57. THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.
UPON the hill he turn'd to take a last fond look
Of the valley, and the village church, and the cottage by the brook:
He listen'd to the sounds so familiar to his ear,
And the soldier lean'd upon his sword, and wiped
away a tear!
Beside that cottage porch a girl was on her knees;
She held aloft a snowy scarf that flutter'd in the breeze;
She breathed a prayer for him
a prayer he could
But he paused to bless her as she knelt, and wiped away
He turn'd and left the spot: oh! do not deem him weak,
For dauntless was the soldier's heart, though tears were on his cheek!
Go, watch the foremost ranks in danger's dark career: Be sure the hand most daring there, has wiped away a tear!
THE spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obey'd Llewellyn's horn.
But still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a louder cheer:
"Come, Gelert! why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?
"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam ?
The flower of all his race!
So true, so brave; a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!"
In sooth, he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John;
But now no Gelert could be found,
And all the chase rode on.
That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare:
And scant and small the booty proved;
For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied;
When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gain'd the castle-door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore;
His lips and fangs ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet:
His favourite check'd his joyful guise,
And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd –
And on went Gelert too-
And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view!
O'erturn'd his infant's bed, he found
The blood-stain'd covert rent;
And all around, the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He call'd his child. -no voice replied;
He search'd with terror wild;
Blood! Blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child!
"Monster! by thee my child's devour'd! The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plung'd in Gelert's side! -
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh;
What words the parent's joy can tell,
To hear his infant cry !
Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap
His hurried search had miss'd,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
His cherub boy he kiss'd.
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread —
But the same couch beneath
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,–
Tremendous still in death!
Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewellyn's heir!
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe, -
"Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low,
This heart shall ever rue!"
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture deck'd;
And marbles, storied with his praise,
Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear;
And oft, as ev'ning fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
Poor Gelert's dying yell!
59. THE VILLAGE PREACHER.
[From THE DESERTED VILLAGE.]
EAR yonder copse where once a garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain;
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were
Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow.
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all:
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
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