NOT far from Tyvy’s banks and bay
An humble dwelling rose;
Around its walls the woodbine twin’d,
Encircled with the rose.
The purple violet at their feet,
Perfum’d the ambient air;
And those who view’d the lovely cot,
Thought it–a shield from care!
But ah! how oft the gilded car
A wretched heart contains;
And oft the palaces of state
Are fill’d with care and pains!
Deceptuous is the lot of man;
For those who seem most blest,
Are frequently a prey to grief,
Their hearts devoid of rest!
And oh! that cot, which seem’d to be
Tranquility’s abode,
Contain’d a being who had long
Wander’d in Sorrow’s road!
Selina, beauteous as the morn
In orient streaks appears,
Had felt Affliction’s iron stroke
Even in childhood’s years!
Had felt–for ah! her heart was soft
As cygnet’s downy breast;
And when she measur’d twice six years,
Heav’n sent a dire behest:
A mother, tenderly rever’d,
Was struck by death’s keen dart;
Fatal the stroke–sad the effect–
On poor Selina’s heart!
A father still, ’tis true, she had;
Yet father but in name;
No tenderness he e’er display’d,
E’en kindness seem’d a shame.
Stoic and stern Antonio was;
A tear ne’er veil’d his eye;
And when he lost his gentle love ,
His breast scarce heav’d a sigh!
His will , to her , had been a law ;
His word , a firm decree ;
His wishes were a strict command ,
And what he said–must be .
Such was Selina’s stoic sire;
A sire she needs must fear;
But such a man was never form’d
To cherish or endear
A female timid as the fawn,
Which fearful skips and plays;
And whilst it sportive bounds along,
Dreads danger if it strays.
And thus Selina, if she e’er
In sportive childhood stray’d,
Dreaded to meet a father’s frown,
For having sportive play’d.
But as the age of childhood pass’d,
A mind matur’d appears;
Reading succeeded juv’nile sports,
Reflection –mark’d her years.
Intense those thoughts, by nature gay,
For sorrow mark’d her mind;
No soft caress e’er met her ear
In language sweet and kind!
But from her father’s low’ring brow
Repulsive looks were cast;
Like gath’ring clouds, which oft foretel
The rough succeeding blast.
Thus did this fair-one, all forlorn
Within a mansion dwell;
Where art and nature seem’d to blend
Their sweet, inviting spell.
Yet from that sweet Elysium spot
Selina oft would stray;
And on clear Tyvy’s verdant banks,
Stroll thoughtless of the way.
One eve it was, when wand’ring far,
Near that pellucid tide,
A foaming steed flew rapid by,
Ungovern’d by a guide.
The rattling stirrups and the rein
Proclaim’d its rider thrown;
Selina felt a thousand fears
At being quite alone.
Quick she return’d the trodden path,
And there beheld a swain
Stretch’d languid on the verdant grass,
Wreathing beneath his pain.
Transfix’d some moments she remain’d,
But Pity made her move;
Pity , that passion which we know
Is near allied to Love!
“Stranger !”–she said, in fault’ring voice,
“Can I assistance lend?
Or shall I fly to yonder farm,
And fetch an abler friend?”
“Oh, fly not!–move not!” he replied;
Gazing upon the fair;
“That voice proclaims that you were sent
By Heav’n–to banish care!”
Unus’d to language soft or mild,
Selina anxious stays;
Lends a white ‘kerchief for the wound,
And sweet attention pays.
With tender hand the ‘kerchief binds
Around his bleeding head;
Then to the farm she quickly flies,
To ask a friendly bed.
The boon was granted quick as made;
The honest farmer greets
The stranger in the kindest terms,
His wife well airs the sheets.
Slowly and sad the maid returns
To Tyvy’s mossy vale;
Not daring to relate the past,
Or tell the stranger’s tale!
Strange the sensations which she felt
Within her throbbing breast;
The stranger’s sorrows, and his voice,
Had robb’d her mind of rest!
For as he spoke, his looks proclaim’d
The passion she’d inspir’d;
And love appear’d in ev’ry glance,
Pure love his bosom fir’d!
