Truth explained is to suspicion
Evermore the best physician.
Soon her visits had the effect;
All that Margaret did suspect
From her fancy vanished clean;
She was soon what she had been,
And the colour she did lack
To her faded cheek came back.
Wounds which love had made her feel,
Love alone had power to heal.
Martha, who the frequent visit
Now had lost, and sore did miss it,
With impatience waxed cross,
Counted Margaret's gain her loss;
All that Mary did confer
On her friend, thought due to her.
In her girlish bosom rise
Little foolish jealousies,
Which into such rancour wrought,
She one day for Margaret sought.
Finding her by chance alone,
She began, with reasons shown,
To insinuate a fear
Whether Mary was sincere ;
Wished that Margaret would take heed
Whence her actions did proceed;
For herself, she'd long been minded
Not with outsides to be blinded;
All that pity and compassion
She believed was affectation;
In her heart she doubted whether
Mary cared a pin for either.
She could keep whole weeks at distance,
And not know of their existence,
While all things remained the same;
But when some misfortune came,
Then she made a great parade
Of her sympathy and aid,-
Not that she did really grieve,
It was only make-believe,
And she cared for nothing, so
She might her fine feelings show,
And get credit, on her part,
For a soft and tender heart.
With such speeches, smoothly made,
She found methods to persuade
Margaret (who, being sore
From the doubts she'd felt before,
Was prepared for mistrust)
To believe her reasons just;
Quite destroyed that comfort glad,
Which in Mary late she had;
Made her, in experience' spite,
Think her friend a hypocrite,
And resolve, with cruel scoff,
To renounce and cast her off.
See how good turns are rewarded!
She of both is now discarded,
Who to both had been so late
Their support in low estate,
All their comfort and their stay-
Now of both is cast away.
But the league her presence cherished,
Losing its best prop, soon perished;
She, that was a link to either,
To keep them and it together,
Being gone, the two (no wonder)
That were left, soon fell asunder ;-
Some civilities were kept,
But the heart of friendship slept;
Love with hollow forms was fed,
But the life of love lay dead:-
A cold intercourse they held
After Mary was expelled.
Two long years did intervene
Since they'd either of them seen,
Or, by letter, any word
Of their old companion heard,-
When upon a day once walking,
Of indifferent matters talking,
They a female figure met :-
Martha said to Margaret,
"That young maid in face does carry
A resemblance strong of Mary."
Margaret, at nearer sight,
Owned her observation right :
But they did not far proceed
Ere they knew 'twas she indeed.
She-but ah! how changed they view her
From that person which they knew her ;
Her fine face disease had scarred,
And its matchless beauty marred :
But enough was left to trace
Mary's sweetness, Mary's grace.
When her eye did first behold them,
How they blushed !—but, when she told them
How on a sick-bed she lay
Months, while they had kept away,
And had no inquiries made
If she were alive or dead;
How, for want of a true friend,
She was brought near to her end,
And was like so to have died,
With no friend at her bedside ;-
How the constant irritation
Caused by fruitless expectation
Of their coming, had extended
The illness, when she might have mended,—
Then, O then, how did reflection
Come on them with recollection!
All that she had done for them,
How it did their fault condemn !
But sweet Mary, still the same,
Kindly eased them of their shame;
Spoke to them with accents bland,
Took them friendly by the hand;
Bound them both with promise fast
Not to speak of troubles past;
Made them on the spot declare
A new league of friendship there;
Which, without a word of strife,
Lasted thenceforth long as life.
Martha now and Margaret
Strove who most should pay the debt
Which they owed her, nor did vary
Ever after from their Mary.
TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS DROWNED.
SMILING river, smiling river,
On thy bosom sunbeams play;
Though they're fleeting and retreating,
Thou hast more deceit than they.
In thy channel, in thy channel,
Choked with ooze and gravelly stones,
Deep immersed, and unhearsed,
Lies young Edward's corse: his bones
Ever whitening, ever whitening,
As thy waves against them dash :
What thy torrent, in the current,
Swallowed, now it helps to wash.
As if senseless, as if senseless
Things had feeling in this case;
What so blindly and unkindly
It destroyed, it now does grace.
QUEEN ORIANA'S DREAM.
"ON a bank with roses shaded,
Whose sweet scent the violets aided,
Violets whose breath alone
Yields but feeble smell or none
(Sweeter bed Jove ne'er reposed on
When his eyes Olympus closed on),
While o'erhead six slaves did hold
Canopy of cloth o' gold,
And two more did music keep,
Which might Juno lull to sleep,
Oriana who was queen
To the mighty Tamerlane,
That was lord of all the land
Between Thrace and Samarcand,
While the noontide fervour beamed, Mused herself to sleep, and dreamed."
Thus far, in magnific strain, A young poet soothed his vein, But he had nor prose nor numbers To express a princess' slumbers. Youthful Richard had strange fancies, Was deep versed in old romances, And could talk whole hours upon The great Cham and Prester John,Tell the field in which the Sophy From the Tartar won a trophyWhat he read with such delight of, Thought he could as easily write ofBut his over-young invention Kept not pace with brave intention. Twenty suns did rise and set, And he could no further get; But, unable to proceed, Made a virtue out of need,
And, his labours wiselier deemed of,
Did omit what the queen dreamed of.
LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE
BY LEONARDA DA VINCI; CALLED "THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS.”
WHILE young John runs to greet
The greater Infant's feet,
The mother standing by, with trembling passion
Beholds the engaging mystic play and pretty adoration;
Nor knows as yet the full event
Of those so low beginnings,
From whence we date our winnings,
But wonders at the intent
Of those new rites, and what that strange child-worship meant.
But at her side
An angel doth abide,
With such a perfect joy
As no dim doubts alloy,
An intuition,
A glory, an amenity,
Passing the dark condition
Of blind humanity,
As if he surely knew
All the blest wonders should ensue,
Or he had lately left the upper sphere,
And had read all the sovran schemes and divine riddles there.
A VISION OF REPENTANCE.
I SAW a famous fountain in my dream,
Where shady pathways to a valley led ;
A weeping willow lay upon that stream,
And all around the fountain brink were spread
Wide branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad,
Forming a doubtful twilight, desolate and sad.
The place was such, that whoso entered in
Disrobed was of every earthly thought,
And straight became as one that knew not sin,
Or to the world's first innocence was brought;
Enseemed it now he stood on holy ground,
In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around.
A most strange calm stole o'er my soothed sprite :
Long time I stood, and longer had I stayed,
When lo! I saw, saw by the sweet moonlight,
Which came in silence o'er that silent shade,
Where near the fountain SOMETHING like DESPAIR
Made of that weeping willow garlands for her hair.
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