Now Ellen was a darling love In all his joys and cares: And Ellen's name and Mary's name Fast-linked they both together came, Whene'er he said his prayers.

And in the moment of his prayers He loved them both alike: Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy Upon his heart did strike!

He reach'd his home, and by his looks They saw his inward strife: And they clung round him with their arms, Both Ellen and his wife.

And Mary could not check her tears, So on his breast she bowed; Then frenzy melted into grief, And Edward wept aloud.

Dear Ellen did not weep at all, But closelier did she cling, And turned her face and looked as if She saw some frightful thing.

PART II

To see a man tread over graves I hold it no good mark; 'Tis wicked in the sun and moon, And bad luck in the dark!

You see that grave? The Lord he gives, The Lord, he takes away: O Sir! the child of my old age Lies there as cold as clay.

Except that grave, you scarce see one That was not dug by me; I'd rather dance upon 'em all Than tread upon these three!

"Aye, s.e.xton!'tis a touching tale."

You, Sir! are but a lad; This month I'm in my seventieth year, And still it makes me sad.

And Mary's sister told it me, For three good hours and more; Though I had heard it, in the main, From Edward's self, before.

Well! it pa.s.sed off! the gentle Ellen Did well nigh dote on Mary; And she went oftener than before, And Mary loved her more and more: She managed all the dairy.

To market she on market-days, To church on Sundays came; All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir!

But all was not the same!

Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no!

But she was seldom cheerful; And Edward look'd as if he thought That Ellen's mirth was fearful.

When by herself, she to herself Must sing some merry rhyme; She could not now be glad for hours, Yet silent all the time.

And when she soothed her friend, through all Her soothing words 'twas plain She had a sore grief of her own, A haunting in her brain.

And oft she said, I'm not grown thin!

And then her wrist she spanned; And once when Mary was down-cast, She took her by the hand, And gazed upon her, and at first She gently pressed her hand;

Then harder, till her grasp at length Did gripe like a convulsion!

"Alas!" said she, "we ne'er can be Made happy by compulsion!"

And once her both arms suddenly Round Mary's neck she flung, And her heart panted, and she felt The words upon her tongue.

She felt them coming, but no power Had she the words to smother; And with a kind of shriek she cried, "Oh Christ! you're like your mother!"

So gentle Ellen now no more Could make this sad house cheery; And Mary's melancholy ways Drove Edward wild and weary.

Lingering he raised his latch at eve, Though tired in heart and limb: He loved no other place, and yet Home was no home to him.

One evening he took up a book, And nothing in it read; Then flung it down, and groaning cried, "O! Heaven! that I were dead."

Mary looked up into his face, And nothing to him said; She tried to smile, and on his arm Mournfully leaned her head.

And he burst into tears, and fell Upon his knees in prayer: "Her heart is broke! O G.o.d! my grief, It is too great to bear!"

'Twas such a foggy time as makes Old s.e.xtons, Sir! like me, Rest on their spades to cough; the spring Was late uncommonly.

And then the hot days, all at once, They came, we knew not how: You looked about for shade, when scarce A leaf was on a bough.

It happened then ('twas in the bower, A furlong up the wood: Perhaps you know the place, and yet I scarce know how you should,)

No path leads thither, 'tis not nigh To any pasture-plot; But cl.u.s.tered near the chattering brook, Lone hollies marked the spot.

Those hollies of themselves a shape As of an arbour took, A close, round arbour; and it stands Not three strides from a brook.

Within this arbour, which was still With scarlet berries hung, Were these three friends, one Sunday morn, Just as the first bell rung.

'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet To hear the Sabbath-bell, 'Tis sweet to hear them both at once, Deep in a woody dell.

His limbs along the moss, his head Upon a mossy heap, With shut-up senses, Edward lay: That brook e'en on a working day Might chatter one to sleep.

And he had pa.s.sed a restless night, And was not well in health; The women sat down by his side, And talked as 'twere by stealth.

"The Sun peeps through the close thick leaves, See, dearest Ellen! see!

'Tis in the leaves, a little sun, No bigger than your ee;

"A tiny sun, and it has got A perfect glory too; Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, Make up a glory gay and bright Round that small orb, so blue."

And then they argued of those rays, What colour they might be; Says this, "They're mostly green"; says that, "They're amber-like to me."

So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts Were troubling Edward's rest; But soon they heard his hard quick pants, And the thumping in his breast.

"A mother too!" these self-same words Did Edward mutter plain; His face was drawn back on itself, With horror and huge pain.

Both groan'd at once, for both knew well What thoughts were in his mind; When he waked up, and stared like one That hath been just struck blind.

He sat upright; and ere the dream Had had time to depart, "O G.o.d, forgive me!" (he exclaimed) "I have torn out her heart."

Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst Into ungentle laughter; And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after.

1797-1809.

_Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum._ To-morrow!

and To-morrow! and To-morrow!----[Note of S.T.C.--l8l5.]