JOSEPH AND JANE Ye noble youths, whose gen’rous hearts can feel The woe of others, when their hearts are riven, And ye sweet maids, down whose soft cheeks will steal The kindred tear, pure as the dew of heaven, In breathless silence give an ear to me, And hear a tale will raise your sympathy. Two faithful ones – no matter who they were, But trust asserts the records of my tale – In childhood’s years were seen, a lovely pair, As blest as birds that warble down the vale, And gay as flowers that bloom in choicest dye, Nurs’d by the warmth of beautiful July. One was a boy, intelligent and brave, Of form more slender than the usual size; His disposition kind and gen’rous, save Any dared him, then his hazel eyes Grew stern, and darker, losing all their joy, Which made him seem a silent, sullen boy. The other was a maiden, and she seem’d A very turtle dove of innocence. Her eyes approaching near to blackness beam’d With gentle light and quick intelligence; Her face was form’d most delicately, and Her hair was rich dark brown – her temper bland. And they were playmates, and ‘twas sweet to see What fond affection dwelt between the two; His arm her waist would clasp most lovingly, As forth they went to pluck the hare-bell blue, The daisy, violet, and the lily pale, - The lily, modest goddess of the vale. A butterfly upon its phantom wing Could move with scarce more playfulness than they, Or be more happy in the time of spring To suck the essence of the flow’ry spray, Than they could feel to linger as they went At some fair flow’ry spot, to breath its scent. They lov’d to play and wander with each other, And all their little presents to divide; You would have thought he was her fav’rite brother, And she the sister cradled by his side, So much in unison their feelings were, And so insep’rable the tender pair. Thus passed their hours, and their young eyes were bright With purity’s composed endearing smile; Thus pass’d their hours amid sincere delight And joys so happy, for they knew no guile; Indeed the sun ne’er darted down his ray On beings purer or more blest than they. O days of childhood! happiest days we know, Ye have no thoughtful life-depressing cares; There’s nought in you deserves the name of woe, For children’s smiles will gleam through children’s tears; Their hearts pure joy and true affection feel, And eyes have then a cheerfulness that’s real. There scarce is one who truly can deny Our joys are pass’s in youth; who is there can With mem’ry’s silent retrospective eye His early, careless, happy moments scan – Whoe’er he be or wheresoever cast – Without a sigh escaping to the past! ‘Twas thus with them; some trifling gift or prize Would make their little features bland; And as they grew, hope glisten’d in their eyes, And life seemed happy as a fairy land; But soon, alas! it changed its gorgeous dress To darker shades of death and wretchedness. (But, oh! I will not hasten to the scene Which pierced their faitful hearts with deep despair, And blasted prospects fair as ever seen; Ah , no, I cannot, will not hasten there; But lingering still – still lingering – will I rove In tranquil groves of happiness and love.) They still were joyous; fate for them had yet Some years – short years – of happiness in store; With nought to mar and nought to raise regret, Each season saw them happier than before, Till sudden storms to wreck its beauty dooms. Oh, they were happy as alone they stray’d Adown the depth of solitude profound; A suited pair – a graceful youth and maid – His careful arm affectionately wound Around her waist, while linnets warbled free And wild flowers bloom’d beneath the branching tree. How would her bosom flutter in its pride – Its pleasure – which in moments such as these She saw herself, his darling, by his side, And all her care and efforts were to please; She was his darling, but the timid youth Had never yet confess’d the tender truth. He ne’er had knelt in fondness at her feet With ardent passion burning in his eyes, While from his bosom – from their close retreat – Thoughts pure and fervent all control denies; Nor clasp’d her hand, all trembling, in his own, And held his passion in a falt’ring tone. But quicker flowed his feelings through his heart When’er the lovely maiden near him drew; Their parting made him sad, and when apart, Still was her image constant to his view. ‘Twas then he lov’d to seek the lonely shade And sigh affection for the absent maid. There is no pleasure that can touch the heart With half the true-devoted ecstasy, And make our happiest – noblest – feelings start To gen’rous action, as the hopes that we Have in our bosom when we’re all alone And thinking of our dear and absent one. Aye, there were moments when his heart would melt And force the half-formed tear-drop to his eye; And, while that eye beam’d tenderly, he felt If Jane were not in being he could die, - Fall from the