Often to summer pasture have I driven
The flock; and well I know these woodland wilds,
And every bosom'd vale, and valley stream
Is dear to memory. I have laid me down
Beside yon valley stream, that up the ascent
Scarce sends the sound of waters now, and watch'd
The beck roll glittering to the noon-tide sun,
And listened to its ceaseless murmuring,
Till all was hush'd and tranquil in my soul,
Fill'd with a strange and undefined delight
That pass'd across the mind like summer clouds
Over the vale at eve; their fleeting hues
The traveller cannot trace with memory's eye,
Yet he remembers well how fair they were,
How beautiful.
Here I grew up, amid the loveliest scenes
Of unpolluted nature. Sweet it was,
As the white mists of morning roll'd away,
To see the upland's wooded heights appear
Dark in the early dawn, and mark the slope
With gorse-flowers glowing, as the sun illumed
Their golden glory with his deepening light; 250
Pleasant at noon beside the vocal brook
To lay me down, and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to fancy's wild similitudes
Their ever-varying forms; and oh how sweet!
To drive my flock at evening to the fold,
And hasten to our little hut, and hear
"Amid the village playmates of my youth
Was one whom riper years approved a friend.
A gentle maid was my poor Madelon ;
I loved her as a sister, and long time
Her undivided tenderness possess'd,
Until a better and a holier tie
Gave her one nearer friend; and then
Partook her happiness, for never lived
A happier pair than Arnaud and his wife.
"Lorraine was call'd to arms, and with her youth
Went Arnaud to the war. The morn was fair,
Bright shone the sun, the birds sung cheerfully,
And all the fields seem'd joyous in the spring; 270
But to Domremi wretched was that day,
For there was lamentation, and the voice
Of anguish, and the deeper agony
That spake not. Never can my heart forget
The feelings that shot through me, when the horn
Gave its last call, and through the castle-gate
The banner moved, and from the clinging arms
Which hung on them, as for a last embrace,
Sons, brethren, husbands, went.
Sought I the converse of poor Madelon,
For now she needed friendship's soothing voice.
All the long summer did she live in hope
Of tidings from the war; and as at eve
She with her mother by the cottage door
Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller
Appear'd at distance coming o'er the brow,
Her eye was on him, and it might be seen
By the flush'd cheek what thoughts were in her heart, And by the deadly paleness which ensued,
How her heart died within her. So the days 290
And weeks and months pass'd on; and when the leaves
Fell in the autumn, a most painful hope
That reason own'd not, that with expectation
Did never cheer her as she rose at morn,
Still linger'd in her heart, and still at night
Made disappointment dreadful. Winter came,
But Arnaud never from the war return'd,
He far away had perish'd; and when late
The tidings of his certain death arrived,
Sore with long anguish underneath that blow
She sunk. Then would she sit and think all day
Upon the past, and talk of happiness
That never could return, as though she found
Best solace in the thoughts which minister'd
To sorrow and she loved to see the sun
Go down, because another day was gone,
And then she might retire to solitude
And wakeful recollections, or perchance
To sleep more wearying far than wakefulness,
Dreams of his safety and return, and starts
Of agony; so neither night nor day
Could she find rest, but pined and pined away.
"DEATH! to the happy thou art terrible;
But how the wretched love to think of thee
Oh thou true comforter, the friend of all
Who have no friend beside! By the sick bed
Of Madelon I sat, when sure she felt
her eye kindle with heavenly hope, I had her latest look of earthly love,
I felt her hand's last pressure....Son of Orleans!
I would not wish to live to know that hour,
When I could think upon a dear friend dead,
And weep not: but they are not bitter tears,
Not painful now; for Christ hath risen, first fruits
Of them that slept; and we shall meet again,
Meet, not again to part: the Grave hath lost
It's victory.
"I remember as her bier
Went to the grave, a lark sprung up aloft,
And soar'd amid the sunshine, carolling
So full of joy, that to the mourner's ear
More mournfully than dirge or passing bell,
The joyous carol came, and made us feel
That of the multitude of beings, none
But man was wretched.
"Then my soul awoke,
For it had slumber'd long in happiness,
And never feeling misery, never thought
What others suffer. I, as best I might,
Solaced the keen regret of Elinor;
And much my cares avail'd, and much her son's, On whom, the only comfort of her age,
She center'd now her love. younger birth,
Aged nearly as myself was Theodore,
An ardent youth, who with the kindest care
Had sooth'd his sister's sorrow. We had knelt
By her death-bed together, and no bond
In closer union knits two human hearts
Than fellowship in grief.
Beside the fire of Elinor I sat,
The night was comfortless, the loud blast howl'd, And as we drew around the social hearth,
We heard the rain beat hard. Driven by the storm A warrior mark'd our distant taper's light;
We heapt the fire, and spread the friendly board. 'Tis a rude night;' the stranger cried: 'safe housed Pleasant it is to hear the pelting rain.
I too could be content to dwell in peace,
head upon the lap of love,
But that my country calls. When the winds roar, Remember sometimes what a soldier suffers,
Success go with thee! Something we have known
Of war, and tasted its calamity;
And I am well content to dwell in peace,
Albeit inglorious, thanking the good God
Who made me to be happy.'
Cried Conrade, form thy heart for happiness,
When Desolation royally careers
Over thy wretched country? Did that God
Form thee for Peace when Slaughter is abroad, 370 When her brooks run with blood, and Rape, and Murder,
Stalk through her flaming towns? Live thou in peace,
Young man! my heart is human: I must feel
For what my brethren suffer.' While he spake
Such mingled passions character'd his face
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