Read Ebook: The Minstrel A Collection of Poems by Amott Lennox

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Ebook has 285 lines and 21400 words, and 6 pages

For several days they were not quite the thing, To judge from all appearances at least; Their youthful levity had taken wing, And all excursions for the present ceased; And momently their restlessness increased, The sketch was left unheeded: incomplete The slippers they were knitting ere the feast, And faded garlands strewed the arbour seat, Now silent and neglected was that cool retreat.

But still this feeling's always more or less Shortlived, I find it so, at any rate, Altho' not always easy to repress, We very soon reclaim our normal state: 'Twas so in this case, happy to relate, For soon they all were lark-like as before, With all their usual buoyancy innate, Indeed they took to frolic more and more; They were the liveliest feminines one ever saw.

It somehow chanced one night they could not sleep, They did not even doze, but wakeful lay; Oblivion's mists their senses did not steep; Whatever was the cause I cannot say; So they commenced to chat the time away, Their rooms were quite convenient for it too, Then on to various topics did they stray, And long forgotten converse did renew: No doubt 'twas quite enjoyable, they thought so too.

At last, of course, they didn't wish to doze, Preferring to prolong the conversation; And still suggestions one by one arose Which only met with their disapprobation; And jokes were cracked in lively alternation: From sundry rappings "peal on peal afar" Occasioning surprise and consternation I'm half afraid that they awoke Mama, And, dozing sweetly too, most likely their papa.

This was effectual to some extent, They brought their voices down to somewhat low. T' arouse the slumb'ring folks they never meant, Whom they'd disturbed so much a while ago; So they arranged at once that both should go To Dora's bedroom if they wished to speak, And "trip it on the light fantastic toe," But, oh dear, how those stupid boards did creak As both of them their darling sister's room did seek!

Now Flora oped the casement, for she sought The realm of silent Night. The breezes soft Swept o'er her brow and cooled each burning thought, And calmly bore each tranquil prayer aloft; She sniffed the balmy air and lightly quaffed The faint and mellow perfumes as they came, And gazed abstractedly, as she so oft Had done before. Who would not do the same, And fondly praise his Maker's most belov?d name?

Below, the pebbly rill, like the fond sigh Of maiden's love, was whispering to the night, While on its breast the star-lit canopy, Reflected clear, the bosom did invite To share its holy peace, its still delight, And join the drowsy nocturnes that arose, Hushing all nature to a slumber light, And soothing down on pillows of repose All weary mortals' earthly turmoils, cares and woes.

And summer dews had steeped the verdant sod, The moon-rays shimmered o'er the spangled lea, And taught the soul the eloquence of God, Tinging the far horizon o'er the sea With silver film and sheeny filigree, While o'er the gray expanse with trembling wing The ling'ring zephyr hovered sleepily, And faintly breathed o'er every dormant thing Its soft, sad benediction. This did Flora sing:--

Oh Night, beneath thy dark domain How oft the human heart has bled! But here a holy peace doth reign, And now my soul is comforted.

Sublimest Monarch, teach my breast To speak the phantasy it feels, O take my heart to be thy guest, And stay thy sombre chariot-wheels!

Thy course is bent thro' clouds--on them Thy path thou takest o'er the sea, Ten myriad worlds thy diadem, Oh take me to abide with thee!

Thy sceptre--'tis with points of light Begemmed; thy retinues advance, And feeble Nature owns thy might, The splendour of thy countenance.

The moon thy lamp, the flaming sun Thy harbinger; take thou my soul, Now bounding forth thy race to run, To thy Imperial Capitol!

O let my spirit wander o'er Thy sable woods and feel their sighs, And float upon thy Stygian shore, And revel in its mysteries!

O but to mingle with thy throng, Partaker in thy flight to be, A portion of that spirit-song, A spirit minister to thee!

They soon were rather weary and methinks Their chirp-like chatter did grow somewhat less, Now one would rouse herself from forty winks, Another doze in sweet unconsciousness; Indeed it was high time, as you may guess, They should disperse--they wisely thought so too, Then kissed and smiled and each one did confess Such pranks as these would never, never do; Of course they'd have to meet the scolding, that they knew.

Their dreams were peopled with all forms and shapes That nightmare with its horrors can conceive, Egyptian sphynxes down to Barb'ry apes: Entangled in all nets that dreams can weave They struggled to get liberty and leave The meshy maze, yet struggled all in vain, Such horribles you never could believe I wonder if they all transgressed again As then; thus pleasure's always found preceding pain.

Rose, like the others, saw the wrong she did Personified in dreams, while on her chest, In slow descent, an Eastern Pyramid Came down to crush her flat, she did her best, Like dreaming people do when so distressed, To move from underneath the cruel thing, When up came Ju to know if she were dressed And if she heard the bell for breakfast ring, Surprised indeed so late to find her slumbering.

She heard it, yes, but with a dreaming ear, Just as the pile above her did descend; She heard the funeral knell, she saw the bier, Which was to seal her most unpleasant end; But fortunately then Mama did send The housemaid to inform the time of day, The Spinx etcetera did their ways amend, Politely bowed, took wing, and flew away; Rose wished them all good morning with no more delay.