heartless world and pass away Without a sign, to premature decay. His feelings all were changed, the scenes of joy That once delighted him now pleased no more; In vain might music all her charms employ, In vain the dance entice, his friends implore: To seek some lonely spot he would prefer, And sigh, and love, and bless, and think of her. One even he had down the valley stray’d, Ere yet the sun had left the glowing west; The prospect charm’d his eye, but still the maid He felt the dear companion of his breast. And graver shadows o’er his brow were set, Which spoke of hope and fear, delight, regret. He thought how light and free once was his heart, Unconscious of the passion kindling there; Ere hope began its power to impart, To cheer resolves or end in deep despair; For busy fancy, eager to disclose, Shew’d endless sorrow should sweet June oppose. But yet again his bosom felt delight, And all his feelings sparkled in his eyes; A scene imaginary fair and bright, By far more fair than real life supplies – Superb and lovely, where sweet briers grew, And honeysuckle stood before his view. A few old oaks, whose branches might adorn Some mighty monarch’s residence, were seen, And larks that soar to meet the coming morn, And playful lambkins skipping o’er the green, And sound of streamlets through the thickets, drear – So strong his fancy – fell upon his ear. An orchard lay beneath a sheltering hill, Its branches bending ‘neath their luscious load, Some roses bloom’d luxuriantly, but still They were not many; as to the abode, ‘Twas cottage-like – not grand, indeed, but neat – A small sequester’d beautiful retreat. The world for him beside might wander free, And all the richest pleasures of the land; Yet he would love the toils of industry, And grasp its hardships with a fervent hand, Renounce the world and never more complain, With this sweet solitude – for him and Jane. It seems the radiance of the setting day, Which came in streaming sunbeams from the west, Drew June forth, too, to ramble ‘mid the gay And gorgeous charms in which the vale was drest; A chance-directed course and strolling pace Brought her, alas! and Joseph face to face. Confusion instantly their cheeks o’erspread, His eyes shot lightening, her’s were turn’d away: He seemed to move; she, silent, hung her head; He strove to speak, but scarce knew what to say, For at the moment when she stood before him His heart was hers, and her’s throbb’d to adore him. Women are quicker in their thoughts than we; In wisdom, pretty darlings, less profound: Their talents shine forth most at repartee; And if, perchance, in some dilemma found, Though they may blush they are not dumb a week, And thus ‘twas Jane was first the one to speak. “Well, Joseph, so the same mild even leads Both you and me to this delightful place, To see yon lambkins frolic o’er the meads, While smaller ones but follow in the chase; And hear the thrushes’ sweet composing notes As o’er the perfum’d breath of flowers it floats. “How sweet it is to steal an hour to roam Amid the silence of this solitude, And turn to genial pensiveness the gloom That on our minds may press! – but I intrude; If so, I’ll turn and re-ascend the vale, You’re looking agitated – looking pale.” Poor trembling Joseph! Long he wish’d to speak, But throbs oppressive round his heart would throng; And though, perchance, he pressed her dimpled cheek In some sweet favour’d moment, yet his tongue Was bound in silence; but the spell was broken. By those few words of hers, so gently spoken. He caught her hand in his with trembling haste, He held it firmly, fondly, as he drew His arm around her small but well-formed waist; While every pulse thrill’d with a feeling new: And beams of love his eyes shot full on her, As “Jane, I love you,” fell upon her ear. He said no more, though still he held her hand, For feelings overwhelming chok’d his voice; Jane heard in silence, but her looks were bland, And secretly her bosom did rejoice. Oh! blest is she who such confession hears From lips of him her heart before prefers. Than “Jane, I love you,” nothing more he said, But his looks told her more than words could speak, As to his breast he drew the yielding maid; And kisses press’d upon her crimson cheek. Their feelings were what half the world ne’er knew; And theirs was then a plighting doubly true. Each summer even led them down the vale Where stately trees in full luxuriance grew, And songs of warblers mingled with the gale – The zepher gale – that there so gently blew; And scented flowers in liveliest beauty bloom’d, And that soft even gale with sweets perfum’d. Here they would linger in their fav’rite glade, Till deepening shadows warn’d them to depart; But when they pass’d the spot where first he made The first – the pure – disclosures of his heart, He’d kiss on kiss bestow, a lavish store, And tell her ‘twas in honour of the hour. Their bliss was