Edward Edwin Foot

“ The answer I now give: God speed thee well—
O Arnold, friend indeed!” (with scarce control
O’er the emotions of his manly soul.) —
And thus—with falt’ring speech, and quite unnerv’d,
“I give my bond, for thou hast well deserv’d
My dearest child, for thy integrity—
Thy gentleness—and generosity.”
“Well, Hollybrand, I’m glad your mind’s at ease,”
Said Arnold Mountjoy, “for thy daughter’s is,—
In thy brief absence she has thrice confess’d
The silent promptings of her youthful breast:
Henceforth our lives must interwoven be,
And this the dawn of thy prosperity.” ”

“ With Hollybrand, his loss; for Jane adorn’d
That little cot so long, ’twas sure unkind
To leave it now, and everything behind:)
But Jane came not, as usual, forth to feed
The drowsy grunters; so, to lull their greed,
George did for once (but not without much pain)
Strew out, among them all, the crumbs and grain,
And fill’d the trough. ’Twas now the hour of eight,
When lo! they heard a noise,—the birds took flight,—
’Twas like the sound of carriages afar:
At length they see the fastly-driven car. ”

“ The earnest suitor kiss’d Jane’s virtuous brow;
Reveal’d a compact, and then read it o’er;
And, pointing to the impression which it bore,
Said, “There, dear Hollybrand, and Jane, you see [189]
My signature is set, in all sincerity:
With thee I’ll leave it, and my honour too,
As the best pledge of my designs to you;—
Take it,” said Arnold, “as my heart—my whole—
For it contains the promptings of my soul:
May God bear witness to the solemn deed!
And now I ask, dear George, are you agreed?” ”

“ Brought them within a league of Rollingate: [207]
There the old house stood in a pleasant vale,
’Mid goodly elms and oaks which stem the gale,
And which commandingly arose to view;
The pale-blue smoke curl’d up anon anew;
And on a mound the flag-staff bore on high
The family-banner, in the sun-set sky.
Above—there waited the pale queen of night,
With her retaining beams of holy light;
Then condescending to the happy pair—
When Sol had vanish’d—strew’d her silvery care:
O righteous moon, refulgent in the skies!—
All poets greet thee with their longing eyes,—
Thou art to them a river of delight ”

“ Unite in love to welcome forth the maid.
Great is the joy throughout the boundless vast.
Imagination sent a silvery blast
To ’wake the nightingales; the birds uprise
And pour their melodies into the skies.
The inmates of the mansion, hast’ning forth,
Beheld (they said) an angel come on earth;—
No greater beauty, say they, could exist
Than she, on whom their eyes were firmly fixt:
When through the hall Jane, trembling, passèd by
They saw, unveil’d, her brilliant sparkling eye
As round she gazed upon the chandeliers,
That here and there lit up the winding stairs ”

“ Towards his son;—“no! time, alone, will prove
The best dictator of dear Arnold’s love,”
He said—and thus: “I’ll wait my boy’s return,
And from his lips the secret try to learn.”
“Love,” said Lord William, “is a desperate dart,
Not easily extracted from the heart;
Wherein once seated, whether good or ill,
Retains possession—come who, or what will:
It is the buckler of the youth at sea,
The beam of war which gains the victory:
The soldier’s hope: the banner of the soul:
The great consoler, and the Christian’s bowl. ”

“ From his great beam a scream resound the skies
As they progress—swift as an eagle flies.
With him came Mors, who gave two heavy sighs;
A hundred deaths she had attended to,
But never one like this—so fraught with woe!
Her vesture hanging in loose folds of black,
Her hair all straighten’d o’er her graceful back,
Betokened grief; she ne’er conceived to crave
Poor Bacchus for the dread and dismal grave:
No, no, ’twas he himself,—his great excess,
That brought upon the earth such dire distress:
Yea, had he been a little circumspect,
Another thousand years his brow may’ve deck’d ”

“ And held the pistol straight to George’s breast:
The one who had received a sabre-cut
Sat moaning piteously with eyes half shut,—
For on his thigh the cutlass made a gash,
And struck the bone beneath an inch of flesh:
In years of youth the others seem’d to be,
Who had forsook the path of honesty—
Intent on mischief and misrule, but now
Remorse and horror sat upon their brow.
God grant them mercy! but the law decreed
That England of such demons should be freed;
And so in time all four were sent away
To end their lifetime in old “Bot’ny Bay,”—
The merited reward of infamy. ”

“ Surpass’d his hope, and ’flam’d his bosom warm.
Recovering from this reverie of bliss,
Jane spoke in silvery tones; her tale was this—
“I’ve learn’d to love thee, in thy absence, dear;
Pray pardon me, if now I love thee here;”
So placed her hand immediately in his,
And seal’d his lips with her first earnest kiss.
Arnold, in raptures with this stroke of love,
Glimpsed her two joys; and envied not high Jove! ”