The girls went down to breakfast with a look Which spoke guilt, shame and terror all in one, Each sigh was language and each glance a book Narrating all the mischief they had done; And cowering conscience cautioned them to shun The searching lectures of parental eyes, But still the dark ordeal had begin, For Mama swelled to a terrific size, And Pater looked around the room in mute surprise.

Then glances were exchanged, and both declared Such freaks as these again must never be, Their Ma demanded how they even dared, Since they'd been naughty to the last degree, Ejaculating faintly "Goodness me!" With various interjections of alarm, Stamping with anger at the guilty three, But 'twas not long e'er she again was calm, And all her daughters knew of course she meant no harm.

But this unhappy circumstance was soon-- Like such unpleasantnesses were--forgotten, All things were tolerably straight by noon, ; So they betook them to their knitting-cotton, And felt themselves forgiven, as they were, They said that lesson should be unforgotten, Such nonsense never should again occur, So they had asked their parents' pardon I infer.

Days had not only sped but galloped on, As they expressed it, e'er they could "turn round;" Before they were aware, the month had gone, The first of August, too, had come they found, On which date, I imagine, they designed A short excursion, by the pleasant sound Of tossing waters wild and unconfined: In following this suggestion they were not behind.

I mean to say that I was born unlucky, My mother never danced me up and down, I never once was designated "ducky," Nor rolled within the doubles of her gown, Nor dandled as when fondlings "go to town," Nor kissed and snuggled when I went to bed, Or rather when conveyed there with a frown, A downright shaking and a smarting head; To me no coaxing sweet appeal was made when fed.

I don't know if the Pythagorean theory Is quite to be relied upon or spurned, I'm half afraid this must remain a query As far as my enquiries are concerned; For theories are by theories overturned, And what a wise man says a coon disputes, For my part I must leave it with the learned, And those who play the fool with such pursuits, I take the first that comes, or anyone which suits.

But if that version of the matter's true I must have suffered for my previous sin, Some former life of follies, what think you? Some other mischief I've been joining in; But what's the use of idle pondering On things so troublesome and as abstruse, It were prepost'rous even to begin, What was there that could possibly induce Pythagoras to turn his pen to such a use?

The thought of spiritual transmigration Is somewhat pleasant, therefore let it be; It seems delightful to my contemplation But what of that, it's all the same to me! In fact, to tell the truth, I cannot see Wherefore Pythagoras did puzzle o'er This tiresome philosophy when he Must truly have considered it a bore, I think it so, and, doubtless, so do many more.

"One fool makes many," as the saying goes, And he was quite as bad as any Plato, There was some slight resemblance I suppose, As Alcibiades resembled Cato; But I must hurry on and not delay so On themes unnecessary to my tale, I'm sure you will agree with me and say so, I'm prone to 'light on topics that are stale, As I have said before, I know that I am frail.

Well laden with good things by way of luncheon, Our heroines were starting on their way, With ham and tongue, and wine an infant puncheon, With spirits buoyant, and a jolly day; The sun upon them shot his summer ray, Above, the pendent lark was on the wing, The fair ones, each and all, had lots to say, And absolutely laughed like anything; The very air with their blithe merriment did ring.

'Twas early yet, and, as they were proceeding, On some poor widow they'd arranged to call, To give her heart the comfort she was needing, Whose open bible was her hope, her all; And Dora in her basket bore a shawl, A gift from Ma to the disabled dame, Together with some stockings and a ball Of worsted. To the cottage gate they came, And, doubtless, reader, you have often done the same.

They knocked, then pressed the latch and entered. There Her grandchild sat; oh, she was sweet to see! Her cheek was bright, and fairer than the fair, Each tress the sungleam shimmering o'er the sea; An open bible lay upon her knee, She had been reading from the volume old In meek and innocent simplicity, And tinging all things earthly with the gold The calmer, holier radiance of that other fold.

"I will be with you even unto death." "Come unto Me and I will give you rest." "I, even I, am He that comforteth." What words are these! how beautiful, how blest! And Granny, as she listened, fondly pressed Her darling's little hand, did she not bring Sweet consolation to her ag?d breast When th' sun of life was low--towards evening, And life's fast fleeting pleasures, all had taken wing?

But dim were Granny's glasses with a tear While listening to that voice so soft, so low, Oh! what upon this weary earth so dear? Oh! what so cherished as that smile below? The depth of human fondness who can know? She dried her tears, imprinting a slow kiss Upon her beauty's cheek, she loved her so, Oh! what more tender, more sublime than this? Beside that hearth there reigned such still, such sacred bliss.

XL.

Our visitors had entered. Granny seemed Right down delighted that they should have come, For from her eyes a nameless pleasure beamed, Which seemed of all delights to be the sum; She tried to make them cosy interdum, And to their kind enquiries she replied, "I'm bonny in my way, I thank you, Mum, And how's yourselves and those at home beside?" Then to them several little matters did confide.

