William And Mira Poem by Christian Milne

A TALE.

ON her lov'd infant, as it sleeping lies,
Ah! little does the tender mother know,
While fondly gazing with delighted eyes,
What thorns thro' life its footsteps may bestrew!
She fondly paints for it a flow'ry road,
Tho' she herself finds nought but briers there;
Life, wealth, and health for it she asks from GOD ,
In feeble age she hopes 'twill pay her care.
Poor MARIAMNE , bent with age and grief,
Was once a mother blest, and happy wife,
But soon o'erclouded was the prospect brief,
That gilded once her sweet, tho' humble life,
Her husband built the cottage where she lives,
Its walls are turf, its roof is thatch'd with heath;
All that content in poverty e'er gives,
With him she tasted,till depriv'd by Death.
One child, a Daughter, Heav'n on them bestow'd,
To crown their love, and fill with joy their cot;
With ev'ry grace exterior endow'd,
With ev'ry gift of Nature to her lot.
Her hair was auburn, playfully it hung
Around her neck and bosom smooth and fair;
Ne'er brighter features were by Poet sung,
Her form was slender, graceful was her air.
Bright was her soul, tho' in a cottage rear'd--
No thought got shelter in her spotless mind,
That might have sham'd her, tho' it had appear'd
In view of Angels, or of all mankind.
Her name was MIRA , only fourteen years
Had o'er her stole, when death her father snatch'd:
She mourn'd him--tho', to dry her Mother's tears,
With cheerfulness assum'd, she hourly watch'd.
Long did the widow'd MARIAMNE mourn,
Her grief at length sunk to a placid calm;
For comfort she did to her MIRA turn,
From her she sought sweet consolation's balm.
This charming Maid by turns would knit and read,
To earn subsistence, and inform her mind;
The wound that in her Mother's bosom bled,
She strove to heal by her deportment kind.
A charming Youth, from wealthy parents sprung,
On lovely MIRA long had cast an eye;
Love's pleasing pain his youthful bosom wrung,
Yet he in secret did admire and sigh.
Soft was his heart, alive to Pity's call,
Distress to him did ne'er complain in vain;
Each manly grace to WILLIAM 's share did fall--
Each manly virtue in his soul did reign.
Join'd by a wall to MARIAMNE 's cot,
A little garden spread its simple store,
The charming MIRA , in this favour'd spot,
Oft prun'd or weeded, when her task was o'er.
A seat of turf her own fair hands had rear'd,
Which she with honeysuckle shaded round;
The verdant margin, which so trim appear'd,
With scented herbs and choicest flowers was crown'd.
One evening there she knitted in the sun,
The wall was low, and WILLIAM caught her eye,
CUPID till then to break her rest did shun,
But now his shaft at her soft heart let fly.
Young WILLIAM stood, attracted by her charms,
While MIRA wonder'd at the pain she felt;
Her tender bosom beat with strange alarms,
Which ne'er before had taught her heart to melt.
'Wilt thou permit me, O! thou charming Maid!
'To view this garden, which I've long admir'd,
'Its low wall fav'ring?' love-sick WILLIAM said;
She, blushing, granted what the Youth desir'd.
He stept the wall, and to the arbour came
Where MIRA sat, her grassy seat to share;
Most rigid virtue could not mark with blame
The modest converse of this harmless pair.
They mutual blush'd--he round his fingers twin'd
Her knitting thread, irresolute to speak;
They felt confus'd--each found the throbbing mind
Alike unable silence first to break.
'This spot is fertile, useful plants and fair
'Luxuriant grow,' the Youth at length observ'd;
Then, viewing MIRA with a tender air,
Said, 'Its fair Mistress better far deserv'd.'
'My Mother taught me to desire no more,'
Sweet MIRA said, and hung her lovely head--
'I tend with joy our vegetable store,
'Content I knit, to earn our scanty bread.'
'Yon stately mansion, and yon garden wide,'
Young WILLIAM said, 'sweet maiden, shall be thine;
'On that blest morn, when you become my bride,
'All shall be yours which now is reckon'd mine.
'Long have I lov'd you with an ardent flame,
'Each eve I languish'd for th' accustom'd hour,
'When you to trim your little garden came,
'To knit or read within your little bower.
'Unseen, I stood and gaz'd upon your charms,
'My eyes I feasted, rivetting more fast
'The chains that, while life's blood my bosom warms,
'Shall bind me close and closer to the last.'
This kind avowal much amaz'd the maid,
Who ne'er before had heard the voice of love;
She felt she lov'd him, yet was sore afraid
To breathe the thoughts that in her bosom strove.
She deeply blush'd, with modest downcast eyes,
To speak she oft endeavour'd, but in vain;
She nought could utter--but her struggling sighs
Oft found their way, which spake her bosom's pain.
'Speak, lovely maid! and give me leave to hope,
'That you my passion do not disapprove;
'My love-sick soul will sink, unless you prop
'Its drooping strength with kind returns of love.'
'Alas! what can I speak?' sweet MIRA said,
'Dissimulation's flimsy veil I scorn;
'To one like you how can a simple maid
'Avow her love, so poor and meanly born?'
'I wish not wealth, no sordid soul I own,'
The youth reply'd; 'that lovely form of thine
'Displays such charms, array'd in russet gown;
'No bliss I seek but this--to call thee mine.'
The blushing MIRA rais'd her lovely eyes,
That beam'd with softness--stranger she to art,
Stretch'd out her hand; he seiz'd it--she by sighs,
Than words more eloquent, reveal'd her heart.
But they must part; for now the setting sun
Was almost sunk beneath the western wave:
In that sweet bower, where now their love begun,
They vow'd to meet on every coming eve.
