Susanna Moodie

Well I recall my Father’s wife, The day he brought her home. His children looked for years of strife, And troubles sure to come— Ungraciously we welcomed her, A thing to scorn and blame; And swore we never would confer On her, a Mother’s name I see her yet—a girl in years, With eyes so blue and mild; She greeted us with smiles and tears, How sweetly too she smiled— She bent to kiss my sullen brow, With woman’s gentle grace; And laid her tiny hand of snow On my averted face— “Henry—is this your son? She said— “Dear boy—he now is mine— What not one kiss?—” I shook my head, “I am no son of thine!—” She sighed—and from her dimpled cheek The rosy colour fled; She turned away and did not speak, My thoughts were with the dead— There leaped from out my Father’s eyes A jet of swarthy fire; That flashed on me in fierce surprise— I fled before his ire I heard her gentle voice entreat— “Forgiveness for her sake”— Which added swiftness to my feet, A sad and strange mistake— A year had scarcely rolled away When by that hated bride; I loved to linger half the day, In very joy and pride; Her voice was music to mine ear, So soft its accent fell; “Dear Mother now”—and oh, how dear No words of mine can tell— She was so gentle, fair and kind, So pure in soul and free from art; That woman with her noble mind, Subdued my rebel heart— I just had learned to know her worth, My Father’s second choice to bless; When God removed her from the earth, And plunged us all in deep distress— Hot fever smote with burning blight Stretchd on a restless bed of pain; I moaning lay from morn till night With aching limbs and throbbing brain— Four weary weeks beside my bed, She sat within a darkened room; Untiring held my aching head, Nor heeded silence—cold and gloom— And when my courage quite gave way, And fainter grew my struggling breath; She taught my stricken soul to pray And calmly meet approaching death— “Fear not God’s angel, sent by Him, The weary spirit to release; Before the mortal eyes grow dim, Floats down the white winged dove of peace”— There came a change—but fingers small, No longer smoothed my matted hair; She sprang not to my feeble call, Nor helped to lift me to my chair— And I arose as from the dead, A life for her dear life was given; The angel who had watched my bed Had vanished into Heaven!—

’Tis merry to hear, at evening time, By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime; To know the bounding steeds bring near The loved one to our bosoms dear. Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise, Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze; Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time Responsive to their fairy chime. Ding-dong, ding-dong, o’er vale and hill, Their welcome notes are trembling still. ’Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound, As his sleigh glides over the frozen ground; Hark! He has pass’d the dark pine wood, He crosses now the ice-bound flood, And hails the light at the open door That tells his toilsome journey’s o’er. The merry sleigh-bells! My fond heart swells And trobs to hear the welcome bells; Ding-dong, ding-dong, o’er ice and snow, A voice of gladness, on they go. Our hut is small, and rude our cheer, But love has spread the banquet here; And childhood springs to be caress’d By our beloved and welcome guest. With a smiling brow his tale he tells, The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells; The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song They drag the noisy string along; Ding-dong, ding-dong, the father’s come The gay bells ring his welcome home. From the cedar swamp the gaunt wolves howl, From the oak loud whoops the felon owl; The snow-storm sweeps in thunder past, The forest creaks beneath the blast; No more I list, with boding fear, The sleigh-bells distant chime to hear. The merry sleigh-bells with soothing power Shed gladness on the evening hour. Ding-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells The music of those joyous bells!

What—write my name! How vain the feeble trust, To be remembered When the hand is dust— Grieve rather that the talents freely given Were used for earth—not treasured up for Heaven!

Poet— Enchanting spirit!—at thy votive shrine I lowly bend a simple wreath to twine; O Come from the ideal world and fling Thy airy fingers o’er my rugged string; Sweep the dark chords of thought and give to earth The thrilling song that tells thy heavenly birth— Fancy— Happiness when from earth she fled I passed on her heavenward flight— “Take this crown,” the spirit said “Of heaven’s own golden light— To the sons of sorrow the token give, And bid them follow my steps and live!”— I took the crown from the snowy hand, It flashed like a living star; I turned this dark earth to a fairy land When I hither drive my car; But I placed the crown round my tresses bright, And man only saw its reflected light— Many a lovely dream I’ve given, And many a song divine; But never!—oh never—that gift of heaven Shall mortals temples twine— Hope and love in the circlet glow! ’Tis all too bright for a world of woe— Poet— Hist—Beautiful spirit!—why silent so soon? My ear drinks each word of thy magical tune; My lyre owns thy touch—and its tremulous strings Vibrate beneath the soft play of thy wings; Resume thy sweet lay, and reveal, ere we part Thy home lovely spirit—and say what thou art?”— Fancy— The gleam of a star thou cans’t not see— Of an eye ’neath its sleeping lid, The sound of a far off melody The voice of a stream that’s hid; Such must I still remain to thee A wonder and a mystery!— I live in the poet’s dream I flash on the painter’s eye; I dwell in the moon’s pale beam, In the depths of the star lit sky; I traverse the earth, the air, the main, And bind young hearts in my magic chain— I float on the fleecy cloud My voice is in ev’ry breeze; I speak in the tempest loud, In the sigh of the waving trees— To the sons of earth—in a mystic tone, I tell of a world more bright than their own!—

Lie down—lie down!—my noble hound, That joyful bark give o’er; It wakes the lonely echoes round, But rouses me no more— Thy lifted ears, thy swelling chest, Thy eyes so keenly bright, No longer kindle in my breast The thrill of fierce delight; When following thee on foaming steed My eager soul outstripped thy speed— Lie down—lie down—my faithful hound! And watch this night by me, For thee again the horn shall sound By mountain, stream, and tree; And thou along the forest glade, Shall track the flying deer When cold and silent, I am laid In chill oblivion here. Another voice shall cheer thee on, And glory when the chase is won. Lie down—lie down!—my gallant hound! Thy master’s life is sped; Go—couch thee on the dewy ground— ’Tis thine to watch the dead. But when the blush of early day Is kindling up the sky, Then speed thee, faithful friend, away, And to thy mistress hie; And guide her to this lonely spot, Though my closed eyes behold her not— Lie down—lie down!—my trusty hound! Death comes, and we must part— In my dull ear strange murmurs sound— More faintly throbs my heart; The many twinkling lights of heaven Scarce glimmer in the blue— Chill round me falls the breath of even, Cold on my brow the dew; Earth, stars, and heavens, are lost to sight— The chase is o’er!—brave friend, good night!—