Read Ebook: Vignettes in Verse by Betham Matilda

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Ebook has 126 lines and 11069 words, and 3 pages

But when with aimless, trackless skill Is twin'd a mazy chain, In the warm foldings of a heart, Perforce it must remain.

Come, Magdalen, and bind my hair, And put me on my sad array; I to my father's house repair, And hear his final doom to-day.

But wrap me in that cypress veil; At first his eye I would not brave, 'Till he shall bid the mourner hail, And knows I come from Edwin's grave.

I, late his boast, his heir, his pride, Must like a guilty vassal kneel; I, who was gallant Edwin's bride, Must to my widow'd state appeal!

Closely within my heart must keep His praise for whom that heart is riv'n, And let each fond resentment sleep, For I must die or be forgiven.

Manuel, I do not shed a tear, Our parting to delay! I dare not listen to my fear! I dare not bid thee stay!

The heart may shrink, the spirit fail, But Spaniards must be free; And pride and duty shall prevail O'er all my love for thee!

Then go! and round that gallant head, Like banners in the air, Shall float full many a daring hope, And many a tender prayer!

Should freedom perish--at thy death, 'T'were folly to repine-- And I should every feeling lose, Except the wish for mine!

But if the destiny of Spain, Be once again to rise, Oh! grant me heaven, to read the tale, In Manuel's joyful eyes!

SONNET.

ALL' AMICA.

And didst thou think that worldly art Would mould anew this shrinking heart? No! as a bird, by storms opprest, Is sheltered in its silent nest, I nurse and soothe it in the strife, Screen from the bleakest airs of life, And bring it all that once you knew, As kind, as timid, and as true!

But how could I so foolish be, As not to feel a doubt of thee?-- This joy to find me still the same Takes from my lip the power to blame; Else, but forgive me, else I find A mist has stolen o'er thy mind, And veil'd my prospect; dimm'd that light Which once was warm, and clear, and bright.

TO THE SAME.

Go forth, my voice, through the wild air, In the lone stillness of the night, Beneath the cold moon's pale blue light; Seek Eugenia, and declare, As warmth and promise lurk below A waste of lifeless, drifted snow;

So, while my lips inertly move, While many heavy fetters bind, And press upon my languid mind, Oh! tell her not to doubt my love! Affection still her hold shall keep, Although her weary servants sleep.

Friendship to me is like a flower, Yielding a balm for human woe, I less than ever could forego; More prized, more needed every hour! Perchance it dies for want of care, But as it withers, I despair!

'Tis said, that jealous of a name We all would praise confine, And choke the leading path to fame In our peculiar line.

But vainly should detraction preach If once I made it known, The art of pleasing thou would'st teach Acknowledg'd for thy own.

Yes! I can suffer, sink with pain, With anguish I can ill sustain; Till not a hope has strength to spring, Till scarce a prayer can lift its wing; Yet in my inmost heart there lies A living fount that will arise, And, of itself, diffuse a balm, A healing and refreshing calm, A pure delight, a cooling glow, Which Hate and Meanness cannot know!

Yes! I can faint, and I can fear, The power of petty creatures here, Who trick dark deeds in gay disguise, And weave their web of brooded lies, With so few threads made smooth and fair, All seems plain sense and reason there; And yet I would not learn their art, Nor have their paltry spells by heart, Their rankling blood within my veins, For all the treasure earth contains!

Oft, panic-struck, I sink, dismay'd, Call, with expiring faith, for aid; When all my efforts useless seem, Emptied of force as in a dream, My courage knows to persevere, Entwin'd, o'ergrown, o'ertowered by fear! As he who summoned in the night, At sudden wreck, in wild affright, Once throws his arms around a mast, Continues still to hold it fast, When sight and strength and aim are flown, When cold, benumb'd, and senseless grown, My soul, by hurrying tempests driven, Though blinded from the light of Heaven, Clinging, all hope, all comfort o'er, Must yet awaken on the shore!

TO MR. AND MRS. EVERARD,

Talent and beauty, and the heart's warm glow, Gilding with Heavenly light his path below, Few with such rare felicity have won, In that rich prize, a dear and only son; And fewer but those faculties would doom To the soft prison of a pamper'd home; Check his bold wishes when they soar'd on high, And see well-pleas'd each early vision die; But ye, enweaving, as to me appears, With his bright hopes, those of maturer years, Hallowing the web, with all that parents feel, The saintly trust in Heav'n, the patriot's zeal, The aching doubts, that still tenacious wind Around the lofty and the tender mind; Ye, with a more than Roman virtue, yield, To the proud strife of Albion's liquid field, This darling; and, in whispers, bid him wear The finest wreath that buds and blossoms there; And I could almost say I heard a strain Pronounce--the sacrifice should not be vain!

