of Labour and the Walk of Love.
Such Scenes had Beauty; but, when none appeared
Some accidental Good the Place endeared.
There Love had led them in some chearful Day,
That past in Ease and blameless Mirth away; 380
When, as their Children gambol’d in their View,
Some happy Presage from their Sport they drew.
Still to these Scenes, by fond Remembrance led,
She turn’d, and there her softest Tears were shed.
There heavenly Hope her cheering Visit paid,
And there with Faith and fervent Zeal she prayed.
Thus, Summer past, Autumnal Scenes came on,
And Winter’s Frost; and so the Year was gone.
Then other Seasons came, and other Years
Brought the same Comforts, Tenderness and Tears. 390
Year after year thus stole in Quiet by,
Sure, but unmarked, as Cranes and Swallows fly;
And now was One that with its Record fled:
No News of Frederick; but the Wife was dead!
A Crimson flush then marked Matilda’s Cheek,
This spoke; this only she allowed to speak.
Within the neighbouring Town were some whose Cares
Were kindly given to their Friends’ Affairs;
“And why,” they said, “should Richard Vernon live
Without a Wife, when we have Girls to give?” 400
But Richard had it not in Mind to wed;
He had the daily Cares that served instead—
His land, his Books, and the Attention shown
To Children now become by Choice his own;
And, if he thought of Marriage, ’twas as one
Who dreams of something that cannot be done!
Speak of the Sex, he prais’d them o’er and o’er;
Speak of the Woman, and he said no more;
And Women therefore, on their Part, began
To speak less kindly of so cool a Man. 410
But, when his Sister sighed, or when she wore
A look of Suffering, he was cool no more.
Then would he say, “My Sister, you are ill,
And need th’ Assistance of a Man of Skill.
Your Walk fatigues you, and the Cool Sea Breeze,
To Health so grateful, but augments Disease.
Do look, Matilda, in your Mother’s face;
Is she not paler? ’Tis a serious Case.”—
All this was Kindness; but the time was near
When Fear was just, when there was cause for Fear. 420
To her who panted, in her Breath opprest,
Food gave not Strength, Sleep brought uncertain Rest.
The troubled Children, as at Something strange,
Looked their distress and trembled at the Change.
Who goes in Search of Health may be supplied
In Every Way he travels with a Guide.
One of these Guides, long taught the way to please
And put a doubtful Traveller at his Ease,
Advised a Warmer Sun and clearer Sky: }
“It may be useful, and you can but try; 430}
Here you can scarsely live, and there you can but die.” }
This was not said, but something not so rude—
And this was meant, and this was understood.
Against Advice the placid Mother strove;
She fought with Learning, but complied with Love.
The Coast of France appear’d new Strength to give
And Hope, exulting, told that she would live.
“But she must move; must ever be employed;
See what is seen; enjoy what is enjoyed,
And through the Coast must at her Pleasure ride, 440
And never think!” for so advised the Guide.
“Now where, Matilda, shall we go to-day?”
So Richard said, as he was wont to say;
“Where bend our Steps?” He took his Glass in Hand:
“Here comes a Boat; suppose we see it land?”
They saw it land—“And, Boatmen, who are these?”—
“A Priest they say, and from beyond the Seas.
But he who leans upon the Friend beside
Is going fast; we judged he must have died—
Coming for Health; and, if he means to stay 450
Till it arrives, he’ll never go away.”
So spake the Seamen; when, approaching nigh,
Matilda stopt and, with an heavy sigh,
Dropt on the Shore. Her Brother, frightened, flew
To give her Aid—she breathed, and, “Is it true?”
She said; “I saw him—I my Frederick see;
Brother, forgive! he comes to die with me.
What Heaven decrees is done.”—And now began
The same strong feeling in the fainting Man.
What past so near him his Attention drew; 460
The Voice alarmed him, and the Wife he knew.
Here then they dwelt; the dying Man and Wife
Together past this Fragment of their Life.
Daily they bade to earthly things Adieu,
Their Moments numbered and the Number few.
The softened Brother let his Anger sleep,
With the fond Pair to sympathise and weep.