bliss indeed, his careful arm Would lift her o’er the brook decending there, And while he aided her, her heart would warm With tenderness to see his tender care, And fancy gave all perfect to his view The buoyant happy hopes of Twenty-two. And as they stroll’d, they’d rest themselves awhile Upon a seat they made their favourite; As he so happy by her side would sit. But what his feelings were, I wish were mine, As Jane against his bosom would recline. A fine old British oak once flourish’d there, And still looked noble in that valley gay; Its branches were all leafless, grim and bare. For they had long been whitening to decay. But that brave fellow was so old and tall, He’d seen great empires rise and others fall – Had heard loud thunders, felt the lightning’s shock, And seen the pelting hail-storm round him fall, The tempest strive him from his bed to rock, But , firmly rooted, he withstood them all, And through long ages flourishing had been, With broad green leaves for birds to shelter in. Its trunk on one side had a rotten spot – A hole decay’d – which time increas’d still more; (All nature feels, or soon or late, its lot To go to dust as it was dust before); Well, to the spot, some hand had worked thereat To form the seat on which the lovers sat. If ever youth was bless’d to hear a sigh Pass from some gentle breast, and see the beam That will dart forth from a devoted eye Alight with bliss and tenderness on him; Then Joseph had that pleasure, and that pride To meet her glance, as Jane sat by his side. There was that loveliness about her eyes, So soft, so dark, that their bewitching pow’r Could charm the enraptur’d youth to idolize, And bind him to her side hour after hour, And make him almost think ‘twas but a dream That eyes so beautiful could beam for him. “Oh what a purity it is of bliss” – This Joseph spake – “to pass the days of youth In such sweet peace and calm delight as this, And know our love is mutually of truth! But all those blessings would my heart resign For that dear hour when I may call you mine. “We must be happy, I could ever dwell In any distant spot, however rude, With but two friends my every grief to quell – ‘tis you, my dearest Jane, and solitude; And that rude spot I’d have some peaceful glade Where Philomel would lightly serenade. “There chosen trees I’d intersperse around, And build, for cooling shade, the fragrant bow’r, Lay down walks and raise the verdant mound, And ornament it with the shrub and flow’r; And you among them should some fav’rite make, And I would love it, Jenny, for your sake. “When fervent rays of July’s radiant sun Decended, cloudless, on our valley fair, Then we would go where cooling streamlets run, And pass the mid-day hours unwearied there; And when at eve they burn’d less ardently, Would wander forth across the flow’ry lea. “A little dog, so faithful, would we keep, And ‘tis my fav’rite – let us call him ‘Tray,’ To guard o’er us at midnight when we sleep And chase the butterfly at open day, And seem delighted when with sudden bark He scars to hasty flight the thrush and lark. “Our hearts should oft a soothing solace know, To ease the hard afflictions of the poor; To teach their little ones, and then bestow Some trifle on them from our frugal store; To aid their best endeavours, and advise And counsel them in all emergencies. “Our friends should visit us just now and then, And tell us of the news that went abroad, And own our dwelling-place, our pretty glen, A lovely spot upon life’s rugged road; And think within themselves, it would be so, ‘Oh what a happy pair is Jane and Joe.’ “Thy gentle smiles would give my bosom peace, And I would love and strive to comfort thee; And sorrow, trouble, anguish, all would cease, And we should then so happy, happy be.” And here he paus’d, but she made no reply, Save with one tender glance, one heavy sigh. Oh! dreadful ‘twas to that fond maiden’s ear, And piercing to her throbbing sinking heart, To hear such pure attachment breath’d for her By one from whom she felt she soon must part; But ever she had held a cheerful tone, And spoke in spirits that were not her own. Sad were the thoughts that on her mind would press, In some reflective hour when none were near, Severe indeed her feelings of distress; And exquisite the pang that forc’d the tear, Suffusing, o’er her pensive eyes to start, And tell the fears that fill’d her drooping heart. That buoyant elasticity which led Her footsteps ever, now declining grew; That cheerful glow of health which overspread Her features, now assum’d a sickly hue. It was consumption – that fell pale disease – That stole the maiden’s bloom by slow degrees. She felt its progress, and to overcome Its growing pow’r had often deeply pray’d: ‘Twas not the dying made her dread her doom, She practis’d virtue and was not afraid; One she ador’d who was of human birth, And love of him still chain’d her