Behold the semblance of thy flower! I could not fill its leaves with dew, Shew its tints varying with the hour, Its motion as the zephyrs blew.

And beauty too were more complete, Appearing on the native stem, In midst of buds and blossoms sweet, And catching graces, charms from them.

Or blooming under eyes like thine, Whose fond, soft gaze, whose tender tear, Must also, losing power divine, Awake no answering sweetness here.

For much of loveliness must sleep, E'en when inspir'd and led by truth; The faithful pencil aims to keep Mildness and innocence and youth.

To MRS. A.

An Hour was before me, no creature more bright, More airy, more joyous, e'er sprang on my sight. To catch and to fetter I instantly tried, And "thou art my slave, pretty vagrant," I cried.

I had hold, and securely I thought, of its wing, O! how I shall glory, so lovely a thing To place by the cradle of friendship, and see, With the aid of my captive, if I can be free.

Oh! while she is with me, some means may be found To temper the air and to hallow the ground-- To make those entangling bind-weeds decay, Drive Suspicion, who rear'd them, for ever away, And leave all around, kind, and healthful, and gay!

When this can be compass'd, I'll build me a bower, And twine in the trellice each sweet-scented flower-- Rare, delicate plants, whose large, fresh leaves shall fling Green shadows, where birds in the stillness may sing.

A place of repose, when the spirit is faint, And the heart wants to utter a passing complaint: Of safety; for pure and serene be the air, And nothing unkind or unholy be there!

In this sacred retreat I my cares would confide, And there my half-forming opinions should hide; If true, gather strength for the brightness of day-- If false, in the shade, unreprov'd, die away!

How fondly I nourish'd these hopes, but in vain! The calm and the stillness I could not retain; My Hour fled away, every wish unfulfill'd, And warm'd not the Friendship Suspicion had chill'd!

LINES

May 2, 1816.

FANCIFUL BOUQUET.

And yet they all appear too poor, Though goodness can ensure no more; Though monarchs, whom the world adore, Would purchase such with all their store.

And while this charmed gift we send, We know where'er your footsteps bend, The looks and tones that win the friend, That kindness, nature, truth, attend,

Are yours, and must be with you still, Angelic guards, go where they will, To ward off much surrounding ill, And happiest destinies fulfil.

If so, his anxious friends declar'd All future trouble might be spar'd: A heart thus pierc'd would never rove, Nor meanly seek a second love; No distance e'er could give him pain-- No rivalry torment his brain. Self-love will bear a many knocks, A thousand mortifying shocks; One moment languish in despair, The next alert and debonair.

Half piqued to see him thus intrude, And question in a way so rude; Half tickled at the strange address, Cupid said gravely, "We confess There may be reason in your plea; But still we very much admire Your entering in such strange attire! We cannot such omissions see, And countenance--It should appear, You know not we are sovereign here! The soldiers of our chosen band Approach not till we give command. We every look and action sway, And they with prompt delight obey. For height, and size, and such like things, We care far less than other kings; But station, learning, no pretence, Can make us with our power dispense. The warrior must not here look big, The lawyer doffs his forked wig, The portly merchant rich and free, Forgets his pride and bends the knee; The doctor gives his terrors scope, And, like a patient, whines for hope; In short the wise have childish fits, And fools and madmen find their wits. "Then go--this silly pride subdue, And thou shall be our servant too! Acquire the courtly way of speech, Not, 'do you hear?' but, 'I beseech.' And let a suitor's voice and air, Thy grievances and zeal declare, We never scorn a humble prayer!"

"And would'st thou wish," the monarch cried, "To set our gentle laws aside? Thou hast no friend in Common Sense, In such affairs she thinks it wisest, To stand aside without pretence, And sanction laws which thou despisest. But try the plan, it merits praise, Success may crown its winning ways! The lady must be blind indeed, With whom such offers of neglect, And cool, habitual disrespect Would not succeed. But come no longer here to flout us, Since, truly, thou canst do without us; For dignity is lost in sport, An outlaw for contempt of court; We banish thee with all thy pride Until thy heart be rarified."

ABSENCE.

When recollection brings to mind, The kindred ties I've left behind, The converse gentle and refin'd, I grieve!

Deep the regret, the pain extreme, And yet I fondly love the dream, And find the sad, delightful theme Relieve.

It bids all present forms decay, All present feelings fade away; Impeding distance, long delay Are o'er!

Fancy, so active in the gloom, Till some one enters in the room, Can all the images of home Restore.

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