Poems by Matilda Betham Part 8

YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL.

O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!

And look not up so fresh and bright!

The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, Will spoil thy beauties ere the night.

I grieve to see thee look so gay.

And so unconscious of thy lot, For gloom and tempests wait thy day, And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not!

Thy tender leaflets all unfold, Their colours ripen and refine, Become most lovely to behold, And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine.

Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!

I grieve to see thee look so gay!

Close thy soft wings against the show'r, And wait a more auspicious day!

THE MOTHER.

"And beats my heart again with joy!

And dances now my spirit light!

The skiff that holds my darling boy This moment burst upon my sight!

"Not yet distinctly I perceive Amid the crew his well-known form, But still his safety I believe, I know he has escap'd the storm.

"I feel as if my heart had wings, And tender from excess of bliss, His form, which airy fancy brings, In fond emotion seem to kiss.

"Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, Which these bewilder'd spirits share!

Welcome this tumult of the breast, After the shudder of despair!

"My Robert he is brave and strong, He will these flowing tears reprove.

Alas! how little know the young, The tremor of a Mother's love.

"For we are weak from many a care, From many a sleepless, anxious hour, When fear and hope the bosom tear, And ride the brain with fevering power.

"But lo! he cheerly waves his hand!

I hear his voice! I see his face!

And eager now he springs to land, To meet a Mother's fond embrace!

"This failing heart! but joy to me, If heaven in pity is thy guard; And of the pangs I feel for thee, Protection be the dear reward!"

EDGAR AND ELLEN.

"Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, Fair dame, no farther go!

But listen to the martial strains, Whose wildness speaks of woe!

Hark! strife is forward on the field, I hear the trumpet's bray!

Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, Decides the dreadful day!

Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair!

The scenes where men engage; Thy gentle spirit could not bear The fearful battle's rage."

"I prithee, stranger, let me fly!

Though pallid is my cheek, The lightning's flash delights my eye, I love the thunder's break.

And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, When tempests rush'd along, My steady hand has painted flowers, Or voice has rais'd the song."

"Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye Is red with recent tears; Already that heart-startling sigh Proclaims thy anxious fears.

Then let a stranger's words prevail, Nor thus in danger roam!

Here many frightful ills a.s.sail, But safety is at home!"

"No, in some peasant's lowly cot Perhaps she may abide, To consecrate the humble spot, But not where I reside.

In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, From childhood have I dwelt, And for his wily murderer too, A filial fondness felt.

Ah me! how often have I press'd The lips which seal'd his doom!

How oft the cruel hand caress'd Which sent him to the tomb!

My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, And, as she told the tale, A sickly blight pa.s.s'd o'er my youth, And turn'd its roses pale.

The heavy secret on my heart Like deadly poison prey'd; For she forbade me to impart A word of what she said.

I, who so blithely sung before, So peacefully had slept, Fancied gaunt murder at the door, And listen'd, shook, and wept.

No longer with an open smile, I greeted all around; My fearful looks were fix'd the while, In terror on the ground.

All saw the change, and kindly strove My sadness to relieve; Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, Which could not see me grieve.

A painful anger flush'd my cheek, My lip indignant smil'd, I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak Thy friendship for his child?"

"Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, Thou wert his only care; Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, It is my latest prayer.

To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, "Whose love and truth are known, Could I this precious charge confide, To cherish, as thy own!"

I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil My dearest friend's desire!

And I have ever acted still, As honour's laws require!

Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof Of my paternal care, Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, So excellent and fair.

Then why that cloud upon thy brow, That sullen, fearful sigh!

That something which we must not know, That cold and altered eye?