Then Frederick told, how on that dreadful Night,
When urged by Conscience he resolved on Flight,
To lose all Comfort in this World and live 470
Without one Joy that Life or Love can give;
To meet no more the Forms he loved, no more
The playful Smiles of Fondness to explore;
But to bid all, and Hope with all, farewell—
What to such Evil can a Soul compell?
He told, how then he went from place to place
In fact a Beggar, more than Beggary base;
How, grieved at length and humbled in the Dust, }
He then began the Sacred Word to trust; }
To feel that God was Love, but yet with Love was just; 480}
A Saviour’s Sufferings to his Heart he laid,
And felt the Balm of Mercy as he prayed.
How then he dared his past offences view,
And the first dawn of Hope’s soft Comfort knew;
But never more must Home’s soft Comfort see,
But a lone Wanderer in the World must be.
Filled with such thoughts, he join’d a serious few }
Who showed the Way that he must then pursue, }
The Aid he was to yield, the Work he was to do. }
He told what Hovels then he sought, and where 490
He heard the Tale of Woe and taught the Prayer.
He sought the Mine, and in that World below
Had seen the Tears of strong Contrition flow;
Now near the Pole, and now beneath the Line,
To Suffering Man he bore the Word divine;
Where’er the Brethren bade him go he went—
So the first Years of Penitence were spent.
Dispute with them was none, was no delay;
To give Command was theirs, and his t’ obey.
What, if the Climate should your frame offend— 500
Can Health be wasted to a better end?
What, if Death meets you on a foreign Shore—
He met the Martyrs at the Work before;
And what is all we fear or all we feel }
But Proofs of Favour and Rewards of Zeal; }
Acceptance of your Love and Suffering is the seal. }
He spoke of Years that fled, while thus employed,
Of Dangers conquered and of Health destroyed;
“And then,” he said, “I felt my Heart incline
To its loved Scenes, to [feel] for thee and thine.” 510
Thus they communed, and holy thoughts and Prayers
Of Souls devoted to their God were theirs.
Yet would they sometimes Earthly Comfort seek,
And of Enjoyments, nay Amusements, speak.
The deep green Lane, the golden-sanded Lake
That would a thousand soft Emotions wake;
The bare old Oaks who with their dismal tone
Seemed at the Music of the Grove to groan—
These and the Scenes of many a pleasant Thought
Were from that Distance to their fancy brought; 520
And they would smile at many an idle thing
Or chearful Fact that to the Mind would cling;
And the fond Pair, although oppress’d and pained,
Their mutual Fate with brightest Hope sustained.
Life ebbed apace; the Brother’s Hope and Fear
Led him to speak of—yet another Year;
And then of Season: “’tis the Chill of Spring,
But Summer’s Breath will balmy Influence bring.”
As Billows beat upon the peb’ly Shore,
Nor reach the Place which Others past before; 530
Yet in short Time the bolder Waves press on,
And the faint marks of humbler kind are gone;
Till at the highest Mark the Waves ascend
And there their Prowess and the Progress end—
So in departing Life our days appear:
One, fiercely threatening speaks, the Period near;
A fairer Kind succeed, so soft and mild
That Love is soothed and Hope again beguil’d;
Then comes the last—that must our Fate decide,
And there’s no Turning in this mortal Tide! 540
It’s come, is gone; nor is there much of strife—
Consenting nature yields the weary life.
Placed on his pillowed Chair Matilda by,
The Husband saw the dim and speechless Eye;
Felt the cold Hand, and said, “’Tis now a last;
This One dear Look and all will then be past;
She will precede me.”—Yet he wrongly guess’d:
Ev’n as he spake, he sank himself to rest.
She knew th’ Event, but knew not long; her sight,
Her Hearing fails; ’twas Dimness, and ’twas Night! 550
They sleep together, and our Record ends;
But first a Priest his Application lends.
Pains, Troubles, Sorrows, Life’s more grievous cares,
All from our ill, or for our Good arise;
For all correction thank the Hand that spares,
For all Affliction bless the Power that tries!