by Major Calder Campbell.
Originally published in Hood's Magazine and Comic Miscellany (Andrew Spottiswoode) vol.1 (1845).
The snow was falling rapidly
Upon the fallen leaves;
The shivering sparrow twittered low
Beneath the dripping caves:—
In its plaintive notes trace ye no thoughts
Of the Autumn's gather'd sheaves?
The snow was falling rapidly,
With a faint and whispering sound;
I looked forth on the wintry earth.
But the thick flakes—whirling round
Hid land, and sea, and sky from me.
And all, but my own heart-wound!
Beside me, (as I sat alone,
Beghasted with wild dreams),
A shadowy SHAPE glode thro' the gloom,
And by the woodfire's gleams
I saw its face, where grief and grace
Set their united beams.
An antique chair stood opposite,
Of black and carved oak;
And there it sat and gazed at me,
But never a word it spoke:
Till I with sign of holy cross
The heavy silence broke.
"What thing art thou, that breakest in
Upon my loneliness?
The closed doors are closed still—
Thy presence doth oppress
My very breath, as if cold death
Life's wrongs came to redress!"
A faint, low sound then answered me,
A voice that seemed to pray
In language sweet, but incomplete,
With words that died away—
Like the music of the standing corn,
On a breezy autumn day!
"I am thy better angel: lo!
Why sittest thou alone?
Why mourn'st thou o'er thine own scarr'd heart,
Unwilling to atone
For the blood thou hast shed from the undone dead
And the tears of the living undone?
"The grave is deep where she doth sleep,
Whose love for thee was strong,
As was thy hate for her estate
Of poverty and wrong:
She gave not her life to thy kinder knife,
But to thy cruel tongue!
"There was no falsehood in her heart—
No perfidy to thee;
But thy words unkind, like a sudden wind
That charmeth the summer sea,
Awoke in her that fearful stir
Which wrought her destiny.
"She lieth in a grave unblest.
From sacred fane remote;
She sufforeth in that suffering place
Which sin for man hath bought:
And her soul calls there, for thine to share
The evil thou hast wrought!
"Look not upon thy wounded heart,
But look upon its cure;—
There is a God in the heavens high
Can send a spirit pure,
To fill the place of that disgrace
Which tempts thee with a lure!
"Look not upon thy darksome heart,
But look to find some light,
Wherewith thou may'st each loathsome part
Illumine, till the sight
Be clean unto the Angel-race
That lives in regions bright.
"Mix with thy fellow-men, and give
To others' griefs and cares
The sympathy which I give thee,—
And, by assisting theirs,
Assistance win from Him whom sin
Obeyeth, 'mid despairs!
"Befriend thy brother man, and thou
Shalt so thyself befriend;
Nor idly wail for idleness,
But task thyself to mend
The rents and tatters of thy soul.
Before its world-works end!
"The wrath of Heaven above our sins
Stoops, hawk-like, hovering
But them, or it, we cannot see
Till down upon us spring
The talons of that vengeful bird,
With death beneath its wing!
Thou canst not bring to life again
Whom thou from life hast sent;
Thou canst not to the frenzied brain
Restore the teardrops, blent
With guilt and shame,—which thou did'st claim
—But thou may'st still repent!
"Up, and arouse thee! Falleth snow
On wintry nights, that thou
May'st cower in selfishness and fears
O'er thine own ails, as now?—
To the chilly street fare forth, and meet
Pale heads, which Want doth bow!"
It ceased, that voice—It spake no more,—
But still I listened on:
I heard no rain on the window pane,
I looked, but shape was none
In that antique chair—and nought was there,
But I and my heart alone!
I bowed my head in silent prayer—
I prayed that I might be
IMindful of others more than self—
And so, by sympathy.
Cleanse my sinful heart of the selfishness
That made it black to see.
I did not pray that I might die,
As I had wont to pray;
I pleaded hard for life, that I
Might make it—day by day—
Useful and sweet to other men.
And bright ev'n in decay.
And when I raised my bended head
From out my clasped hands,
In at the casement—like a flight
Of arrowy golden brands—
The moon its cheerful radiance sent
Where the sparrow, twittering, stands.
And (for the snow had ceased to fall)
I saw the skies all blue,
And bright with stars; and sea and shore
Came clearly to my view:—
I felt my heart-wound still—but saw
The griefs of others too!