WILLIAM'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS BELOVED WIFE.

Awake, my harp! give forth in solemn time

Thy sweetest numbers in harmonious rhyme.

‘ Tis time to bid my dormant powers arise,

Yet I would first dry up my weeping eyes.

My full charged bosom heaves, and oh, how slow

Conflicting thoughts in well timed numbers flow.

Cease, rebel feelings, cease your dreadful strife;

The theme's my love, the partner of my life.

Her portrait is before me, and that smile

Upon her features playing, shows no guile.

What were thy thoughts, my loved one, on that day

The artist's skill did our joint forms portray?

Thou wast not then so foolish as to deem

An early death a vain or idle dream.

We oft had converse on that mournful theme,

As oft looked forward to the solemn day

When death, grim monster! should tear one away.

I thought my time most surely first would come,

And thou, expected'st, first to reach thy home!

Thus were we apt to number out our days,

And oft together led to seek God's ways.

Most unfeigned pleasure did we take in this,

And gained as fruit sweet tastes of heavenly bliss.

Now, my belov'd one, thou art gone from me

And our dear little ones! Oh! can it be?

The sad reality comes o'er my mind.

Thou'rt gone indeed, and we are left behind.

Oh for that faith of which thou wast possessed,

As thy pure spirit strove to gain her rest.

Oh for that patience which thou didst display

Beneath our Father's hand to thy last day.

Methinks that thou art whispering in my ear:

“Let God's sure promises thy spirit cheer;

“Remember that our Jesus is the same

“To all whose trust is in His precious name.

“A few short days, perchance, or months, or years,

“May flee away; yet he will still thy fears

“And bear thee up as if on‘ eagle's wings,’

“Far, far above the reach of earthly things.

“Remember what thou didst to comfort me;

“Thou hast God's word, the same it is to thee.

“Let fervent prayer ascend to God above;

“He'll deign to listen for He still is love.

“Rouse then, thy courage, let thy faith be strong,

“Let Hope,‘ an anchor sure,’ to thee belong.

“The time's not distant we again shall meet

“To part no more. This is a thought most sweet.

“But yet in patience do thy soul possess,

“And wait God's time, and then He will thee bless.”

Enough my loved one, I will haste away

To do my duties without more delay.

And trust in God who can fresh strength impart

To me to serve him with a perfect heart.

Here, then, kind reader, I must close my lay,

As other duties call me now away.

If you've had patience to go with me through

My lengthened tale, I bid you warm adieu.

If my small learning has called forth a sneer,

Know you from such things I have naught to fear.

For what is written I have this defense:

My song at least lacks not for common-sense.

Near the side of Windermere,

Down a gentle rising hill,

Flowed a murmuring brook so clear

Every portion of the year,

And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house,

Tenanted by peasants poor.

The mother was a loving spouse,

One who never was a blowze,

But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man

Working hard on working days,

Deeming it the wisest plan.

Each day's labor he began

By pure prayer to God always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH;

They such name deserved quite well.

In that country of the north

All would speak their praises forth,

With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home,

Lovely were they in their youth.

When they chanced in woods to roam,

Fairies seemed they to become;

Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN

We their names at present call;

AMIE'S bloom was richer than

Any rose which zephyrs fan.

She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale,

Graceful as a fawn could be.

She was never very hale,

Parents’ eyes could see her fail,

And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby lass,

Was the youngest and the pet;

Friends all thought naught could surpass

That sweet child in loveliness

Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor.

This was true of worldly things;

Yet they had an ample store,

They were skilled in Bible lore;

And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might

Deem them once of higher rank,

They defrauded of their right,

But still blest with gospel light,

Of rich consolation drank.

Near them lived a proud, rich man,

Wide his lands, but small his heart.

Of him a report there ran

That he to be rich began

Practicing a knavish part.

“GRIPEY” was the name he bore

‘ Mongst the country people round;

They could reckon up a score

Of vile actions, if not more,

And from these this name they found.

Call I him “SIR FINGERNEED,”

Such a name is more genteel;

Had he done one worthy deed

I would not withold the meed

Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son,

WILLIAM was his given name;

He to love had not begun,

Yet at times he liked to run

In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find

Hazel nuts and berries, too.

Thus he showed his heart was kind —

That he had no churlish mind

When such actions he could do.

Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay —

On her humble dying bed.

Parents now beside her pray,

AMIE watches her by day —

Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought

To her by his mother sent,

And returned with sober thought,

Musing as each mortal ought

On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak

Of a place above the sky,

Where dear BESS with spirit meek

Would be taken, though so weak,

If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place

Where he and his parents live.

Marks of sadness on his face

Make his father wish to trace

What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile,

Did the truth at once disclose.

This creates a scornful smile

On that rich man's face the while,

Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood

Asks her why she sent the boy;

Did she call that doing good

Sending one of gentler blood,

Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear,

Bids the boy not go again.

