'^y^ Il^l THE THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL ENDOWED BY THE DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PS 3503 .0 36 L6 1895 This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hoi nnay be renewed by bringing ii tp the library. £; :. U-iAl DATE DUE RET. 1^ ^:^^ ^ The Love Story of Ursula Wolcott /1/A^-T ^\'^\ The Love Story of Pss Ursula Wolcottf^}^ ^ ^^ L ^ Being a Tale in Verse of the Time of the GREAT f^f^ REVIVAL IN NEW ENGLAND. Written by CHARLES KNOWLES BOLTON, Librarian in the Town of Brook- line, Massachusetts With Designs by Ethel Reed Boston : 6, Beacon Street Lamson, Wolffe, and Company New York : 156, Fifth Avenue MDCCCXCV "^'Kt^ Copyright, 1895, By Lamson, Wolffe, & Co. All rights reserved. To their first reader these traditions of Ursula Wolcott are dedicated Preface to the Reader IN good time Roger, the son of Simon ^A^olcott and Martha Pitkin, was married. His thirteenth child, Ursula ^A^olcott, was born at ^A^indsor, Con- necticut (now South Windsor), 30th October, 1724. In 1 741 her father became Chief Justice of the Supe- rior Court, and in later years a Major-General and Governor. Ursula married her second cousin Matthew Gris- wold of Lyme nth November, 1743, and died 5th April, 1788. The story here related is true, both as to the lady who would '* wait a little " and in fact waited a life-time, and also as to the scene on the stairs. Ursula's husband and her son Roger Gris- wold were Governors of Connecticut, as were her father, brother, and nephew. WAS URSULA whose gentle tread Bore round the broad-rimmed wheel of oak That whirled, and hung, and whirled again. As though she timed it with her heart. And when it stopped, her fingers ran Over the spokes until it whirled, A moment hung, and whirled again. And while the distaff loosed the flax That slipped between her hands she sang W^hile I sit here, while I sing, Spinning, spinning, spinning. Soars the skylark on its wing. Soaring upward ring on ring. Spinning, spinning, spinning. \A^hile my fingers busy are, Spinning, spinning, spinning. Comes a horseman from afar, Comes by valley, cliff and scar, Spinning, spinning, spinning. And as she turned and looked without She pouted playfully and said : " 'Tis only Cousin Matthew comes." The ancient Windsor elms that arched The village highway promised peace To all who passed beneath their boughs ; And he, sitting upon his horse, — 2 Unurged those many leagues behind, — Had more of peace that April day Than for a twelvemonth he had known. " You drive too madly for a Turk, Too slowly for an Englishman," A laughing voice accosted him. " He is so awkward, so confused By every girl," she sighed ; and he. Recovering at length, replied : " Then am I fit, Miss Ursula, To drive your mother's spinning-wheel ? " " A woman's task is not so light That any man can come to it With fingers hardened at the plow." While I sit and turn the wheel, Spinning, spinning, spinning. Some one brave and some one leal, Some one strong will come and kneel, While I 'm spinning, spinning. " Now, Cousin Matthew, sit no more So moody in a corner there ; If you are brave then you should kneel." And when her lips had spoken thus Her heart repented for the words, Since wounded love had come to brood Above him, as the thrush torn-winged Croons ceaselessly on some low bough. " Dear Cousin Matthew," she exclaimed, And then she knew not how to speak ; But in the little hand she laid Across his hard and sunburned palm There was a bond of sympathy That warmed him toward her gentleness. " I 'm going there no more," he said. Half gladly, half regretfully, Raising his eyes and looking down The southern road. " It *s ended now. ^ow many times, since she and I Danced that first night, my heart has turned 4 To her ; how many times my thought Has builded castles in these woods And meadows where we two might live. Ah, Ursula, if any man Loves you as I have worshipped her These hopeless yet too happy years, You could not but be merciful To such a heart. But she ? She is So beautiful, so cold, so wise ! All through the autumn afternoons I Ve followed down the river's shore To be with her, to hear her voice, To look within her eyes for some Love-token ; Cousin Ursula, She could not love, she does not know What love should be ; she only knows That women marry ; she is wise. I Ve placed her beauty in the stars And knelt to her. I Ve taken her 5 Into my heart, and only asked A little love, a little love. And every time she answered me With all the sweetness that is hers, With all the freshness on her lips : ' Wait, Matthew, wait ; be patient, dear. And give me just a little time.