The Tale of Raymond

NOR birth, nor fortune did on RAYMOND frown,
A noble stem he in his lineage trac'd,
And many a virtuous deed, descending down
From honour'd ancestry, that lineage grac'd.

But the large prospect of a father's wealth
Inflam'd with frantic joy his youthful mind,
In dissipation he impair'd his health,
And prudent counsel scatter'd to the wind.

The rev'rend parent, with afflicted eye,
Beheld his boy the race of folly run,
And oft lamented, with a stifled sigh,
And oft, in gentle phrase, rebuk'd his son.

Of riot's bane too soon enamour'd grown,
Th' impetuous youth disdains the mild rebuke,
Retorts displeasure in resentful tone,
Or quits his father with indignant look.

For Dissipation, and its boundless train
Of frantic crimes, disgrace his ev'ry hour,
Intoxication oft invades his brain,
And bids him spurn a doting father's pow'r.

That doting father, whose indulgent cares
Were all employ'd on this unduteous boy,
Whose love, (too sanguine) in his rip'ning years,
Had garner'd up a store of fancy'd joy;

But now of his abandon'd offspring's vice,
And scorn of admonition, weary grown,
Expostulation mild no more he tries,
But loud upbraids him with imperious tone.

The frantic youth his hasty arm uprears,
(Spite of the duty sons to parents owe,
Spite of the rev'rence due to silver hairs)
And on his father's temples dash'd a blow.

What instant horrors, RAYMOND, then were thine!
Cursing the deed which thine own hand had done,
Surprise, remorse, disgrace, at once combine,
And all hell's torments thro' thy bosom run.

He thinks each object deprecates the deed;
His mother's portrait, to his troubled eye,
Appears with indignation to recede
From the dire stroke, and frown with agony.

The father, silent, dries the blushing stream,
Which down his wounded cheek profusely flows,
Within his eye conflicting passions gleam,
And with indignant fire his visage glows;

For love and pity, mingling in his face,
To check the rising storm of passion try,
As struggling sunny rays attempt to chase
The gath'ring gloom of an incensed sky.

An awful pause ensued—then, turning slow,
He shew'd his handkerchief deep stain'd with gore;
"Behold this blood," he said, "Oh child of woe!
"Behold thy work!—but see thy sire no more."

He said, and left the room. Th' abandon'd son
Stood petrified awhile in cold suspence,
Then forth instinctively he seem'd to run,
Robb'd of each faculty of sight and sense.

Impulsive habit led him to the haunts
Of loose associates, and th' unnerving bowl,
Where Vice its unrestrained triumph vaunts
O'er ev'ry finer feeling of the soul.

False! short-liv'd triumph! not the echoed sound
Of mirth tumultuous thro' the spendthrift's hall,
Can chase the thoughts that his remembrance wound,
But each alluring draught is dash'd with gall.

When, sated with the treach'rous bane, he tries
To woo the balmy comfort of his bed,
"Upon the torment of the mind he lies,"
Successive horrors goad his restless head.

If harrass'd thought a short reprieve enjoy,
Enwrapp'd in Slumber's momentary bands,
Self-open'd, wide the curtains seem to fly,
And by his side his bleeding father stands.

He groans, he starts! the restless pillow flies,
To stalk the room in darkness and despair;
Where fancy'd spectres haunt his haggard eyes,
Whose yells and screams incessant wound his ear.

Sudden he meditates, in frantic rage,
By suicide to end the date of woe;
Doubt fills his mind with fearful black presage,
And startled Nature shudders at the blow.

He doubts—he ruminates.—"Dares RAYMOND die
"Beneath a parent's unrelenting ire?
"The danger of a new existence try,
"And in the fullness of his crimes expire?

"No, Heav'n forbid! Despair and Madness, hence!
"With contrite heart I'll seek my father's door,
"Pour the full stream of soft'ning penitence,
"And pardon, prostrate at his feet, implore."

Thus pond'ring, he resolves. His father's door
Against his pray'rs and tears fast-clos'd remains;
The fatal sentence, "See thy sire no more,"
Now, with redoubled force his mind arraigns.

Yet, day by day he plies a parent's gate,
Again he sues, and is again repell'd;
Nor wins admittance, till approaching fate
Compels that parent's rigid heart to yield.

He yields, and RAYMOND comes—with timid eye,
The bed of sickness trembling he surveys,
While Conscience whispers, in a deep-drawn sigh,
"Tis RAYMOND, hath cut short a father's days."

Half-rais'd, the parent cast a solemn look,
That penetrated to the culprit's heart,
Whose stream of life awhile its seat forsook,
And life itself seem'd ready to depart.

"Approach, my son!"—At that benignant name,
Poor RAYMOND, falling on his slacken'd knee,
Feels sudden warmth re animate his frame,
Yet hides his face, in speechless agony.

