653.

654.

WE

The Death-bed

E watch'd her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied-
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed-she had
Another morn than ours.

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful:

Past all dishonour,

Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,

One of Eve's familyWipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?

Who was her father?

Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!

O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,

Fatherly, motherly

Feelings had changed:

Love, by harsh evidence,

Thrown from its eminence ;

Even God's providence

Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light

From window and casement,
From garret to basement,

She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver;

But not the dark arch,

Or the black flowing river:

Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurl'd-
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly-
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran—
Over the brink of it,
Picture it-think of it,
Dissolute Man!

Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,

Smooth and compose them;

And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring

Thro' muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,

655.

Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest.—
Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,

Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!

WILLIAM THOM

The Blind Boy's Pranks

1798-1848

MEN grew sae cauld, maids sae unkind,

Love kentna whaur to stay:

Wi' fient an arrow, bow, or string-
Wi' droopin' heart an' drizzled wing,
He faught his lonely way.

" Is there nae mair in Garioch fair
Ae spotless hame for me?
Hae politics an' corn an' kye
Ilk bosom stappit? Fie, O fie!
I'll swithe me o'er the sea.'

He launch'd a leaf o' jessamine,
On whilk he daur'd to swim,

An' pillow'd his head on a wee rosebud,
Syne laithfu', lanely, Love 'gan scud
Down Ury's waefu' stream.

655. kentna] knew not.

arrow.

wi' fient an arrow] i. q. with deuce an swithe] hie quickly. laithfu'] regretful.