* '' His words that came unwillingly In other days, forged hot and sere Like sparks struck out beneath the iron. And Ursula sat breathless, cowed Beneath resentment stern and deep. Stirred from his long enduring soul. " Yes, Ursula," he said, " she hoped To keep me subject till she knew Another would not make her his, And then she would have thrown to me A rose he would not stoop to wear. I stood before her with my hat Clutched tight between my finger-nails. 6 * What shall your answer be ? * I said. * A little time, good Matthew, please,' She sighed ; I bowed and answered her *A lifetime you shall have; good-day.' And having spoken, left her there." A hush came over all the room ; The spinning-wheel no longer moved, And Ursula, wide-eyed and awed. Looked steadfastly at Matthew's face ; Then like the breaking of a storm Fell forward sobbing on her wheel. Matthew in silence rose and stood A moment like an awkward child. And then went quietly away. HE morning sun climbed silently JThe hidden slopes that face the sea, [While all the woodland sweep to west Was shrouded deep in night. And she, With eyes awaiting day, slept on, Her cheek upon her bended arm. Which held at bay the surge of pink That trembled round the disk of snow Its impress made, and rioted Out to her very finger-tips. But when the sun had reached the dawn It broke, running in myriad ways Like golden ripples through the world. It tinged the leaves, it warmed the buds, It pierced with fire the river's heart. Then through her lashes one by one It sought the cradle of her eyes And whispered that the day was come. She sighed a verv little then. And smiled and opened wide her eyes, And said so softly that the sound Echoed between her parted lips : " He will not go to her again." So all that day upon the stairs And through the hall there swept a low Sweet voice attuned between her joy And his distress. At night she walked 9 Along the path that wandered out Uncertainly to meet the road. She stooped to pluck some sturdy weed That hid a timid Mayflower's head, And raised her eyes now west now east To scan the home-turned laborers. Her Cousin Matthew lingered on Until his men had passed along, And then came toward her with a step That told his weariness. For him The turning furrow covered in The sere and withered foliage That touched with life the former spring. His steady hand upon the plow Felt stronger that the past should lie Beneath the soil, enriching it. For these immortal tyrannies — The pains that search the mystery Of hope, of longing and despair — We call them sorrows to be shunned 10 Till we have suffered, then are they The sources of a patient joy. They walked together under trees Whose branches held the lingering sun That streaked the purple shadow forms Beneath with labyrinths of light. And as it reddened on the rim The purples sobered into green And blended with the coming night. Her silent presence rested him. Her instinct equalled all his years. 'T was not the movement of an arm, Or shadow 'neath a wave of hair, Or haunting rhythm of a word. For these were hers ; but he had found Her noiseless figure by his side An all-pervading influence. At last they spoke of planting time. The barley sowed, the fence repaired That circled with its rails the field ; II And hayseed ready to be sowed And flaxseed for the nearing June. The uneventful summer days Hung shrouded in a maze of heat That warmed the slow maturing grain. And when the tassels turned to gold The reapers stood and flashed the flint Upon their scythes, and all day long Crossed and recrossed the waving field, Stopping at noon to eat their fare Of bacon, cheese, and sweetened rum. And scarcely had the meadow hay Scented the barns from loft to floor When barley must be harvested And sent to mill. 'T was August now ; The flax still ripened in the sun. The fruit still hung upon the boughs, And Ursula with restless hands Toyed with the sampler which had lain 12 Unfinished long. Across the room Her Cousin Matthew held his peace. "You find it lonely," she had said, Half echoing his last remark. " I find it very dull and drear," He answered her ; " I sometimes hoped To find companionship in books. But they are cold, so cold and grim." He rose the while he spoke, and she, Intent upon his words, forgot Her work and listened as he said : " The heart alone is quick and warm." 13 PON a mid-stream mossy rock, Encircled by the checkered flow Of water, curbed until it foamed And crested like a stormy sea, Sat Ursula. The tilting leaves That cradled each soft falling breeze Left flickering shadows on the stream And on her face ; the flecks of light That filtered through shone golden brown Upon the calmer water's bed And touched the red that warmed her cheeks Into a