“ O Pluto, lord of hell!
Extend thy grace to his departed soul:
Receive his corpse, and furnish it with breath,
That he may revel in the realms of death:—
So that our loss may be thy kingdom’s gain.”
A pause ensued: and then a dreadful cry
Came up the grave, which rent the gloomy sky.
With it arose a wave of crimson flame
Up straight towards a cloud that cover’d them;
Which shaped itself into a feather’d beam,
And wrote upon the cloud, thus: “Bassareus lives!” ”

“ And queenly nymphs, who dwell in sylvan woods—
If such there are—come hither, if so bold
To hazard such a step, for here behold!
Not Venus, nor one vassal of the sky,
With all their graces, can in form outvie
Jane Hollybrand. Nor can that mighty Jove,
Who reigns by courtesy in realms above,—
Whom all the suns, and moons, of heav’n adore,—
Whose charms subdued the heathen hordes of war,—
Can find a virgin equal to compare! ”

“ Survey’d the gulf down which the corpse would pass,
And lined its edges with resplendent moss:
Most modest, and most generous soul,
She’d oft contributed to Bacchus’ bowl,—
Prolong’d his life in most abundant ease,
Until decrepitude besought release;
And still regarded him as one of those
Whom she, herself, could least afford to lose:
“But he is gone! and with his corpse a tear
Shall stray,” said she, “upon the sinking bier;
And when regenerated he shall rise,
Earth shall be first, for joy, to dim her eyes.” ”

“ No longer would the poor old man relate
His thousand tales about dear Rollingate.
No longer would he make his morning-call
And quaff the goblet in the “Servants’ hall,”
Which he had done for many and many a year
And claim’d his usual “horn-and-half” of beer.
Nor would he e’er interrogate again—
As he would call her—his “young Mistress Jane,”
And list to her sweet replicating word
When he would ask about his absent lord. ”

“ Once more he beat, they rais’d a dismal moan,—
Sustain’d their voices till a day was gone:
For whilst great Vulcan held his beam on high,
They durst not breathe, nor even wink an eye.
(Oh! what a shocking, melancholy fate,
To be the vassals of such low estate:
Dogs upon earth are angels in a heaven,
Compared to those poor wretches who are driven
From south to north, from east to west, with wings
Like flaming firebrands, and whose mouths have stings
As deadly in their touch as adders are:
Their peace is worse than earth’s most direful war!) ”

“ Jane now began (as Arnold wish’d) to arrange
Her little wardrobe, for th’ approaching change.
From humble life she soon was to withdraw
To Rollingate,—there learn the “genteel law,”
’Midst scenes of gaiety; (but yet aloof;) —
To learn in private, ’neath the mansion roof,
The necessary etiquette—for she
The future hope of Arnold was to be.
Tears flow’d, and oft, as day and night flew past;
More often still at every eve-repast:
The cottage-home serenity had fled;
And George look’d forward with an earthly dread
To that sad day; his very heart recoil’d—
To think of parting with his only child! ”

“ Such then the hour when George in lowly state
Trod erst the precincts of old Rollingate,
Where he was welcome—not by her alone,
Whom love begat and law decreed his own,
But every one, and one [218] among them all
Who had for years adorn’d the princely hall;
She bade him happiness and kiss’d his hand,
And wrought her friendship with George Hollybrand:
Thus then. And now the genial feast prepared
No longer waited but was meetly shared,
Till at a moderate hour they all repaired
To rest. Joy reign’d supreme; but with the morn
(Ah! where the rose, there also thrives the thorn.) ”

“ Where fair-ones frequented their praise to yield—
To him who won the honors of the field—
There Arnold found himself, and bore away
Full oft the prizes of the gamesome day.
But he, withal those pleasures at command,
Could not forget the home of Hollybrand;
And nightly visions oft recall’d the spot;
As oft, in dreams, he saw the little cot,
Wherein he trusted there did still remain
Whom he would call (and hoped) his “virgin Jane.” XVI.
It happen’d now, when fifteen years had flown,
That Arnold’s parents, both were—dead and gone! ”

“ What sorrow was. Ashamed, the nymphs now hide,
And in their hiding-place they scan his side
But not a sound escapes their lovely lips:—
The while, he taps a thousand globes and sips
Until he staggers, and falls prone to ground:
Then haste the nymphs, the god they circle round!
’Tis vain attempting to describe the joy
Each goddess felt as they tripp’d round so coy:—
One, stray’ng beyond the bound’ry they had plann’d,
Most inadvertently trod on his hand;
Which ’lectrified the god! then he updrew,
Rais’d both his arms, and, like a trumpet, blew
A sound across the purple-cluster’d plain. ”