Thrice he essay'd forgiveness to implore,
The sounds, half-utter'd, fainted on his tongue,
"Cease," said the Sire, "thy fruitless aim give o'er,
"And hear me speak—thou wilt not hear me long."

"Thou seest me struggling in the pangs of death,
"The race of painful life well-nigh is run;
"Yet ere I draw the latest gasp of breath,
"Hear my last words, and heed them well, my son.

"A child's inheritance is wholly thine,
"Of all I have thou'lt find thyself possess'd;
"Thou, left alone of wretched RAYMOND's line,
"Accept that all, and, if thou can'st, be bless'd.

"But, chief o'er all, this casket I bestow,
"Receive it from thy dying father's hand,
"And, as thou tak'st it, breathe a solemn vow,
"Thou wilt not disobey this last command;

"Break not the seal that covers this bequest,
"(As thou shalt answer at thy awful doom!)
"Till I am sunk in everlasting rest,
"And silent shrowded in thy mother's tomb."

'I take it, and I swear,' the son replies,
'But O! while Heav'n permits thee yet to live,
'Hear thy offender's penitential cries,
'Relieve his torments, bless him, and forgive!'

"For Heav'n's forgiveness of one fatal deed
"My parting spirit breathes a fervent pray'r,
"And in a future state, if pray'r may plead,
"'Twill sue again for thy remission there."

'Yet ere for ever thou shalt close thine eyes,
'O'er my sad heart thy benediction pour."
The wretched father, struggling, strove to rise,
In vain!—he gasp'd—he groan'd—and spoke no more.

RAYMOND remains a monument of grief,
A death-like paleness o'er his visage spreads;
No tear to his affliction brings relief,
Nor quits he, till compell'd, the mournful bed.

While now the fun'ral honours were prepar'd,
Distractedly, from room to room he stray'd,
In ev'ry breeze his father's voice he heard,
Of ev'ry sound, and ev'ry eye afraid.

The fun'ral rites now summon; on he goes,
And mingles in the dark sepulchral gloom,
Nor quits the hallow'd object of his woes,
Till silent laid within his mother's tomb.

With one long look he takes his final leave,
And inly murmurs, "Where is my repose?
"Ne'er, till he's shelter'd in the peaceful grave,
"Shall RAYMOND's eyes on shame and sorrow close."

Th' attendant train his falt'ring steps support,
And guide reluctant to a dreary home,
Where Melancholy keeps her solemn court,
And spreads around one universal gloom.

The bed of Death he seeks, where, in his sight,
His father's latest gift, the casket, lay;
Intent he gazes, fill'd with sore affright,
Yet rising hope attempers his dismay.

"Perchance," he cries, "this casket may contain
"The boon I ask'd with penitential tear;
"The pardon, which his falt'ring tongue in vain
"Essay'd to speak, perchance is written here.

"O! grant it, pitying God!" the gift unclos'd,
What aggravated horror meets him there!
His father's blood-stain'd kerchief lies expos'd,
And one soft ring let of his silver hair.

His fixed eye scarce credits what he sees,
Cold drops of sweat his aching brow pervade;
His trembling limbs with gradual horror freeze;
He sinks—he faints upon the fatal bed.

Ah! happy, had he sunk, to rise no more!
But Nature's vivid fount renews its course,
He wakes, afresh his mis'ry to explore,
And feels its torments with redoubled force.

He shrieks, he rends his hair, and loud exclaims,
"Could then no pity to my crime be shewn?
"My soul to pangs eternal he condemns;
"He's gone, and left no pardon for his son.

"Now where shall I betake me? whither fly
"To banish thought from this distracted brain?
"Not mines of wealth can lost repose supply,
"Repose of mind ne'er harbours here again.

"To distant climes shall wretched RAYMOND go,
"In martial throngs hide his devoted head,
"Where the first friendly arm that lays me low,
"I'll kiss with joy, and bless it for the deed."

Forthwith to distant regions he repair'd,
Where Belgic warriors hardy conflict wag'd,
Urg'd by despair, to deeds advent'rous dar'd,
And so[...]ght the ranks where hottest fury rag'd.

Impetuous darting on th' advancing foe,
Confronted by the leader of the band,
His fierce assailant's falchion dealt a blow,
That from the wrist dismember'd RAYMOND's hand.

When thus the victim, bending to the ground,
"Restrain thy fury, let me not expire,
"Till I have knelt, and bless'd thee for the wound,
"Which lopp'd the impious hand that smote my Sire."

Unfit for further action, quench'd his fires,
Acknowledging the justice of his lot,
From public haunts the wretch with shame retires,
And hides his guilt in this sequester'd spot.

Of all life's comforts by himself denied,
He makes his dwelling in yon dreary cave,
From Nature's bounty Nature's wants supplied,
And daily delves a portion of his grave.