Lucy

Sweet Lucy, in the Pastor’s house Had dwelt from early years, The scene of all her childish joys, Gay hopes, young smiles and tears.

It stood beside the rustic church Engirt with noble trees; A quiet nook, a calm abode, A home for rural peace.

Before its walls with roses twined, And ivy interlaced, A lovely plot of cultered flowers The simple dwelling graced

A rustic fence, with lattice gate, The sole dividing bound, Between that garden, fair and rich, And grassy graves around.

And here, an infant, free from care, In summer’s jocund hours Glad Lucy played, as insect blithe, Companion of the flowers.

To her, amidst the dawning blush Of life’s unfolding bloom, The grave was not a thing to wake A thought of pain or gloom.

Yet well it might—beneath the sod Her parents both were laid; The father ere her hour of birth Was numbered with the dead.

Her mother, pierced with keenest grief, Heart-broken with deep woe, Scarce heard the little infant cry Ere she departed too.

The babe, forlorn, compassion found, Though kindred she had none; The Pastor took her to his heart And reared her as his own.

He childless was, yet with a soul In children to delight; To see the love he bore to this It was a touching sight!

An orphan! O, the very thought Brings tenderness of heart; Then what must one so frail and young To his pure breast impart?

’Twas like some holy vision fair To see his glance so mild, His hoary head, his moistened eye, Bent over that sweet child.

How joyed he at the first clear sounds Her infant lips could make, And o’er the first free wandering steps Her little feet could take.

His friend of life, his wife beloved, In all felt equal glee, And joined to rear the orphan maid In truth and purity.

As feeling grew within her breast, To them a love she bore As fervent as an own child’s love— Yea warmer, deeper, more.

Yet were her parents oft in mind; A holier thought was given, And purer love to those she deemed Her guardians in heaven.

What can so elevate the soul, Refine its richest love, As to be linked by kindred’s ties To radiant worlds above?

A mind so delicate and pure In learning took delight, And treasured up each noble thought And deed with virtue bright.

But chiefly was the Sacred page Engraven on her heart, And did to her its lofty hopes, Its joys, its peace impart.

Thus she who was his highest joy In childhood’s sprightly day, Became the Vicar’s cheerful friend And aid in life’s decay.

How graceful was her lovely form, How rich her curling hair, And her cheeks’ hue like rosy beams Of evening blushing there.

Her gladsome smile’s delicious play, Her eyes’ entrancing light Won sweet regard from every heart And filled it with delight.

Such peerless charms! how could they fail To rouse impassioned love? And bind some willing heart in chains, A captive loth to move.

Young Albert to the village came And saw the maid so fair; Then straight resolved to win her heart A trophy rich to wear.

His manly form, his dauntless look, His elegance of mien; A voice that spoke in dulcet tones, An eye with glances keen;

A ready flow of touching words To tell a tender tale; Must they not fire a maiden’s soul And make a suit prevail?

His words of love! as dew they fell Upon her stainless heart, And made it, like fresh fragrant flowers, To loftier being start.

All simple, guileless, framed of truth, It knew no frail disguise; But let unchecked its passions spring Its deepest feelings rise.

And oft at even-time they strolled The rural lanes alone, In converse deep, with kindred thoughts And feelings blent in one.

Both nature prized, and took delight In sunset skies and flowers, And talking of all fairest things, They wiled away the hours.

Naught can so swiftly light two breasts With mutual flames of love; As finding that all beauteous scenes The same deep pulses move.

Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knew Her heart’s full passion won, Until the idol of its hope From her fond side was gone.

He bad farewell in gentle tone And vowed with hasty breath; Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice, “Albert! I’m thine till death!”

And such she was! but oh that he Like faithfulness had shewn, Then we upon her maiden grave No timeless flowers had strewn.

He went and mingled with the world, And learnt its sordid ways; Till noble thought, and feeling true Within his soul decays.

Then gold for love, and state for worth, For truth parade and show, His bosom prized, and soon forgot His first-love and his vow.

Soon for him, and a maid of wealth, Pealed forth the marriage bell; But its gay sound assumed afar A tone like Lucy’s knell.

Soon as she heard—from her gay cheek The roses swiftly fled, And left fair lillies, pale and wan, To flourish in their stead.

The lillies fluttered there awhile, But lost their bloom with speed, And withering swift, shewed on their root, The canker worm did feed.

She calmly pined—all meek of soul; The grief she strove to hide Like poison wrought, and caused life’s stream To flow with feeble tide:

Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice— All pain and wrong forgiven— She said—I leave false earth to gain Unfailing truth in heaven.

And now she in the church-yard lies, And soon was followed there By those two loving hearts who’d made Her life their bounteous care.

In five green graves together ranged, Their frail remains abide; Her foster parents, and her own, And hers, all side by side.

All ye who win a true heart’s love, Of faithlessness beware! Go view that simple midmost grave And learn a lesson there!

When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewn In that pure song, had touched each feeling heart, And some bright eyes were brighter for a tear That gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensued Of few brief moments, and then Alfred stepped With freedom forward to impart his share Of promised verse. He had but just returned From college, where his studious hours were spent With fervour most devoted, to acquire An ample store of learning. He had found Rich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomes Of ancient days, and with determined heart He sought to make them his. A fervent love Glowed in his bosom for their noble thoughts And sentiments and feelings, and he gave His hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal, To communings with them. Short time had he To dally with the muse, or let the play Of vagrant fancy interrupt his aims; Yet in the festival he would take part, And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—