“ Towards the soil his feather’d limbs inclined:
His countenance bespoke a gentle mind:
(Once the poor god, now dead, implored his aid;
Who smote the fount and Bacchus’ thirst was stay’d.)
Seen in the distance, thundering as he came,
He look’d a god of most uncommon frame!
Poor Daphne shook to see his wondrous form:
Her noble blood began to mingle warm;
But pale and circumspect she did remain,
Impress’d with awe, her eyes straight to the plain
Upon th’ incumbent god,—whose time was come
To be removed into the dismal tomb. ”

“ And then a pause; and then again she tries,
Say’ng—“Father, father, oh! ’tis sad to part;
But, father, trust in God, and cheer your heart.”
These were the words, the parting words of those
Whose cottage sanctity was just about to close.
One moment more must bring that last “farewell,”—
Whose import—none but George and Jane could tell;
And Hollybrand, now left alone to dwell! XV.
George, recollecting Arnold’s solemn vow,
Bethought himself of future joy: and so—
In silent solitude—he work’d away,
And tried to gather comfort through the day. ”

“ To cottage, garden, grunters, fowls, and all;
In other hands their welfare now is cast,
And well for them if they’re as good’s the last!
“George Hollybrand”—they almost learn’d to speak,
But now he’s gone they’re doubly dumb and meek.
Ten hours were told; Jane listens to the wind,
Whose genial breathings thus impress’d her mind:
She fondly fancied that the breeze would bear
The far-off rumbling to her anxious ear ”

“ On your path the hurrahs of a nation’s resounding;
And on yon foremost plain where the host shall deploy,
There shall echo the anthem of love and of joy:
There the contest of peace shall envelop the wold,
While the blue waves are dancing in spangles of gold;
While the clouds from your rifles obscure the blithe sky,
We’ll reflect and thank God there’s no foe to defy!—
Up, up, my brave comrades! with courage abounding, &c.
[99] Composed on the occasion of the first Volunteer Review at Dover, on Easter Monday, 22nd April, 1867. ”

“ When Jane, consistent with her lowly sphere,
Relieved her eye of an incredulous tear:
Her hope was where it had continually soar’d,
And forth in secret there her pray’rs were pour’d.
E’en, as the coach resum’d the onward course,
A thought struck Arnold, with emphatic force,—
That this sly woman, dexterous and sedate,
Might have inform’d herself on the estate:
“How cunning,” thought he; “well, it is their trade,
And fools are often innocently made.” ”

“ To Jane’s sweet memory would oft recur
The fun and frolic at the village fair,—
Held once a year,—and whither she would go
To hear the bumpkin band, and see the “show:”
This was a happy period of her life:
Her mother liv’d, and was a loving wife
To Hollybrand. (Ah! George had praised her so
That when she died most dreadful was the blow.) [197]
As then each Sunday morning came along
Jane heard the village-church bells go ding-dong,
(When her dear mother liv’d and stay’d at home)
And, with her father, forth would early roam
To pay their homage on the Sabbath day,
In God’s own house. ”

“ The hip-hurrahs join’d with their youthful songs,
Make one glad concert of unusual mirth—
One happy unison of joy on earth.
They tumble, rumble, on the beauteous lawn,
As free from care as are the swift-foot fawn
That stray beneath yon summer-blooming trees,
And sniff at will the heav’nly-perfum’d breeze.
See how the little rev’lers romp and fall,
Whilst some are racing for the sky-thrown ball:
A stripling, heedless of th’ obscurèd root
Of some large chestnut, trips his nimble foot,
And stumbles; but ’tis only o’er a mound,
Clad with Earth’s velvet, so no harm is found. ”

“ On British hearts, engraven is the word—
“Our crown and country rules with one accord.”
O Lord, inspire the mother’s tender breast,
That she may offer up her thanks, the best;
And have, in Thee, the surest friend,
To-day, and to a distant end;
Down on her children comfort send:
Bless, Thou, the haven which the shelter gave;
Guard sire, and dame, and children to the grave!
[78] Written on the occasion of the birth of Prince George Frederick Ernest Albert, second son of their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, at Marlborough House, Pall Mall, 3rd June, 1865, at 1.18. ”

“ With equal pressure influenc’d Jane’s breast,
And oft at night prevented needful rest;
Her sire, (as she,) alternately would sigh,—
As oft he smil’d as oft bedew’d his eye:
“A month,” said George, “will soon have pass’d away,
And then a week, and then another day,
And then the moment when my child is gone!—
And I (he said most sorrowf’lly) , alone!”
Jane sobb’d and sigh’d, whilst George desired her cease—
“It’s all for good, my dear, come be at peace,”
Said he; but no,—her heart, poor girl, was full:
No human solacy could then control [198]
Her virtuous bosom ”