Next morn Selina anxious bent
Her steps towards the farm;
And joyful hears the accident
Portended no great harm.
Languid and faint, young Edward was,
For such the stranger’s name;
His father, a true pastor , dwelt
Far from the road to fame:
An humble village thrice three leagues
From Tyvy’s flow’ry side
The good man liv’d–admir’d, ador’d,–
His humble hearers’ guide.
Edward was likewise for the church
Intended to prepare;
Such was his taste,–although his sire
The money ill could spare.
At Cambridge Edward found a friend;
A friend he was, indeed;
The Lord Macdonald saw his worth,
And prov’d a friend in need.
“Edward!” he said, “be to my son,
A youth about your age,
A kind admonisher and friend;
My service then engage!
“Teach him to shun the path of vice,
In which I greatly fear
He has been led–and I will grant
Two hundred pounds a year:
“Nor that alone; for if I live ,
Most solemnly I swear,
To make your interest my own,
With a paternal care.”
He said, and rigidly fulfill’d
The promise he had made;
And from that time, two hundred pounds
Each year was duly paid.
That sum was wealth to Edward’s mind,
A mind unprone to stray
In the luxurious path of vice;
He kept pure Virtue’s way.
Such was the fortune of this youth,
But bright his prospects were,
When he beheld the lovely maid
Selina–young and fair!
Inspir’d he was with passion pure,
As angels might proclaim;
And well be knew his worthy sire
Would sanction the soft flame.
Oft had he heard Selina’s charms
Applauded and admir’d;
And when he saw the blooming maid,
His breast by love was fir’d.
“Say, beauteous fair-one, can thy breast
A mutual passion own?
Say, wilt thou plight to me thy faith
And live for me alone ?
“If so, conduct me to thy sire,
And on my bended knee
I will implore him to bestow
A prize ador’d–on me!
“Speak–fair-one, speak! tell me my doom!”
Impatient he exclaim’d;
“Or if my eagerness offends,
Thy charms are to be blam’d!”
With modest blush, and downcast eye,
The timid maid replied:
“If sanction’d to receive thy love ,”
I may become thy bride;
“But oh! my father is severe;
His voice I must obey!
E’en now I fear I shall be miss’d,
Longer I dare not stay.
“Nor would I wish it, till I hear
My father’s fix’d decree;
Although I readily will own
My heart inclines tow’rds thee !”
“Let it incline and cleave ,” he cried,
“To this true, faithful breast;
And, like the ivy round the oak,
Make me supremely blest!”
They parted–Edward promising,
On the ensuing day,
To wait upon Selina’s sire,
His compliments to pay.
Scarce had the damsel reach’d her door,
Ere Dorothy, the maid,
Inform’d her that a stranger had,
During her absence, paid
A visit to her haughty sire,
“And much, dear girl, I fear
That visit will bring woe to you;
Some words I chanc’d to hear,
“Which gave me reason to suppose
He came to beg your hand:
This visitor was crooked Dick ,
Who owns a pow’r of land.”
“Sir Richard Benson! do you mean?
Speak, Dorothy–oh, say!
Yet ah! the very name of him
Would fill me with dismay!”
“Yes, him it was,” the maid replied;
“But do not yield to fear;”—-
Antonio, ah! that moment call’d,
Selina hid the tear
That started in her azure eye
At Benson’s hateful name:
He was the veriest wretch on earth,
A being lost to shame:
Sordid and selfish ; proud and vain ;
Yet still his callous heart
Had felt the mighty pow’r of love,
And own’d its potent dart.
Selina’s form had met his eye,
And all his passions fir’d;
Then to Antonio he flew,
To tell what he desir’d.
Elate with joy Antonio heard
Sir Richard’s flattering tale;
And gave his word, a word he vow’d
Through time should never fail;
That ere the moon its course had run,
And ere three weeks had fled,
His daughter should be sacrific’d,
And to the altar led!
Appall’d!–aghast!–Selina stood,
The image of despair;
Her trembling limbs refus’d their post,
She totter’d to a chair!
