An Evening's Walk

One summer's eve, when ev'ry swain was hous'd,
When Sol had scarce one glimmer left behind,
Each little star, faint glitt'ring, cast a ray,
And spangled o'er the dusky robe of night.

Fond of the scene, I wander'd far from home,
O'er leafless lawns, and flower-breeding vales,
Till weary nature slacken'd in my steps,
And made me halt upon a friendly bank.
Calm thro' a bridge there ran a peerless stream,
That scarcely mov'd the ozier's slender wand:
Here I took my stand, and view'd the solemn scene.
The bat had been an hour on the wing,
Chasing the night-fly and the buzzing gnat:
The purblind owl had left the ancient tower,
Prowling with flossy wing along the mead.
Anon, as out of Chaos, shot a ray
Of chearing light, quiv'ring o'er the hills
As yet too weak to struggle with the dark;
Or, as th' Egyptian queen, far off beheld,
Shot her first beams on the Italian shore,
Her brilliant train reflecting on the waves,
Making the Tybur like a golden sea.

Clouds that o'er-hung the horizon, unseen,
Appear'd in view, like silver-skirted troops
Waiting the up-rise of the queen of night.
Slow she approach'd, and smil'd upon the world,
Op'ning fresh landscapes to my wond'ring eyes.
Philomel now chear'd the embow'ring grove,
The woodlark too, mistaking it for day,
Join'd her sweet notes with emulating strains.

Near to my left there stood an ancient pile,
By wasting time, and savage war defac'd,
Like a reduc'd and hoary-headed chief,
Commanding awe even in destruction.
On its slinty sides deep-dy'd ivy clung;
Its roof was capt with velvet-grounded moss,
And round its base, wild weeds and flowers grew,
The stinging nettle with the briars blend,
The secret haunt of adders and of toads.
Thro' the wide breaches of the rock-built walls
Pale Cynthia beam'd her lucid columns down
Upon the verdant slope, in lines direct and clear,
Reflecting on a dimpled brook below.

A solemn silence now o'erspread the globe,
Save when the minnew wanton'd on the stream,
And left a circle spreading to the brink.
Anon, as wind from out some hollow cave,
A deep-felt sigh from out the ruins came,
As from a heart just bursting with its load,
Which streight was answer'd with a voice of woe,
Like sorrow soothing the more sad despair.

A while I stood, in doubt, to know the cause,
Or to retreat, lest some deluding fiend,
Aping the voice of grief, meant to destroy.
At length resolv'd, with caution I approach'd,
O melting sight! my wounded heart ran o'er
And empty'd at my eyes.—A mournful pair,
The woeful part ners of affliction sat,
On the low basis of a mould'ring urn
And open'd to my view a tragic scene.
Conceal'd, I stood, observing their distress;
She, in her lap, an infant cherub held,
A lovely boy, the offspring of their loves.
Her eyes were bent with sorrow on the babe,
While in her face the little dear one smil'd,
And then, with tears of misery and love,
She clung him eager to her throbbing breast.

The wretched husband on her neck reclin'd,
Striving to chear his melancholy dame,
Feigned a hope, tho' foreign to his heart:
But when he found despair had seiz'd her soul,
His tears burst forth, and bath d his manly cheeks,
And on his bended knees he trembling fell,
Lifting his eyes with anguish 'gainst the sky,
With invocations loud, and agonizing sighs,
Imploring heaven for a ray of peace,
Till his loud accents shook the vaulted roof,
And reft his tortur'd breast.—I cou'd no more,
But flying to his aid with heart distress'd,
He fix'd his eyes with furious glare upon me,
And threaten'd me with death if I advanc'd;
Like the fierce tyger, assail'd by hunters
In his dreary den, he stood defensive o'er his young,
Shielding 'em from danger. With humble voice
And friendly tears I mov'd him to attend,
And listen patient to the voice of pity.
Joy then, with fear and admiration mix'd,
O'erspread each face, and as I spake, they blest;
Hope, like the sun that clouds had long o'erveil'd,
Flush'd on their cheeks, extinguishing despair.

Ye woeful pair let your suspicions cease;
If the base world has put ye out of door,
If friends forsake and creditors pursue:
If you once more can trust a thought to hope,
And think it possible to meet a friend,
Tell me your story, and you yet shall find
That fate relents, and ceases to afflict.
Tho' here to you a stranger I appear,
To mercy I am none; to see another wretched
Makes me wretched too: by serving others
I still myself oblige, and meet reward,
Ample reward, a tranquil happiness!
Seeing others so, by me made happy.
I'd rather wipe the tear of grief away
Than add a ruby to a monarch's crown,
And win a Prince's promise for my pains.
If fate's not giv'n you over to despair,
And you'll accept of friendship once again,
Chear your sad hearts—let ev'ry fear subside,
Nor doubt a stranger yet may prove a friend;
If you'd be happy, tell me but in what,
I'll try my ev'ry means to make ye so.

