Part I

DARK December was the month,
The air was dank and chill,
When CADWAL's weary foot had reach'd
The summit of the hill;

Beneath whose ample verge he wont
To labour at the plough,
And, to relieve his father's age,
Bedew his infant brow.

When eighteen years had o'er him pass'd,
He left his rustic home,
(Sore-smote with grief) in distant grounds,
And stranger-fields to roam.

Twelve winters had his exile seen,
When lo! his bosom burns
Again to clasp his father's knees,
And homeward he returns.

And now descending to the vale,
With slow and trembling feet,
Re-viewing this, his native soil,
The pulses flutt'ring beat.

And now with penetrating eye,
He pierces the close dell,
Where in his thatch-beshelter'd cot
His Sire did whilom dwell.

Yet in his sad and troubled look,
Such terror might ye see,
As when we almost wish to shun
The thing, we wish should be.

He pryed here, he pryed there,
No cottage could he spy,
Nor smallest trace of human tread
Appeared to his eye.

No monarch of the feather'd brood
Was heard aloud to crow,
Nor laboured ox the vocal air
Awaken with his low.

In strange amazement and suspense
Awhile benumb'd he stood,
Then fell, despairing on the earth,
And wept, and wail'd aloud.

His piercing cries an hermit drew
Forth from his lonely cell,
Whose pliant sense was quick to feel
Affliction's poignant yell.

Compassion held him mute at first,
While as he ponder'd him
With fixed eye, where nature's floods
Up-swelled to the brim.

Then thus—"My son, your plaints I heard,
"They smote me to the heart,
"To me, without reserve or fear,
"The weighty cause impart.

"Deep-vers'd in sorrow's plaintive task
"Full many a weary hour,
"Right well I know what aggravates,
"And what abates its pow'r.

"Close-pent within restraining bounds,
"The river foams and roars,
"Tumultuous boils with mighty heaves,
"And wounds its kindred shores,

"The load remov'd, that choak'd its course,
"The violence subsides,
"The tumult lessens by degrees,
"And smooth the current glides.

"Give, then, the struggling griefs to flow,
"Which thy clogg'd heart oppress,
"Each word will take a part away,
"And make the burthen less."

'Old CADWAL here distraught I seek,
'Here CADWAL dwelt of yore,
'Here, here, his quiet cottage rose,
'But now is here no more.'

"Old CADWAL seek'st thou? Hapless man!
"New torments must thou have—
"Beneath this venerable elm,
"Behold the rustic's grave!"

'Oh! wretch accurs[...]d I was the cause,
'I 'reft him of his breath,
'I robb'd these fields of CADWAL's worth,
'I brought him to his death.

'Was he not to his various kin,
'(Unworthy I alone!)
'Was he not guardian, comforter,
'Friend, father, all in one?

'What honest hind, that near him toil'd,
'But of his store partook?
'Was he not to the needy swain,
'As to the mead the brook?

'Did he not deal to all around
'His smile as well as care?
'Not ev'n the sparrow of the hedge,
'But in his love had share.

'And, wretch accurs'd! I was the cause,
'I 'reft him of his breath,
'I robb'd these fields of CADWAL's worth,
'I brought him to his death.'

"Too rigidly, perchance, my son,
"Thyself thou dost accuse,
"And heapest on thy burthen'd heart
"Unnecessary woes.

"Ah! how severe the punishment,
"When we ourselves arraign!
"And hatred oft, and malice 'self,
"Inflict a milder pain.

"Less harshly censure thy offence,
"(Some youthful warmth, I ween!)
"And give it to mine ear in terms
"Soft, candid, and serene.

"Here on this bank repose awhile,
"And bid these tumults cease;
"With thine I'll mix my social tears,
"And sooth returning peace."

'Ah, father! this thine holy love
'Embitters what I feel;
'Unwittingly thou add'st a sting
'To sorrows thou would'st heal.

'Here on this bank, what precious hours
'I've known in days of youth,
'List'ning the precepts that he gave
'Of wisdom and of truth!

'Here in the sweetly-tranquil eve,
'(Day's rugged labour done)
'He'd tell how good and glorious men
'Life's arduous race had run.

'What tides of blood had wash'd these lands,
'Which we in peace had till'd,
'And how the faithful rustic once
'Great ALFRED here conceal'd.

'But, oh! my grief-bewilder'd mind
'From reason wanders far,
'And with vague fancies idly mocks
'Thy kind, thy pious care.'

"Heed not, my son—use any means
"That may assuage thy pain;
"It is the privilege of woe
"At random to complain.

"And who of patient sympathy
"The lib'ral largess scant,
"With-hold a bounty, great I ween
"As Wealth can show'r on Want.