“What ails the girl?” Antonio cried,
In accents deep and loud;
His gath’ring brow was overspread
With anger’s darkest cloud.
“My father surely will not bring
Deep sorrow on his child?”
She said, in accents choak’d by tears,
Yet accents sweetly mild!
“What can the ideot mean?” he said,
Foaming with rage and ire;
“Sir Richard shall your husband be;
Now to your room retire!”
Not twice the mandate need be told,
With pleasure she obey’d;
Yet scarcely could ascend the stairs,
Though aided by her maid.
“Oh, Dorothy!” the fair-one said,
“The veriest wretch on earth
Is surely happier than me;
For, from my very birth,
“No ray of comfort have I known;
No smile has fortune shed;
But clouds, dark clouds, have from that hour
Been hov’ring o’er my head!”
To Edward now we will return,
Who to Antonio hied;
And having told his love-sick tale,
Solicited his bride.
Scarce would the rude Antonio hear
The gentle Edward’s tale;
The youth perceiv’d his angry brow
Collect with Passion’s gale.
“Begone!” he cried, “no parson poor
Can e’er my daughter wed;
She is betroth’d, and to the church
In three weeks will be led.”
“Oh spare her! spare her!” Edward said,
And sunk upon his knee;
“If pity ever touch’d thy breast,
Bestow her upon me!”
As well might Edward have suppos’d
Pity could touch a stone ,
As to imagine his hard heart
Would that sensation own.
“Young man, away ! nor e’er presume
To enter this abode:”
So saying, he unclos’d the door,
And pointed to the road.
Not twice requiring to be told
To quit Selina’s sire,
Upon his ready steed he sprang,
His bosom fill’d with ire;
Not ire alone his feelings shook,
But agoniz’d dismay;
Selina’s image fill’d his mind
With its celestial ray!
Again towards the farm he turn’d
His horse’s willing head;
Again implor’d his gen’rous host
To grant a friendly bed.
The boon was granted, and next morn
The maid again appears;
But with a face o’erspread with woe,
‘Twas Beauty veil’d in tears!
These tender meetings for nine days
Successively took place;
But at their end the fates decreed
Edward had ran his race!
During that time, Sir Richard had
Each ev’ning seen the fair;
And by rich presents vainly tried
To win her to his care:
Yet sighs and tears are the return
His love and gifts obtain;
The baronet resolv’d to know
What caus’d, the fair-one’s pain;
By bribery, he soon found out
She met the favour’d youth;
Who plighted her his fervent vows
Of constancy and truth.
Suspicion had the cause suppos’d
Why the fair-maid was coy;
But fact the circumstance reveal’d,
That Edward was her joy.
Indignant were Sir Richard’s thoughts;
Revenge his bosom fires;
And the ninth morn –oh, cruel deed!
The hapless youth expires!
A trusty page Sir Richard had,
If such term be applied
To a vile wretch who ever had
Made interest his guide .
To him he told his tale of love,
And whence the coyness came;
Then bade his pistols be prepar’d ,
Oh, deed of savage shame!
The one was laden with two balls ,
The other destitute
Of any loading that could harm;
Thus sally’d forth the brute,
Attended by his trusty squire,
To meet Selina’s swain;
Whom well he knew must pass that road,
To reach his home again.
“Well met !” he cried, as he espied
The noble youth appear;
“But tell me, youngster, by what right
You have been loit’ring here?”
By what right , sir, do you demand
Me to account to you? “
Exclaim’d young Edward, whilst his face
Glow’d with a roseate hue.
“These grounds are mine; ” Richard replied;
“I am their lawful lord;”–
“And I,” said Edward, with a sneer,
“Am master of the world!”
“Great as thou art –I’m greater still;
My passions I control;
Therefore pass on ;–thou art too mean
To agitate my soul!”
Rage gave imp
(Mary Hopkins Pilkington)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, World Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Time Poems, Soul Poems, Faces Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Youth Poems, Fairness PoemsBased on Keywords: successively, choak, betroth, suppos, solicited, loit, matur, coyness, ungovern, baronet, foretel