Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist Part 23

Bethink you how we stray'd alone Beneath those elms in Agen grown, That each an arch above us throws, Like giants, hand-in-hand, in rows.

A storm once struck a fav'rite tree, It trembled, shook, and bent its boughs,-- The vista is no longer free: Our governor no pause allows; "Bring hither hatchet, axe, and spade, The tree must straight be prostrate laid!"

But vainly strength and art were tried, The stately tree all force defied; Well might the elm resist and foil their might, For though his branches were decay'd to sight, As many as his leaves the roots spread round, And in the firm set earth they slept profound.

Since then, more full, more green, more gay, The crests amid the breezes play: And birds of every note and hue Come trooping to his shade in Spring; Each summer they their lays renew, And while the years endure they sing.

And thus it is, believe me, sir, With this enchantress--she we call Our second mother; Frenchmen err Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall.

No! she still lives, her words still ring, Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay.

September 2nd, 1837.

Endnotes to JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT.

{1} Jasmin here quotes several patois songs, well known in the country.

{2} Both Gascons.

THE MASON'S SON.{1}

{LA SEMMANO D'UN FIL.}

Riches, n'oubliez pas un seul pet.i.t moment Que des pauvres la grande couvee Se reveille toujours le sourire a la bouche Quand elle s'endort sans avoir faire!

(Riche et Pauvre.)

The swallows fly about, although the air is cold, Our once fair sun has shed his brightest gold.

The fields decay On All-saints day.

Ground's hard afoot, The birds are mute; The tree-tops shed their chill'd and yellow leaves, They dying fall, and whirl about in sheaves.

One night, when leaving late a neighb'ring town, Although the heavens were clear, Two children paced along, with many a moan-- Brother and sister dear; And when they reached the wayside cross Upon their knees they fell, quite close.

Abel and Jane, by the moon's light, Were long time silent quite; As they before the altar bend, With one accord their voices sweet ascend.

"Mother of G.o.d, Virgin compa.s.sionate!

Oh! send thy angel to abate The sickness of our father dear, That mother may no longer fear-- And for us both! Oh! Blessed Mother, We love thee, more and more, we two together!"

The Virgin doubtless heard their prayer, For, when they reached the cottage near, The door before them opened wide, And the dear mother, ere she turned aside, Cried out: "My children brave, The fever's gone--your father's life is safe!

Now come, my little lambs, and thank G.o.d for His grace."

In their small cot, forthwith the three, To G.o.d in prayer did bend the knee, Mother and children in their gladness weeping, While on a sorry bed a man lay sleeping-- It was the father, good Hilaire!

Not long ago, a soldier brave, But now--a working mason's slave.

II.

The dawn next day was clear and bright, The glint of morning sunlight Gleamed through the windows taper, Although they only were patched up with paper.

When Abel noiseless entered, with his foot-fall slight, He slipped along to the bedside; He oped the little curtain, without stirring of the rings; His father woke and smiled, with joy that pleasure brings.

"Abel," he said, "I longed for thee; now listen thou to me: We're very poor indeed--I've nothing save my weekly fee; But Heaven has helped our lives to save--by curing me.

Dear boy, already thou art fifteen years-- You know to read, to write--then have no fears; Thou art alone, thou'rt sad, but dream no more, Thou ought'st to work, for now thou hast the power!

I know thy pain and sorrow, and thy deep alarms; More good than strong--how could thy little arms Ply hard the hammer on the stony blocks?

But our hard master, though he likes good looks, May find thee quite a youth; He says that thou hast spirit; and he means for thy behoof.

Then do what gives thee pleasure, Without vain-glory, Abel; and spend thy precious leisure In writing or in working--each is a labour worthy, Either with pen or hammer--they are the tools most lofty; Labour in mind or body, they do fatigue us ever-- But then, Abel my son, I hope that never One blush upon you e'er will gather To shame the honour of your father."

Abel's blue eyes were bright with bliss and joy-- Father rejoiced--four times embraced the boy; Mother and daughter mixed their tears and kisses, Then Abel saw the master, to his happiness, And afterwards four days did pa.s.s, All full of joyfulness.

But pleasure with the poor is always unenduring.

A brutal order had been given on Sunday morning That if, next day, the father did not show his face, Another workman, in that case, Would be employed to take his place!

A shot of cannon filled with grape Could not have caused such grief, As this most cruel order gives To these four poor unfortunates.

"I'm cured!" Hilaire cried; "let me rise and dress;"

He tried--fell back; and then he must confess He could not labour for another week!

Oh, wretched plight-- For him, his work was life!

Should he keep sick, 'twas death!

All four sat mute; sudden a my of hope Beamed in the soul of Abel.

He brushed the tear-drops from his een, a.s.sumed a manly mien,

Strength rushed into his little arms, On his bright face the blushes came; He rose at once, and went to reason With that cruel master mason.

Abel returned, with spirits bright, No longer trembling with affright; At once he gaily cries, With laughing mouth and laughing eyes:--

"My father! take your rest; have faith and courage; Take all the week, then thou shalt work apace; Some one, who loves thee well, will take thy place, Then thou may'st go again and show thy face."

III.

Saved by a friend, indeed! He yet had friends in store!

Oh! how I wish that in this life so lonely....

But, all will be explained at work on Monday; There are good friends as yet--perhaps there's many more.

It was indeed our Abel took his father's place.

At office first he showed his face; Then to the work-yard: thus his father he beguiled.

Spite of his slender mien, he worked and always smiled.

He was as deft as workmen twain; he dressed The stones, and in the mortar then he pressed The heavy blocks; the workmen found him cheerful.

Mounting the ladder like a bird: He skipped across the rafters fearful.

He smiled as he ascended, smiled as he descended-- The very masons trembled at his hardiness: But he was working for his father--in his gladness, His life was full of happiness; His brave companions loved the boy Who filled their little life with joy.

They saw the sweat run down his brow, And clapped their hands, though weary he was now.

What bliss of Abel, when the day's work's o'er, And the bright stars were shining: Unto the office he must go, And don his better clothing-- Thus his poor father to deceive, who thought he went a-clerking.

He took his paper home and wrote, 'midst talk with Jane so shyly, And with a twinkling eye he answered mother's looks so slyly.

Three days thus pa.s.sed, and the sick man arose, Life now appeared to him a sweet repose.

On Thursday, tempting was the road; At midday, Friday, he must walk abroad.

But, fatal Friday--G.o.d has made for sorrow.