But Andrew, never have I heard One who so much my spirit stirred, Screened from the pelting thunder-shower – In speech that poured like water free; Then shame to think I knew thee not - THE WANDERER'S RETURN. THERE was a girl of fair Provence, Who 'neath a spreading plane-tree sate, And thus unto a mourner young, · “And said I, I shall dance no more; I knew what makes men wise and sad,- And that dull aching of the heart, "But sorrow will not always last, Heaven keeps our griefs in view; A simple tale of household grief "My father in the battle died, And left young children three; My brother Marc, a noble lad, With spirit bold and free, More kind than common brothers are; "When Marc was sixteen summers old, A tall youth and a strong, Said he, 'I am a worthless drone, I do my mother wrong I'll hence and win the bread I eat, "Oh! many tears my mother shed; And earnestly did pray, That he would still abide with us, And be the house's stay; And be like morning to her eyes, "But Marc he had a steadfast will, ""Twas on a shining morn in June, He rose up to depart; I dared not to my mother show The sadness of my heart; We said farewell, and yet farewell, As if. we could not part. "There seemed a gloom within the house, Although the bright sun shone; There was a want within our hearts For he, the dearest one, Had said farewell that morn of June, "At length most doleful tidings came, The plague was in the distant town, We thought, in truth, poor Marc would die, "Weeks passed, and months, and not a word Came from him to dispel The almost certainty of death Which o'er our spirits fell; My mother drooped from fear, which grew "At length she said, 'I'll see my son, In life if yet he be, Or else the turf that covers him!" When sank she on her knee, And clasped her hands in silent prayer, "She went into the distant town, Still asking everywhere For tidings of her long-lost son : "To hear her tell that tale would move HOWITT'S POEMS. "I marked her cheek yet paler grow, More sunken yet her eye; And to my soul assurance came That she was near to die, And hourly was my earnest prayer "Oh, what a wo seemed then to us, "We rarely left my mother's side, At length, oh joy beyond all joys! In quiet sleep, methought below "I rose, and on the chamber stair, More beautiful than ere before, My tall and manly brother! I should have swooned, but for the thought 147 |