thoughts to earth. She heard his words, his words of tenderness, And o’er her face there beam’d a sudden light Of truth and joy and pleasurable bliss, But quick, alas! it chang’d to shades of night: For instant thought dispell’d the short relief, And Jane sank to his bosom bath’d in grief. “Oh, Joseph! Love me still, but speak no more Of nuptial bliss,” the weeping maiden cried: “It is not wakness that I must deplore My hard decree, I cannot be your bride: For something at my heart, I scarce know why, Assures the time approaches I must die. “The thought is dreadful, but I’ll not repine, If I must leave you, ‘tis the will of Heav’n: But prayers and blessings, Joseph, shall be thine, Till from my spirit earthly thoughts are riv’n; And, oh! ‘twould soothe my solemn, sad decree, To know when I’m no more you’ll think of me.” Deep in his soul her words of sorrow fell, And gave a pang he never yet had felt, A pang that dar’d all utterance to tell Its deep distress, too deep indeed to melt To soothing tears; the fix’d, full, fervent gaze, Glaz’d, steadfast, burning, best that pang betrays. He caught her to his heart, he held her there With all the tenderness that love inspires, While from his eyes the torment of despair And misery shot forth in quenchless fires; For all the scene that lately bless’d his view, Of joy and love and happiness withdrew. The solemn truth the lovely girl confess’d, While clinging thus so fondly to his side, Was burning anguish, death within his breast, And prov’d his worst of fears were verified; For those flush’d hues that late her cheeks o’erspread Had often caus’d his heart foreboding dread. “I will be faithful: oh, dear Jane, I will; If Heav’n bereaves me, then thy memory I’ll bless, adore, with heartfelt ardent zeal, And love each dear remembrance of thee; And call to mind, ‘mid scenes that might allure, Thy present looks of love and faith so pure. “But oh; you yet will live, you will not die! That purity thine actions so express, And that soft beauty of thy tranquil eye, And thy sweet form of perfect loveliness, Was not, my love, by heaven bestow’d on thee, So soon to perish; no, it cannot be. “Let not a thought so dreadful fill your mind, Hope, pray for life, and all will yet be well; But see,” he cried, “the sun hath sunk behind Yon hill, and colder breezes fill the dell.” They rose, and up the lovely landscape they, To gain their dwelling, took their mournful way. A few short weeks flew by, and, weak and pale And suffering, on a bed of sickness lay A female form; nor drug could aught avail The rapid pace of her disease to stay; But yet her eye was calm, her cheek was fair, Her thoughts compos’d, ‘twas Jane that languish’d there. Oh! it was lovely that sweet girl to see To heav’n upraising her imploring eye; With not one hope save in eternity, And one regret alone, that she must die And from that dear one haplessly be torn Who there watch’d o’er her but to bless and mourn. Benignant were her looks, calm and compos’d, All guileless as a sleeping babe’s, but yet A pensive melancholy they disclos’d, As if a thing which gave her some regret Press’d round her heart and hung upon her mind, And would not let her bosom feel resign’d. She lov’d so true that e’en the thought of death Could not withdraw from him her anxious care, Him, that dear being, her Joe; her latest breath His name should whisper with her own in pray’r, And Heav’n implore to crown their constant love Amid celestial bow’rs of bliss above. Oh! it was dreadful for the hapless youth To see that pallid maiden hopeless lie Subdu’d by weakness, yet the glow of truth Beaming for him so constant in her eye, Without the pow’r to mitigate the pain That so afflicted his dear dying Jane. One day her friends were by her, for they saw That her last moment now was near at hand; But yet her eye retain’d its tender glow, But it was far more happy – far more bland, And shew’d her feelings were compos’d in peace, And gave assurance of approaching bliss. She struggling rais’d herself upon one arm, And looked intently, tenderly around; Their looks at once bespoke their dire alarm, As ‘mid a silence awfully profound She paus’d and look’d in earnestness of soul, Then said, in trembling words, “God bless you all.” Her hand extended to where Joseph stood; He took it, kiss’d it, but he strove to check – O’ercome with grief and love and gratitude – The burning eyes that trickled on her neck; She rais’d her eyes to his – a dying look, And in a fond faint accent thus she spoke: “Farewell, dear Joe! My wish of life is o’er; But think of me when you are knelt in pray’r. There is a land where parting is no more, Nor grief is known; may God unite us there. My spirit goes its beauties to explore.” She clos’d her eyes and smil’d and was no more.
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 05:48:14 +0000
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