kindred hue. For thus Does Nature like a mother soul Assimilate all life with hers, Attune all measures with her own. She sat in quiet revery, Half heedless of the murmuring, The babble and the twittering That intermingled with the wind. " 'T is strange," she said, " it is so strange." And as she spoke, her thought was lost In musing on her own low voice ; She hearkened as it echoed back Along the pathway to the mind That gave it birth. " It is so strange To be alone. These eighteen years The mystery of things to me Was never strange, for as a child I was a part of all the wide 15 Weird universe, a part of each Law's rite incomprehensible — So simple that they each sufficed For my companionship ; and now " — She reached her arms above the stream And turned her pink palms toward the sun, And her white fingers, orange rimmed, Slowly unlocked their trellised bond As she exclaimed, " It all is strange." Far down the dusty noonday road A sound of jarring voices rose, And Ursula heard running steps And taunts and flouts. Then drawing near And standing on the tangled weeds That crept into the yellow sand In spite of hoof and tire and heel, She saw a motley company : The portly constable came first, Knitting his brows to hide the sun That stole beneath his Monmouth hat i6 Which rose three-cornered on his great White goat-hair wig ; and by his side A meek and gentle minister Who preached God's word from out his heart And witnessed it in every line Of his pale face ; and after him Unflinching followers who sang The saving grace of penitence Nor cared for heat nor dust nor jeers. Mile after mile the little band Had marched — men clad in silk and lace With men in linsey-woolsey stuff, Women in hoops too wide for pews Or trails that trolloped in the mud, And rosy girls in homespun gowns. Through Branford, Durham, Hartford, went The banished minister of God From constable to constable, 17 A branded " vagrant ** by the law Because he dared to preach the word In parish borders not his own. *' For those who sang of sunny days And those who sorrowed he had cheer ; Yet could he walk through lonely ways And find communion ever near. *• The world was sweeter for his care, The heights were won he sought to win ; For love through him made all things fair, And all things fair through love are kin." At nightfall when the stars came out He stood beneath the creaking sign That gave each inn a name, and there Exhorted those who gathered round, Lashing their consciences with truth Till contrite tears coursed down their cheeks. When his weak frame could do no more He bade good Philemon Robbins pray — i8 Pray for the magistrates who sat A twelvemonth to discover crime In what he taught at Branford church ; Pray, too, for that devoted band Who like himself would not permit The stranger in their gates to go An exile without hearts to cheer The way, and ask a benison Upon the upturned faces there, The palsied pauper in his rags, The red man in his cloak of skins. The haggard soldier from the wars Slow dying with the Cuban plague, The country folk for miles around. And, too, the landlord rubicund And wise. While Ursula stood near. Half comprehending this great strife That burned in every village street And blazed abroad the bitterness 19 That cast out love, she turned again To her first thoughts and found in them The balm of peace. And while she mused Her father came and stood with her. His scarlet broadcloth coat, its front Adorned with buttons bright as gold Set in long vellum button-holes, His cuffs of lace, his ruffles starched Like snow, the cockade in his hat — These all proclaimed his dignity. He touched her hand, and pressing it Said, " Come, my child, the day is warm." And as they walked men bowed the head And women courtesied to him. 20 HE sound of voices died away, But overhead complainingly The bluebird flew with whirr of wings, The tree-toad trilled a coming storm. And from the parching meadow grass The katydid proclaimed the heat. " The law is often perfected By lawlessness," her father said; " Their overzeal, their ecstasy, Their bold assurance that the truth Is theirs alone, will strain the cords Which gird our freedom of belief. But when their hearts are calm again These slackened cords will bind no more. A tidal wave sets wider bounds To hem a tranquil sea." " His face," Cried Ursula, " his face was pale And marked with pain ; I did so grieve For him." Her eyelids filled with tears. And his kind hand upon her cheek Bespoke his tender sympathy. Silence, that husbandman of thought, Kept equal ministry with each. The grave chief justice pondering On weightier matters than the law. A solitary darkening cloud 22 Eclipsed the sun, and thunder