(When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round,
Her finger on her lip, to see;
And many an acorn-cup is found
Under the greenwood tree)
From every cot above, below,
They gather as they go
Sabot, and coif, and collerette,
The housewife's prayer, the grandam's blessing!
Girls that adjust their locks of jet,
And look and look and linger yet,
The lovely bride caressing;
Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
And heroes he had led to fame.
But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
Her father's gate was open flung?
Ah, then he found a giant's strength;
For round him, as for life, she clung!
And when, her fit of weeping o'er,
Onward they moved a little space,
And saw an old man sitting at the door,
Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye
That seemed to gaze on vacancy,
Then, at the sight of that beloved face,
At once to fall upon his neck she flew ;
But not encouraged-back she drew,
And trembling stood in dread suspense,
Her tears her only eloquence !
All, all the while-an awful distance keeping;
Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ;
And one, his little hand in hers,
Who weeps to see his sister weeping.
Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too;
While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Tho' from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.
"His praises from your lips I heard,
Till my fond heart was won;
And, if in aught his Sire has erred,
Oh turn not from the Son !—
She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed;
Who climbed and called you father first,
By that dear name conjures-
On her you thought-but to be kind!
When looked she up, but you inclined?
These things, for ever in her mind,
Oh are they gone from yours?
Two kneeling at your feet behold;
One-one how young ;-nor yet the other old.
Oh spurn them not-nor look so cold
If Jacqueline be cast away,
Her bridal be her dying day.
-Well, well might she believe in you!
She listened, and she found it true."
He shook his aged locks of snow;
And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came?
"Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more."
But, as he spoke, his voice relented.
"That very look thy mother wore
When she implored, and old Le Roc consented.
True, I have erred and will atone;
For still I love him as my own.
And now,
in my hands, yours with his unite;
A father's blessing on your heads alight!
Nor let the least be sent away.
All hearts shall sing 'Adieu to sorrow!'
St. Pierre has found his child to-day;
And old and young shall dance to-morrow."
Had Louis* then before the gate dismounted,
Lost in the chase at set of sun;
Like Henry when he heard recounted +
The generous deeds himself had done,
(What time the miller's maid Colette
Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette)
Then-when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,
Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed
A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,
-Without it what are all the rest?-
To love, and to be loved again.
Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield."
Introduction-Ringing of Bells in a neighbouring Village on the Birth of an Heir-General Reflections on Human Life-The Subject proposed-Childhood-Youth-Manhood-Love-Marriage-Domestic Happiness and Affliction-War-Peace-Civil Dissension-Retirement from Active Life --Old Age and its Enjoyments-Conclusion.
THE lark has sung his carol in the sky;
The bees have hummed their noon-tide harmony.
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound:
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
A few short years-and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine:
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
"'Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled."
And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round; and old and young,
In every cottage-porch with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy has been;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.
And such is Human Life; so, gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone!
Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,
As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change,
As any that the wandering tribes require,
Stretched in the desert round their evening-fire;
As any sung of old in hall or bower
To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching-hour!
Born in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire;
And the green earth, the azure sky admire.
Of Elfin-size-for ever as we run,
We cast a longer shadow in the sun!
And now a charm, and now a grace is won!
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