Thou gracious being! (if thou art human)
For thou speak'st with a celestial tongue,
Let me embrace thee;—O! pardon me, too,
That I assail'd thee with the threat of death,
When thou but meant to save me from his shaft;
For O! thy words were welcome to my soul
As mollient dews that fall upon the mead,
When parching Sol has curled each verdant blade;
Thou hast preserv'd to me the dearest rose
That ever scented gale, the sweetest bud
That ever eye beheld, or tempted death to kill,
(This drooping fair one, and her smiling boy,)
For they have suffer'd more than I dare tell,
And to repeat, is more than I can bear:
She once, alas, was fortune's favourite
And Minerva's pride, the tender fondling
Of a wealthy pair—O! sad remembrance;
Provoking tears! when will ye cease to flow!
These eyes have long been strangers to a smile;
Excuse me, friend, if they disgust thee.
We sing of others woe, but cry our own;
My heart has gushed at a thousand veins,
To see the sufferings of a matchless wife—
There was a time, when this forsaken held
At such an hour would have giv'n delight,
When solitude and night would give a scope
To thought, and yield a pleasing melancholy
To the jaded mind, o'ercharg'd with pleasure
And variety; but now, how dreary and sorlorn
It seems; and as we tell our mournful tale,
With double horror echoes back each word,
Mocking adversity, in hollow sounds,—
Telling us over what is death to hear.—
Such tale as mine, good friend, I oft have read,
Such woeful scenes have oft been play'd;
With sympathizing heart I've heard and seen,
And dropp'd a tear for the oppress'd and brave;
But ere I'd slept the fiction fled my breast,
And time would leave no traces on the mind.
When we become the objects of distress,
Remembrance stamps it with an iron seal
Upon our hearts, and ev'ry thought is death.
But to my story, 'tis my friend's desire—
I am no stranger to this gloomy pile,
I oft have paid a visit to these walls,
And oft admir'd the romantic form,
When the fair morn invited me abroad,
When fertile nature dasy'd ev'ry hill,
And ev'ry meadow blush'd a purple hue:
When thrushes sang, and linnet, charm'd the grove;
My heart then drank in pleasure at my eyes,
And felt no interrupter by the way,
No wretched thought to dash it back again.—
My father was a man of wealth and note,
(And held a mansion in a village by)
A better ne'er gave being to a son:—
I having read of mighty things abroad,
Of ancient Rome and grand Cairo's court,
The wealth of India and Egyptian wilds.
With thirst for novelty and desire,
I urg'd my father, and at length prevail'd,
That he would let me venture on a tour,
And prove the truth of hist'ry and report.—
'Tis six years since I left my native home;
Since when, so many wonders I have seen,
That curiosity at last grew sick.

Returning home, I cross'd the mighty Alps;
A deadly sickness seiz'd me on the way,
And made me seek for succour and a friend;
A greater rarity than all I'd met.
An ample dwelling open'd to my view,
To which I bent my way, and shelter ask'd,
And was receiv'd at once a welcome guest.
With mild compassion they beheld my state,
And strove to chear me with a friendly voice.
Dismounting here, I would have enter'd in,
But that my feet their wonted use deny'd:
My limbs gave way, and let me to the ground;
When this dear fair came running to my aid;
She rais'd me up, and led me careful in,
And ev'ry day a true attendance paid:
When I was strugling with the pangs of death,
And with consoling hope she'd drop a tear,
Imploring heaven to preserve my life.
Her supplications did at length prevail.
No sooner had I conquer'd one compeer,
But found my heart was with another ta'en,
Love, to whom I soon submitted, and embrac'd.
And made my hostess partner of my life,
But here partaker in affliction too;—
Her father was a Briton, once of wealth,
And held a mansion in that happy isle,
Till revolution and domestic broils
Destroy'd his lands and plunder'd all he had,
(Save a few stores, in secret he had saved,)
Putting himself and family to flight,
To seek for refuge in a foreign land.—
The action robb'd the good man of his life,
And in distress the mournful widow left,
With this fair comforter to buffet life,
And shield her from a base ensnaring world.

Here eighteen months I liv'd in social joy,
And in the desert found the dearest wife.
The kindest mother ever man cou'd boast,
Her better spirits so outworn by grief,
That made her frame, like frozen lillies, fade,
Recline and droop unto the earth again.
Not having heard one tiding from my friends
For many a day, we for England made;
And ere we reach'd the shore, the wind blew high,
And frowning Neptune on the surface foam'd,
Throwing up wat'ry mountains in our way,
And, in his anger, dash'd us on a rock:
Some twenty perish'd in the yawning deep,
But we escap'd, to meet a harder fate.
We sav'd our lives, but saw our cargo sink:
No sooner had I stepp'd with pleasure on the shore,
But met the tidings of my father's death.
From one misfortune often comes a crowd,
For some malignant enemy of mine,
Inform'd the good man I had long been dead.
And ere he died, he chose another heir,
And left him all his fortune and estate.

Here, each glaring circumstance arose,
And fill'd me with surprise: I ask'd his name,
"Landore, he cry'd, a wealthy neighbour here."
Landore! ye mighty Gods, how just!
I am that heir thy worthy father chose,
And for his friendship and his love to me,
I'll give his son his fortune back again.
I had enough before to make me happy,
And but resign that superflux to him
Which fate had chosen me steward to a while,
To quit my claim upon a just demand.