crashed And rumbled ominously on. ^A/'hen they had gone a little way They stopped beneath a farmer's shed \A/'hose terraced sides were witnesses To their first century of rain. Each shingle, fluted deep along The softer grain with sharp-edged channels, And hollowed out beneath the drip From tier to tier, was stained with years And shaded to a silver gray. Then through her memory there ran An ancient song of childhood days : The dew in the grass Hung pearls on its spears, And we loved them, alas ! Till the sun in its pass Decoyed them away. But the sun when it seres 23 In the heat of the day Let them fall on the grass In a shower of tears. When the first burst of rain had come And left a quiet time for speech He said : " I see that wistfulness Which tells me of your heart's unrest ; That wistfulness that finds no calm In pleasures that once gave content ; But looking into unseen ways Yearns ever for the promised joys, And ever yearning teaches you To hope. I see new dreams that live In other worlds so far away Eyes cannot follow, but must rest Limpid, letting the soul look through To find the heart's new-born desire. I would not trespass by one word Too much, dear child ; but keep good cheer And know that its fulfilment means 24 A peace that has not been before. Your happiness is our first thought And what you wish is our intent." She pressed his hand in gratitude Nor dared to trust her voice to speak. 25 HE is most truly fair to-day, He said, who stood beside his horse, Ready to mount but looking back To where she stood upon the steps, Crowned by an overhanging vine Whose purple clusters touched her hair. She must be very fair, he mused, And then he glanced at her and saw Her slender figure, clad in white, In silhouette against the door, Erect, with girlish dignity, Yet bourgeoning with tenderness. I would that she were mine, he thought. Were mine to minister to her. Were mine that I might weep with her, That I might feel her tears for me In my distress, were mine to fold My dreams about in happy hours, To share the silence of great joy. But she who stood there could not hear. The afternoon was wearing on. The mist that fled before the sun Lay under trees and in the glades, And crept into the open fields. Hiding the grain with wreaths of white. The horse was restive for the start. And Matthew stroked his arching neck And patted him. 'T was Ursula 27 Who spoke : " What said you, Cousin Mat- thew ? " He looked at her in mute surprise And wondered if she read his thought. But no, there was no change in her. He answered : " Nothing, Ursula," And mounting, waved her his farewell. The road to Lyme is long and lone. He pondered in his solitude ; And first her form appeared to him With all its subtle beauteousness ; Her snowy dress before his eyes Dimmed all the passing scenery — The moon upon the eastern hills, And its red image in the stream Below. Her gentle eyes shut out The evening sky, and seeing naught But her he knew that Ursula Was everything and all to him, 28 And while he journeyed he resolved To claim her heart when he should come Again. But when the moon had waned, And he had come to stand before Her radiance of youth and health He faltered. Thus again it was His lips were silent while his heart Would bid him speak ; and she again Spoke first : " What said you, Cousin Mat- thew?" There was a little wistfulness In what she said that puzzled him. He knew not why. But he replied : " I did say nothing, Ursula.*' He fretted at the passing hours And longed to tell her of his hope. Must life go by unsatisfied ? Are dreams so cherished but to die ? Another day had dawned at last, 29 And Matthew riding toward the door Heard her light step upon the stairs And entering he found her there. She leaned upon the banister, With fingers clasped about the spindles ; And tears he saw were lingering To dim her eyes. His pulse was quick, And yet he checked his eagerness. " It surely cannot be," he thought, " It could not be that she would care." The clock beat loudly through the hall To make the stillness yet more still. And Ursula, with steady voice That trembled ere the words were done, Began : " What said you, Cousin Matthew?" And he, as one who comes almost To comprehend, said thoughtfully : " I did say nothing, Ursula." The color faded from her cheeks ; 30 She spoke so timidly and low He scarcely heard her plaintive words : " 'T is time you did/' A little while Had passed, and hearing no one move, The grave chief justice looked within. He saw her still upon the stairs, Sobbing as gently as a child, And Matthew gazing lovingly Upon her face and holding fast Her hands in his. And seeing this He turned away and left them there. 31 r ^ 1 ^i1K