The cot, consisting of two rooms, was thatched; Each room was on the ground. Above the door Clung vines and roses, and the wall was patched, And all an aspect of contentment bore, The prettiest little scene you ever saw, Within, above the mantel, hung the gun Which there had hung for fifteen years or more, Memento of that dear departed one, Telling of how much service it before had done.

Within the corner stood the eight-day clock Which had recounted time for years and years, And even then was going "tick-a-tock," Tho' it had seen so many smiles and tears; There is a something which, I fancy, cheers In the slow ditty which those songsters sing, Some sweet responsion which the bosom hears, Whose echo is so soft and comforting, Winding a stilly peace round each familiar thing.

The bacon hung suspended from a beam, And ancient china made the parlour gay; The picture of a little mountain stream Called Rose's admiration into play; And, basking in the sun's delightful ray, A favourite kitten purred with sleepy air, The polished flags were spotless as the day, And groups of flowering plants stood here and there, And industry was most apparent everywhere.

Her little grandchild courtesied at the gate, Showed them the way and courtesied once again, They sauntered on at just their former rate And chattered in their usual lively strain; Passing along an elevated plain They paused to look around them for the scene Delighted them enormously and fain Would they have been to rest mid-way between, But forward gaily pressed o'er silent tracts of green.

The view was bounded on their right by hills, Those gentle hills that border on the sea, Ah! as I write a thought my bosom stills, That thought, Oh Berwick, is the thought of thee! How kind, how tranquil were thine hours to me, Those hours amongst thy silent valleys cast, O moments gone, come back and let me be Enfolded in the visions of the Past, While other hours and days and years are fleeting fast!

Anon the summit of the cliff they gained, Above the vast expanse the eye is bent, Where Beauty's finger wanders unrestrained With its fantastical embellishment; The mind is riveted, the gaze is spent Where lavish Nature pours her richest spoil, The tongue is voiceless with bewilderment, Far, far below the ocean's ceaseless toil Makes bosoms inly shudder and all eyes recoil.

Our little thoughts are staggered at the scene, That splendour so unspeakably intense, And dazzled by its brilliancy of sheen, The senses reel with its magnificence; Below the surgy yeast was boiling, whence Rose on the summer air its restless roar, It smote the broken cliff's bold battlements, Unmoted like the warriors of yore, And plunged upon the moss-clad boulders of the shore.

The feathery clouds moved slowly through the sky, The coast-line melted into tender blue, The storm-bleared headland stood defiantly The boldest feature of that boundless view; In contrast with its chalky front, the hue Of the green sea swept freely far and wide, And o'er the promontory's base there grew, As though its time-torn nakedness to hide, Some shaggy weeds that floated on the swelling tide.

It was the ebb. They could not yet descend; So Rose suggested that they should proceed In the direction of the headland's end, There straightway squat them on the grass and read The books they'd brought; to this they all agreed, Then hastened onward though the sun was hot, And there beneath their sunshades with much speed And very much more chatter did they squat; In those parts foliage umbrageous there was not.

They must have read an hour when they discovered Exactly simultaneously that they Were really hungry, so they all uncovered Their baskets of refreshment for the day, And laughed to see the paper fly away; They must, I think, have quite enjoyed their fare So close above the music of the bay, No doubt it was delightful to be there Fanned by the soothing breath of the ozonic air.

They chatted, read, and dozed in alternation, And time had flitted as it always will, Flo recommended change of situation, Not pleased that they were tarrying there still; So all arose and forward urged until They saw afar some narrow steps and rude, Beginning some short distance up the hill, And which of course no sooner had they viewed Than thither they repaired as quickly as they could.

Descending, they discovered that the sea Had much subsided since they saw it last, Then down they hopped with more than usual glee To note the waters thus receding fast; Upon the narrow strip of sand were cast Weeds, star-fish, and all sorts of shells around, And, as along the level stretch they passed, Most interesting articles they found Which lay all washed and wet upon the solid ground.

At some short distance was a vessel hurled, A dismal wreck, upon the rockbound shoal, Around its hulk th' encircling billows curled, Now thro' its splintered deck the wavelet stole, Then, issuing forth, it gurgled through a hole Staved by the tempest's fury in its side, Afar off did its shattered timbers roll, Its treasures all were scattered in the tide. The headland gained, the swaying wreck they soon espied.

Soon as the waves permitted them to go Across the smooth white rocks, they to it went; The raging brine had torn off half the bow, Its starboard shivered and its cordage rent; The warring waters had their anger spent And flung its fragments to the cruel blast, Its iron bands were burst apart and bent, And all around in dire disorder cast; There, shattered, at some little distance, lay the mast.

When gazing pensively o'er ocean's realm Its wide destruction, its unspoken might, There is a something which doth overwhelm, As day is overshadowed by the night; This was, forsooth, an interesting sight To them, yet no less dreadful, for the scene Was one such as could never yield delight, And so delighted they could not have been, Before they never such a spectacle had seen.

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