And when his parents had some tidings from him,
There was no mention of poor Hannah there,
Or 't was the cold enquiry, more unkind
Than silence. So she pined and pined away,
And for herself and baby toil'd and toil'd;
Nor did she, even on her death-bed, rest
From labour, knitting there with lifted arms,
Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old mother
Omitted no kind office, working for her,
Albeit her hardest labour barely earn'd
Enough to keep life struggling, and prolong
The pains of grief and sickness. Thus she lay
On the sick bed of poverty, worn out
With her long suffering and those painful thoughts
Which at her heart were rankling, and so weak,
That she could make no effort to express
Affection for her infant; and the child,
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her,
Shunn'd her as one indifferent. But she too
Had grown indifferent to all things of earth,
Finding her only comfort in the thought
Of that cold bed wherein the wretched rest.
There had she now, in that last home, been laid,
And all was over now,.. sickness and grief,
Her shame, her suffering, and her penitence,..
Their work was done. The school-boys as they sport
In the churchyard, for awhile might turn away
From the fresh grave till grass should cover it;
Nature would do that office soon; and none
Who trod upon the senseless turf would think
Of what a world of woes lay buried there!
Burton, near Christ Church, 1797.
SIR, for the love of God, some small relief
To a poor woman !
Whither are you bound?
'T is a late hour to travel o'er these downs,
No house for miles around us, and the way
Dreary and wild. The evening wind already
Makes one's teeth chatter; and the very Sun,
Setting so pale behind those thin white clouds,
Looks cold. 'T will be a bitter night!
'Tis cutting keen! I smart at every breath;
Heaven knows how I shall reach my journey's end,
For the way is long before me, and my feet,
God help me! sore with travelling. I would gladly,
If it pleased God, at once lie down and die.
Nay, nay, cheer up! a little food and rest
Will comfort you; and then your journey's end
May make amends for all. You shake your head,
And weep. Is it some mournful business then you from your home?
To see my son at Plymouth, sadly hurt
In the late action, and in the hospital
Dying, I fear me, now.
Perhaps your fears
Even if a limb be lost,
There may be still enough for comfort left;
An arm or leg shot off, there's yet the heart
To keep life warm, and he may live to talk
With pleasure of the glorious fight that maim'd him,
Proud of his loss. Old England's gratitude
Makes the maim'd Sailor happy.
An arm or leg...I could have borne with that.
It was no ball, Sir, but some cursed thing
Which bursts and burns that hurt him. Something,
* The stink-pots used on board the French ships. In the engagement between the Mars and L'Hercule, some of our sailors were shockingly mangled by them: one, in particular as described in the Eclogue, lost both his eyes It would be right and humane to employ means of destruction, could they VOL. III.
They do not use on board our English ships,
TRAVELLER.
Rascals! a mean art
Of cruel cowardice, yet all in vain!
Yes, Sir! and they should show no mercy to them For making use of such unchristian arms.
I had a letter from the hospital,
He got some friend to write it, and he tells me
That my poor boy has lost his precious eyes,
Alas! that I should ever live
To see this wretched day!... They tell me, Sir,
There is no cure for wounds like his.
"T is a hard journey that I go upon
To such a dismal end!
TRAVELLER.
He yet may live.
But if the worst should chance, why you must bear
The will of Heaven with patience. Were it not
Some comfort to reflect your son has fallen
Fighting his country's cause? and for yourself
You will not in unpitied poverty
Be left to mourn his loss.
Your grateful country, Amid the triumph of her victory,
be discovered, powerful enough to destroy fleets and armies; but to use any thing that only inflicts additional torture upon the sufferers in war, is altogether wicked.
Remembers those who paid its price of blood,
And with a noble charity relieves
The widow and the orphan.
God bless them! It will help me in my age, .. But, Sir! it will not pay me for my child!
The stay and comfort of my widowhood,
A dear good boy!.. When first he went to sea
I felt what it would come to,.. something told me
I should be childless soon. But tell me, Sir,
If it be true that for a hurt like his
There is no cure? Please God to spare his life
Though he be blind, yet I should be so thankful!
I can remember there was a blind man
Lived in our village, one from his youth up
Quite dark, and yet he was a merry man,
And he had none to tend on him so well
As I would tend my boy!
His hurts are look'd to well, and the best help
The land affords, as rightly is his due,
Ever at hand. How happen'd it he left you?
Was a seafaring life his early choice?
|