As WILLIAM went, he often look'd behind,
His limbs mov'd onward, but his heart remain'd:
To her dear Mother MIRA pour'd her mind,
And artless told the struggle just sustain'd.
She felt no joy, unless her mother shar'd--
No guile she knew, therefore no frown could dread;
Yet, tho' all harsh reproofs her mother spar'd,
She doubting look'd, and shook her aged head.
But ev'ry ev'ning, when she saw them part,
She wou'd admonish with maternal smile;
And warn'd the maid against seducers art,
Who woo and flatter only to beguile.
But WlLLIAM 's father came at last to hear,
That he admir'd and woo'd a maid so mean:
With harsh intent, he summon'd to appear
The destin'd victim of his pride and spleen.
Yet to his son a word he never breath'd
Of his attachment to so mean a maid;
But said--'To me a fortune stands bequeath'd
'Far hence in India, in our way of trade;
'I hear the vessel ready is to sail,
'Therefore I beg you instantly will go,
'And aid my claim; now fav'ring is the gale,
'So waste not time in seeking friend or foe.'
With step irregular, and heavy heart,
Poor WILLIAM sought his MIRA in her bower,
He wish'd, yet fear'd, the tidings to impart;
She flew to meet him at the happy hour.
The eye of love soon saw his alter'd look,
She saw him press'd with what he fear'd to tell;
With sweet solicitude his hand she took,
And sighing said--'I fear all is not well.'
'Ah! dearest maid, alas! how can I speak
'The cruel news which I reluctant bring!
'I fear some snare is laid our hearts to break,
'Our love to ruin, and our souls to wring.
'My sire commands on bus'ness, as he says,
'That I for India must instant sail;
'For me alone the loaded vessel stays,
'And I am come to take a sad----farewell!
'Stern was his look, and clouded was his brow,
'When he to me deliver'd this command;
'I fear, my MIRA , he has heard of you,
'And takes this scheme to break the tender band.'
'Ah! dearest WILLIAM ! rather let me pine
'A love-lorn maid, and meet an early grave,
'Than live to hear of that lov'd form of thine
'Untimely swallow'd in a stormy wave.
'Go to your Sire, and fall upon your knee,
'Your ill-placed passion--O! to him confess,
' And vow to him, you will abandon me,
'If he no more the dire command will press.'
'Yes! I will tell him, if you bid me so,
'That you my love deservedly have won;
'But ev'ry danger I can undergo,
'If I at last can call but you my own.'
'Ah! gen'rous youth!' the mournful MIRA cry'd,
While from her eyes a pearly torrent flow'd--
'I hope not now on earth to be your bride,
'I fear I'll only wed you in my shroud.'
'Give Hope, sweet maid, a mansion in thy breast;
'Who can abandon innocence like thine?
'Perhaps my voyage may, for your sake, be blest,
'Heav'n may restore me thro' its care benign.'
All drench'd in tears, her sorrow-clouded face
On WILLIAM 's bosom MIRA did recline;
He ardent strain'd her in his chaste embrace,
And call'd, to guard her, ev'ry Power Divine.
But they must part!--the time was now run out,
When WILLIAM 's sire expected him to go;
Their boding hearts o'erclouded were with doubt,
And saw, prophetic, scenes of coming woe.
He went on board, and soon the vessel sail'd;
Upon the beach the weeping MIRA stood;
The loss of WILLIAM bitterly she wail'd--
With streaming eyes the less'ning ship she view'd.
But, scarcely had the vessel gain'd the sea,
When strong an adverse wind began to blow;
So loud it bellow'd to a fierce degree,
The billows boil'd and toss'd them to and fro!
With furious blast they soon were driv'n back;
'Twas midnight now, and none appear'd to save!
Ere morning dawn'd, the vessel was a wreck,
And ALL her inmates buried in the wave!!!
Soon as the day-dawn glimmer'd in the east,
From sleepless bed the wretched MIRA rose;
Ill-omen'd dreams had broke her little rest--
T' indulge her sorrow to the beach she goes.
O! scene of horror!--nothing did appear
But floating planks, and breathless bodies there!
At last, she recogniz'd--her WILLIAM dear!!
Her reason fled--and left her to despair!
By chance, a peasant stood upon the beach,
And wrung his hands at sight of so much woe;
To him she cry'd (wild was her power of speech),
'O! help my lovely WILLIAM ere you go!'
The peasant bore him to her mother's cot;
She laid his body dripping on the bed:
'My darling sleeps, my mother! wake him not!'
To woe-struck MARIAMNE soft she said.
She laid her by him; in her arms she took
Tho sea-drench'd corse, and to her mother said--
'O! let not Envy's blasting eye-balls look
'On me and WILLIAM in our bridal bed!'
No force could tear her from her lover's side;
His matted tresses in her robe she wrung:
She still persisted that she was his bride--
To soothe his rest, wild frantic airs she sung!
His father instant heard the mournful tale,
Too late he griev'd his harshness to his son;
The hapless maiden too he did bewail,
Who lost sweet reason for the love shewon .
The youth was borne to his father's house,
His funeral honours only now to crave;
Where'er they mov'd him, frantic MIRA goes,
Nor left his side, till parted by the grave!
His father pray'd her homeward to return,
The sun was set, and night began to lour:
'I will not go,' said she, 'my love would mourn,
'I vow'd sincere I would not leave him more.
'The ocean, Sir, was kinder far than you;
'You forc'd him from me to a distant land--
'The seas the sorrows of my bosom knew,
'And kindly laid him on the naked strand!'
She from her garden culls the choicest flowers,
And strews them fancifully on his grave;
There ev'ry eve she spends the passing hours,
And sings of WILLIAM and the fatal wave!