WILLIAM drops a silent tear

While his parent still is near,

Yet strict silence does maintain.

BESS has left this earthly scene,

Sorrow therefore fills that home.

They have to the churchyard been,

And its clods are now between

Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief,

WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart,

Knew not yet the saint's belief,

And most slowly came relief

To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind

Of their offspring in their youth,

Should show reason why they bind,

Clothed in language very kind,

Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel

Galled by most unjust restraint,

And did oft in secret steal

To enquire of AMIE'S weal,

And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all.

Calm but firm was his reply:—

“WILLIAM shall no longer call;

Some great ill might him befall,

And he must himself deny.”

This AMELIA saw was right

And informed the gentle boy.

Tears bedimmed his eyes that night

For the loss of his delight,

Which would all his peace destroy.

Said he now, “I will refrain

From my visits, AMIE dear,

If you'll true to me remain

Till I can consent obtain

From my father, whom I fear.”

AMIE blushed, her word did pledge.

WILLIAM snatched a parting kiss

As he swiftly climbs the hedge,

Fairest dreams his mind engage

For he tastes of lovers’ bliss.

Pass we o'er five tedious years.

Years which saw great changes come

To some thousands in all spheres,

Raised by hopes or sunk by fears,

Now alive, or in the tomb

WILLIAM had just come from school

Summoned to his father's bed

On an Autumn evening cool.

Now dread thoughts began to rule

Him who lay just like the dead.

Why that start, that vacant stare?

Does he know his son is by?

Guilty conscience who can bear?

Hope shut out or blank Despair,

When one's latter end is nigh?

Stood the youth with tearful eyes

Fixed upon the dying man.

He would speak, but when he tries

His young soul within him dies

As he views that face so wan.

Speaks the father now at last,

“WILLIAM, listen to my tale.

I through dreadful crime have passed,

But while life is ebbing fast

Now to you I would unveil

“My base heart, if yet I may

In some measure crime atone.

It is thirty years this day

Since a Will I made away,

To gain riches not my own.

“Him I wronged is HUMBLEWORTH,

Long a neighbor near this house:

His my wealth by right of birth;

All I own upon this earth

Is my family — and disgrace.

“I would make amends to him,

But grim death now shakes his dart;

Breathing fails me, eyes grow dim,

Spectres‘ fore my vision skim,

And with terrors fill my heart.

“List, my son, your's be the task,

When I'm past this earthly scene,

Pardon for my sin to ask,

My vile conduct to unmask,

And make known what I have been.

“But, my boy, in pity spare,

Spare your mother's feelings dear.

Warning take, from me, nor dare

Sport with sin; of that beware,

For great danger lurketh near.

“I more would say, but now again

Death's strong fetters bind my tongue.”

Soon his struggles are in vain;

WILLIAM'S heart is wrung with pain,

And his nerves are all unstrung.

Startling groans break on his ear

Now that ill-spent life has fled.

WILLIAM sees his mother near

And attempts her heart to cheer,

As she sinks upon the bed.

Seems this stroke too hard to bear.

In the lack of Christian hope,

Her weak heart from grief and care

Droops too soon to dire despair;

With such foe she cannot cope.

Now the youth feels greatest need

To curb well his ardent grief,

Calls he loud for help with speed.

His commands the servants heed,

They obey his mandates brief.

First the mistress they convey

To her room and lay her down.

There would WILLIAM with her stay,

But he could not brook delay

Till his father's crime he own.

Goes he to the house once more

Where his dear AMELIA lives.

With a heart most truly sore,

Reaches he the cottage door,

Knocks; no one admittance gives.

Why is all so still around?

This place they did occupy!

“Where can HUMBLEWORTHS be found?”

Asks he loud, nor heeds the sound

Of man's footsteps passing by.

Turns the man in haste his head

And the youth does recognize,

Tells him, “In the lake's clean bed

Some one found poor AMIE dead!”

And that thitherward he hies.

This like thrust of dagger came,

Near depriving him of sense.

In his breast's a raging flame,

Calls he AMIE'S lovely name

As he rushes o'er the fence.

Down toward the deep lake's side

Flies he now with greatest speed.

Forms among the bushes glide,

Sorely is the lover tried

In this saddest hour of need.

Who can paint his grief of mind

As the lifeless form he views?

Vainly strives he peace to find,

This stroke seems the most unkind;

He all comfort does refuse.

AMIE'S face has lost its bloom,

Though her countenance is fair.

Little ANN within the room

Deeply shares the general gloom,

In a dim lit corner there.

Some make efforts to restore

That sweet girl they loved so well.

Too long time elapsed before

Her dear form was drawn to shore.

Death has cast o'er her his spell.

Women kind now lay her out,

In pure white her corpse invest.

WILLIAM then, by nature taught,

With poetic feeling fraught,

This warm song to her addressed: