WILLIAM'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS BELOVED WIFE.

Awake, my harp! give forth in solemn time Thy sweetest numbers in harmonious rhyme. ‘ Tis time to bid my dormant powers arise, Yet I would first dry up my weeping eyes. My full charged bosom heaves, and oh, how slow Conflicting thoughts in well timed numbers flow. Cease, rebel feelings, cease your dreadful strife; The theme's my love, the partner of my life. Her portrait is before me, and that smile Upon her features playing, shows no guile. What were thy thoughts, my loved one, on that day The artist's skill did our joint forms portray? Thou wast not then so foolish as to deem An early death a vain or idle dream. We oft had converse on that mournful theme, As oft looked forward to the solemn day When death, grim monster! should tear one away. I thought my time most surely first would come, And thou, expected'st, first to reach thy home! Thus were we apt to number out our days, And oft together led to seek God's ways. Most unfeigned pleasure did we take in this, And gained as fruit sweet tastes of heavenly bliss. Now, my belov'd one, thou art gone from me And our dear little ones! Oh! can it be? The sad reality comes o'er my mind. Thou'rt gone indeed, and we are left behind. Oh for that faith of which thou wast possessed, As thy pure spirit strove to gain her rest. Oh for that patience which thou didst display Beneath our Father's hand to thy last day. Methinks that thou art whispering in my ear: “Let God's sure promises thy spirit cheer; “Remember that our Jesus is the same “To all whose trust is in His precious name. “A few short days, perchance, or months, or years, “May flee away; yet he will still thy fears “And bear thee up as if on‘ eagle's wings,’ “Far, far above the reach of earthly things. “Remember what thou didst to comfort me; “Thou hast God's word, the same it is to thee. “Let fervent prayer ascend to God above; “He'll deign to listen for He still is love. “Rouse then, thy courage, let thy faith be strong, “Let Hope,‘ an anchor sure,’ to thee belong. “The time's not distant we again shall meet “To part no more. This is a thought most sweet. “But yet in patience do thy soul possess, “And wait God's time, and then He will thee bless.” Enough my loved one, I will haste away To do my duties without more delay. And trust in God who can fresh strength impart To me to serve him with a perfect heart.

Here, then, kind reader, I must close my lay, As other duties call me now away. If you've had patience to go with me through My lengthened tale, I bid you warm adieu. If my small learning has called forth a sneer, Know you from such things I have naught to fear. For what is written I have this defense: My song at least lacks not for common-sense.

Near the side of Windermere, Down a gentle rising hill, Flowed a murmuring brook so clear Every portion of the year, And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house, Tenanted by peasants poor. The mother was a loving spouse, One who never was a blowze, But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man Working hard on working days, Deeming it the wisest plan. Each day's labor he began By pure prayer to God always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH; They such name deserved quite well. In that country of the north All would speak their praises forth, With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home, Lovely were they in their youth. When they chanced in woods to roam, Fairies seemed they to become; Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN We their names at present call; AMIE'S bloom was richer than Any rose which zephyrs fan. She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale, Graceful as a fawn could be. She was never very hale, Parents’ eyes could see her fail, And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby lass, Was the youngest and the pet; Friends all thought naught could surpass That sweet child in loveliness Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor. This was true of worldly things; Yet they had an ample store, They were skilled in Bible lore; And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might Deem them once of higher rank, They defrauded of their right, But still blest with gospel light, Of rich consolation drank.

Near them lived a proud, rich man, Wide his lands, but small his heart. Of him a report there ran That he to be rich began Practicing a knavish part.

“GRIPEY” was the name he bore ‘ Mongst the country people round; They could reckon up a score Of vile actions, if not more, And from these this name they found.

Call I him “SIR FINGERNEED,” Such a name is more genteel; Had he done one worthy deed I would not withold the meed Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son, WILLIAM was his given name; He to love had not begun, Yet at times he liked to run In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find Hazel nuts and berries, too. Thus he showed his heart was kind — That he had no churlish mind When such actions he could do.

Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay — On her humble dying bed. Parents now beside her pray, AMIE watches her by day — Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought To her by his mother sent, And returned with sober thought, Musing as each mortal ought On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak Of a place above the sky, Where dear BESS with spirit meek Would be taken, though so weak, If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place Where he and his parents live. Marks of sadness on his face Make his father wish to trace What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile, Did the truth at once disclose. This creates a scornful smile On that rich man's face the while, Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood Asks her why she sent the boy; Did she call that doing good Sending one of gentler blood, Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear, Bids the boy not go again. WILLIAM drops a silent tear While his parent still is near, Yet strict silence does maintain.

BESS has left this earthly scene, Sorrow therefore fills that home. They have to the churchyard been, And its clods are now between Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief, WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart, Knew not yet the saint's belief, And most slowly came relief To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind Of their offspring in their youth, Should show reason why they bind, Clothed in language very kind, Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel Galled by most unjust restraint, And did oft in secret steal To enquire of AMIE'S weal, And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all. Calm but firm was his reply:— “WILLIAM shall no longer call; Some great ill might him befall, And he must himself deny.”

This AMELIA saw was right And informed the gentle boy. Tears bedimmed his eyes that night For the loss of his delight, Which would all his peace destroy.

Said he now, “I will refrain From my visits, AMIE dear, If you'll true to me remain Till I can consent obtain From my father, whom I fear.”

AMIE blushed, her word did pledge. WILLIAM snatched a parting kiss As he swiftly climbs the hedge, Fairest dreams his mind engage For he tastes of lovers’ bliss.

Pass we o'er five tedious years. Years which saw great changes come To some thousands in all spheres, Raised by hopes or sunk by fears, Now alive, or in the tomb

WILLIAM had just come from school Summoned to his father's bed On an Autumn evening cool. Now dread thoughts began to rule Him who lay just like the dead.

Why that start, that vacant stare? Does he know his son is by? Guilty conscience who can bear? Hope shut out or blank Despair, When one's latter end is nigh?

Stood the youth with tearful eyes Fixed upon the dying man. He would speak, but when he tries His young soul within him dies As he views that face so wan.

Speaks the father now at last, “WILLIAM, listen to my tale. I through dreadful crime have passed, But while life is ebbing fast Now to you I would unveil

“My base heart, if yet I may In some measure crime atone. It is thirty years this day Since a Will I made away, To gain riches not my own.

“Him I wronged is HUMBLEWORTH, Long a neighbor near this house: His my wealth by right of birth; All I own upon this earth Is my family — and disgrace.

“I would make amends to him, But grim death now shakes his dart; Breathing fails me, eyes grow dim, Spectres‘ fore my vision skim, And with terrors fill my heart.

“List, my son, your's be the task, When I'm past this earthly scene, Pardon for my sin to ask, My vile conduct to unmask, And make known what I have been.

“But, my boy, in pity spare, Spare your mother's feelings dear. Warning take, from me, nor dare Sport with sin; of that beware, For great danger lurketh near.

“I more would say, but now again Death's strong fetters bind my tongue.” Soon his struggles are in vain; WILLIAM'S heart is wrung with pain, And his nerves are all unstrung.

Startling groans break on his ear Now that ill-spent life has fled. WILLIAM sees his mother near And attempts her heart to cheer, As she sinks upon the bed.

Seems this stroke too hard to bear. In the lack of Christian hope, Her weak heart from grief and care Droops too soon to dire despair; With such foe she cannot cope.

Now the youth feels greatest need To curb well his ardent grief, Calls he loud for help with speed. His commands the servants heed, They obey his mandates brief.

First the mistress they convey To her room and lay her down. There would WILLIAM with her stay, But he could not brook delay Till his father's crime he own.

Goes he to the house once more Where his dear AMELIA lives. With a heart most truly sore, Reaches he the cottage door, Knocks; no one admittance gives.

Why is all so still around? This place they did occupy! “Where can HUMBLEWORTHS be found?” Asks he loud, nor heeds the sound Of man's footsteps passing by.

Turns the man in haste his head And the youth does recognize, Tells him, “In the lake's clean bed Some one found poor AMIE dead!” And that thitherward he hies.

This like thrust of dagger came, Near depriving him of sense. In his breast's a raging flame, Calls he AMIE'S lovely name As he rushes o'er the fence.

Down toward the deep lake's side Flies he now with greatest speed. Forms among the bushes glide, Sorely is the lover tried In this saddest hour of need.

Who can paint his grief of mind As the lifeless form he views? Vainly strives he peace to find, This stroke seems the most unkind; He all comfort does refuse.

AMIE'S face has lost its bloom, Though her countenance is fair. Little ANN within the room Deeply shares the general gloom, In a dim lit corner there.

Some make efforts to restore That sweet girl they loved so well. Too long time elapsed before Her dear form was drawn to shore. Death has cast o'er her his spell.

Women kind now lay her out, In pure white her corpse invest. WILLIAM then, by nature taught, With poetic feeling fraught, This warm song to her addressed: