THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ESTHER
 
 LOS DOS 
 
 PBIKTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. 
 
 KF.TV-STREET SQUARE
 
 ESTHER 
 
 3. pm 
 
 BY 
 
 JANE ELIZABETH HOLMES 
 
 LONDON 
 H. J. TRESIDDER, 17 AVE MARIA LANE, E.C. 
 
 1865
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Whatea'EK may be the character of the reception 
 given to this Poem by the critics or the public, 
 it cannot afifect the authoress, who is far removed 
 beyond the reach of all human praise or blame. 
 
 About two years after writing the last lines of 
 ' Esther, ' Miss Holmes, then in the twenty-fifth 
 year of her age, to the deep distress of her family, 
 and the sincere regret of all who knew her, ceased 
 to be on earth. Their sorrow, however, was 
 greatly mitigated by a knowledge of the fact 
 that she died, as she lived, in the faith of the 
 Gospel. Her temper naturally sweet, and her man- 
 ners gentle and graceful, adorned as they were 
 by the higher excellences of Christian holiness, 
 rendered her greatly endeared and universally 
 beloved. 
 
 Without professing to give a biography of 
 
 a 
 
 881835
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 Miss Holmes in this brief Preface, it may be 
 stated that her father, a Leeds merchant, died 
 before she was nine years of age. Much of her 
 childhood was spent at her maternal grandfather's, 
 the late Mr. Timothy Hackworth, of Shildon, 
 near Darlington ; a remarkable man, to whose 
 mechanical genius, as the ' father of locomotive 
 engines,' sufficient justice has not yet been done. 
 Her school-days were passed in the neighbour- 
 hood of the English lakes, where the scene of this 
 Poem is laid. 
 
 Miss Holmes' family, in giving this production 
 of her pen to the public, have no apology to offer. 
 If they did not think it worthy of publication, 
 they would not have sent it to the press. At the 
 same time, it is confessed that a knowledge of the 
 authoress's intentions in this respect has had con- 
 siderable weight with them in the decision to 
 which they have come. 
 
 It would have been a pleasing task to the writer 
 of these prefatory remarks (who is unconnected 
 with the family) to point out some of the peculiar 
 excellencies, both in description and in sentiment, 
 to be found in the following lines. This, however, 
 he leaves to the discriminating reader, who, no 
 doubt, will make the discovery for himself.
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 The genius of Miss Holmes, unlike that of her 
 grandfather, was not applied to utilitarian pur- 
 poses. Adam Smith, had he lived to the present, 
 would have placed ' Esther ' in the class of 'unpro- 
 ductive labour;' while very different would have 
 been his estimate of Timothy Hackworth's ' Eoyal 
 Greorsre ' — the first engine furnished with his im- 
 portant invention, the blast-pipe ; and of his ' Sans- 
 pareil,' * now in the Kensington Museum. And 
 yet, some readers, despite the ' Wealth of Nations,' 
 pleased with the imaginative in literature, and 
 stirred by the emotional, struck with the descrip- 
 tive power of this Poem, affected by its tender- 
 ness and pathos, and charmed with the purity of 
 sentiment pervading the whole, will rise from its 
 perusal in admiration of the writer, and mention 
 gratefully the name of Jane Elizabeth Holmes. 
 
 Dablington : Ajjril 1865. 
 
 * Which competed for the oOOi'. premium uii the Manchester 
 and Liverpool Eailway in 1829.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 PAET FIRST. 
 
 'TwAS morning, and the sunshine fair 
 
 Was falling softly ev'rjwliere ; 
 
 The mountain heights, yet tipp'd with snow, 
 
 Were dazzling in its brilliant glow ; 
 
 It rested on the forest deep, 
 
 And up its sombre paths would peep ; 
 
 Each tall and stately ancient tree 
 
 Smiled gaily in its company, 
 
 While tiny leaflets all around 
 
 Were whisp'ring secrets most profound, 
 
 And nodding in the light spring breeze 
 
 To friendly leaves on neighb'ring trees. 
 
 The brook that wailed the night before, 
 
 And moan'd along, now moaned no more. 
 
 But danced and sported in its glee, 
 
 And sang its song right men-ily. 
 
 Telling its gladness to the sun. 
 
 Its sorrows to the gentle moon. 
 
 6'
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Not only on the woodland shade, 
 Or mountain crest or streamlet, played 
 Those merry sunbeams; — glancing far, 
 And unrestrained by bolt or bar, 
 They visited the homes of men, 
 And waken'd cities once again. 
 Softly, how softly, they would creep 
 To rouse the children from their sleep — 
 Gently reminding them 'twas day, 
 And bidding them come out to play. 
 The aged felt their youth renewed. 
 Their pidses quickened as they stood, 
 Pleased to inhale the morning air, 
 And gaze upon a scene so fair ; 
 While brave, true workers rose again. 
 To do their part as earnest men ; 
 And idlers blush' d to waste away 
 The precious hours of such a day. 
 The young and gay felt hfe was sweet, 
 And hasten'd forth its joys to meet ; 
 To feel their own hearts' gladsomeness 
 Augmented by the general bliss : 
 Thousands, who laid them down to rest. 
 Burdened with cares, by doubts opprest. 
 Awoke to feel their load was gone, 
 Or seemed a very little one ; 
 For hopes were theirs, instead of fears. 
 And smiles had quite displaced their tears,
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Xor on their spirits Aveighed a care, 
 
 More heavily than they could bear. 
 
 The promise still stands lovingly, 
 
 That as thy days, thy strength shall be ; 
 
 And few there are in woful plight 
 
 To whom hope comes not with the light ; 
 
 Whose desolation and despair 
 
 Yield nothing with the morning air, — 
 
 Commend them to His pitying love, 
 
 "Who only can their griefs remove, — 
 
 Who only can the stomi control, 
 
 Or speak a peace into the soul. 
 
 Giver of ev'ry perfect gift. 
 
 To Thee in praise our hearts we lift. 
 
 That joys for which our spirits yearn. 
 
 Are giv'n to us with day's return ; 
 
 For hope renewed, and sunshine bright. 
 
 We bless Thee, and for morning light ! 
 
 Close by a lake in Westmoreland, 
 A stately mansion used to stand : 
 The fabric may have long laid low. 
 For this was many years ago, — 
 But, on the morn of which I write. 
 It reared its walls a lofty height. 
 Within a chamber in the wing, 
 A maiden fair was slumbering ; 
 B 2
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Till, through the lattice, sunny beams 
 
 Came softly breaking on her dreams. 
 
 Oh ! ere she wakes, a moment gaze 
 
 Upon that sweet and girlish face : 
 
 Earnest and peaceful is her brow, 
 
 As if she might be thinking now ; 
 
 Her light brown hair, drawn back and twined, 
 
 Is gently by the comb confined ; 
 
 The eyelids hide her eyes from view, 
 
 But they are of a violet blue ; 
 
 Their lashes rest upon a cheek, 
 
 Whose soften' d colour seems to speak 
 
 Of buoyant health and merry play, 
 
 On many a welcome holiday ; 
 
 For the lips tell she 's but a child, 
 
 Light-hearted, petulant, and wild ; 
 
 From eveiy sorrow far removed, 
 
 And only made to be beloved. 
 
 'T was oftener said in waking houi's, 
 
 By those who knew her girlish poAvers, 
 
 And felt of her rebukes afraid, 
 
 That she was made to be obeyed. 
 
 A darling child, the only one. 
 
 Wilful and restive she had grown ; 
 
 Nor would she for a moment brook 
 
 The least restraint in word or look. 
 
 From any but her parents' hand, — 
 
 Obedient to their least command.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Reproof lier heart had almost broken ; 
 But such reproof was never spoken. 
 And rarely was command addressed, 
 Or aught beyond a wish expressed, 
 To one that they both loved so well, — 
 Docile with them, and tractable. 
 Sometimes, perchance, she 'd condescend 
 To play the patronising friend 
 To the poor cottagers around, 
 Whose homes her father's hall surround ; 
 But those who thus secured her grace 
 ]\Iust deem themselves a favoiu-ed race. 
 She had a gentle courtesy, 
 And loved Avas, when she chose to be ; 
 But if her will was slightly crossed. 
 Courtesy to the winds was tossed. 
 And passion raged within her soul, 
 Too oft without the least control. 
 'T was true her anger did not last, 
 The fitful cloud was quickly past ; 
 Still, far too clearly you might trace 
 The pride of all her haughty race 
 Stamped upon Esther Stafford's i'di^e. 
 Yet true and noble was her heart, 
 And brave and strong to bear its part, 
 And promises had budded forth 
 Of goodness and superior worth ; 
 But some feared that they seemed to be 
 Half with'ring in prosperity.
 
 ESTHEI5. 
 
 Now liglitly from her couch she springs, 
 And dressing qiiickly, sometimes sings ; 
 Then pausing she would stand and smile, 
 Commmiing with herself the while. 
 
 ' And so, 't is sixteen years to-day 
 Since I was born, the people say. 
 I 'm glad 't was in the sweet spring time. 
 Before the year has reached its prime ; 
 I 'm glad 't was near the mountain rills. 
 Beneath the shadow of the hills ; 
 I 'm glad the joys of life to share. 
 For earth is very, very fair. 
 Sixteen ! I'm quite a woman grown, 
 And that I know my father '11 own ; 
 And Donald Ross shall do the same. 
 Even from him, I'll homage claim. 
 Though he seems very proud and stern, 
 A lady's power he needs to learn ; 
 And little right I trow has he 
 So haughtily to lecture me, 
 As he has sometimes dared to do — 
 Yet I can tell he loves me too. 
 He but a poor Scotch architect ! 
 'T were fine fun some day to reject 
 His proifered love, if he should dare 
 To offer me a gift so rare : 
 For being poor I would not scorn, — 
 His poverty is nobly worn.
 
 ESTHEB. 
 
 Yet I could almost taunt him with it, 
 
 He chafes me so much by liis merit ; 
 
 That calm contempt I cannot brook, 
 
 Which I see often in his look ; 
 
 His eyes reproaches constant speak, 
 
 Bringing the crimson to my cheek ; 
 
 For though I Ve saucy answers made, 
 
 Yet of his frown I 'm half afi-aid. 
 
 Then, to be rated and controlled, 
 
 Not for ten thousand mines of gold 
 
 Would I consent to be his wife. 
 
 Or lead such a poor slavish life.' 
 
 Suddenly, blushing deepest red, 
 
 ' I ought to be ashamed,' she said, 
 
 ' Of thoughts so wrong, and mean, and low. 
 
 If Donald knew, he 'd not be slow 
 
 To ridicule my fancied power, 
 
 Or it might move his pity more ; 
 
 For one so solemn, grand, and cool, 
 
 Could scarcely stoop to ridicule. 
 
 But I must hasten my attire. 
 
 Or I shall have to meet their ire ; 
 
 We '11 not be back by breakfast time. 
 
 Already six the bells do chime.' 
 
 She 'd promised, on the night before. 
 
 To row along towards Lyulph's tower. 
 
 With Donald and his sister Jessie 
 
 (A fair-haired winsome little lassie,
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Something of Esther's age and size, 
 A friend too she did dearly prize) — 
 They, to retvirn and spend the day, 
 For 't was to be a holiday. 
 
 Before she left her room she knelt. 
 
 To breathe a prayer, too little felt. 
 
 Poor child ! — her life one summer's day, — 
 
 She scarcely knew what 't was to pray; 
 
 But hurriedly now whispered o'er 
 
 "Words, which her mother taught of yore ; 
 
 Then swiftly sped the gallery round, 
 
 And down the staircase lightly wound. 
 
 She stood a moment lingering 
 
 To hear her favourite linnet sing 
 
 Congratulations most sincere. 
 
 That she had reach'd her sixteenth year. 
 
 She could not but suiDply its need, 
 
 Of water pure, and wholesome seed ; 
 
 "While "Wallace, pulling at her dress, 
 
 Impatiently claim'd his caress. 
 
 As soon as e'er the bird was fed. 
 
 She stooped, and fondly stroked his head. 
 
 And he, well gratified but mute, 
 
 Tendered his ev'ry day salute : 
 
 Shaking the paw the dog extended. 
 
 She gravely hoped his health was mended.
 
 ESTHEK. 
 
 Then quickly springing up again, 
 
 "Went scamp'ring with him down the lane. 
 
 Already seated in the boat, 
 
 And wrapped in most unwonted thought, 
 
 Or 'tranced by reverie's mtching speU 
 
 (A power that all have proved full well) — 
 
 Jessie flung idly from her hand 
 
 Pebbles she 'd gathered on the strand, 
 
 Into the bosom of the lake, 
 
 To watch the eddying curls they 'd make. 
 
 It might be, that her thoughts had flown 
 
 To friends whose memory alone 
 
 "Was treasured now within her breast ; 
 
 To joys that she had once possessed. 
 
 When sporting with her sisters three, 
 
 In childhood's home beside the sea, 
 
 That softly kissed old Scotland's shore ; 
 
 Joys that might come no more — no more. 
 
 Now lefl; alone to Donald's care. 
 
 With none besides her love to share, 
 
 It might be she was castle building, 
 
 With rosy hues their fiiture gilding ; 
 
 For Jessie's thoughts were apt to hide. 
 
 And revel on the sunny side 
 
 Of life, — if sunshine coidd be foimd, 
 
 'T was with her musincrs interwound.
 
 10 ESTHER. 
 
 Dream on, young hearts, as guilelessly ! 
 For oh ! if life's reahty 
 Ever surpass the dreams of youth, 
 Hope brightening into actual truth, 
 Joys, coming fast, without one cross, 
 'T would be to such as Jessie Ross. 
 I would not say such dreams must be 
 Illusive, fleeting vanity; 
 But should they all be doom'd to perish, 
 Say, who would sternly cease to cherish 
 Things so beguiling, fair, and gay ? 
 Who would not rather bid them stay, 
 Adorning life with added beauties, 
 Not interfering with its duties ? 
 
 Upon the pebbly beach there stood. 
 
 Protected by the sylvan wood, 
 
 And glancing sideways at the lake,' 
 
 A fairy cot, of gothic make ; 
 
 Above its head, in fond embrace. 
 
 The giant trees did interlace 
 
 Their boughs, now clad with foliage green ; 
 
 To shed new lustre on the scene. 
 
 The rose and jessamine combined, 
 
 As up the walls and porch they twined. 
 
 Leaning against the rustic gate. 
 
 Stood Donald Koss, to watch and wait,
 
 ESTHER. 11 
 
 For Esther's bounding step to come, 
 
 Hastily racing towards his home. 
 
 Some thirty years he might have past. 
 
 Exposed to many a bitter blast ; 
 
 Eather above the middle height, 
 
 Of active form, well knit but slight ; 
 
 INIuch that was Scottish you might trace 
 
 In every feature of his face : 
 
 The full dark eye, so deeply set, 
 
 Bespoke him Avhat is seldom met — 
 
 Intelligent, and true, and brave ; 
 
 The lips, determined, stem, and grave. 
 
 Save, when he smiled, that smile reveal'd 
 
 Much that was oftener for concealed, 
 
 A spring of hidden tenderness, 
 
 A wealth of feeling few could guess. 
 
 It won him trusting sympathy 
 
 From hearts of innocence and glee ; 
 
 While those to Avhom he best was knoAvn, 
 
 Ever most readily woiild own, 
 
 To gain his heart was worth endeavour — 
 
 If once a friend, a friend for ever. 
 
 By doubt or danger unefFaced, 
 
 Even in his sternest moods Avas placed. 
 
 On brow, and lips, and in his eye, 
 
 The seal of changeless constancy. 
 
 More pleasantly the time to pass, 
 
 He took his sketch-book from the grass,
 
 12 ESTHER. 
 
 But often stopped to fondly view, 
 The picture that his pencil dreAv ; 
 So fascinating had it grown, 
 He saw naught else but it alone, 
 Till Esther sprang from 'neath the trees, 
 Swinging her bonnet in the breeze ; 
 But quickly then the book was shut. 
 And lightly flung into the boat ; 
 "While Donald hastened to her side, 
 "With looks that would not be denied, 
 This once, expression of the love 
 That ever in his bosom strove 
 For freedom to reveal its tale 
 Of earnest truth. 'T were no avail, 
 For Donald knew 'twas unreturned, — 
 If told, 'twould be but to be scorned. 
 
 He spoke the common words of greeting 
 In accents low, his strong heart beating 
 With hopes that words could scarce convey, 
 That pleasantly might pass the day, — 
 A prelude to a year more bright 
 Than e'er had dawned on mortal sight ; 
 And that she might be spared to see 
 Many an anniversary ; 
 Circled by tenderness and truth. 
 And all the friends she loved in youth.
 
 ESTHER. 13 
 
 Gently he placed her in the boat, 
 And took the oars to row it out 
 Of the small creek in Avhich it lay, 
 And down the lake, two miles away. 
 
 At first each seemed to like the best 
 Gaily to talk, and laugh, and jest ; 
 At first, it was not very long. 
 Till talking was exchanged for song. 
 The human voice has never found 
 A rival in the realm of sound. 
 And now (^vith Donald's deeper tone. 
 Mingling and strengthening their own) 
 Sweetly the girls' young voices tall, 
 In accents clear and musical ; 
 The very birds would stop to try 
 And catch the simple melody. 
 That far excelled the warbled notes 
 Which issued from their tiny throats. 
 But as they near'd the land again, 
 The happy singers ceased their strain. 
 
 On shore, they quickly bent their course, 
 To view the fall of Aira Force. 
 'T was strange, that knowing fears so few, 
 Brought up amongst the mountains, too, 
 Esther should always trembling dread, 
 Near chasm, or ravine to tread ;
 
 14 ESTHER. 
 
 So giddy, she could scarcely stand, 
 But trusted now to Donald's hand 
 To guide her down the rocky pass, 
 And cross the torrent at its base. 
 There, he woiild not the hand release 
 He held so fondly clasped in his, 
 Till on it he had pressed a kiss. 
 Esther was puzzled to rebuke 
 The liberty her guardian took ; 
 Glancing up quickly in his face, 
 Nought but amusement she could trace,- 
 None of the tenderness she sought. 
 Too clearly he perceiv'd her thought ; 
 A look so unconcern' d as his 
 Could follow but a brother's kiss. 
 He gaily met her glance and smiled, 
 Treating her as but still a child ; 
 And so the act pass'd unreproved. 
 Though much resented, half approved ; 
 Th' interpretation fond and true 
 From woman's instinct Esther knew ; 
 More dear than sister she was prized. 
 And love can rarely be disguised. 
 Whenever in the heart it dwells, 
 Its presence there — strange magic — tells. 
 
 All who 've seen Aira's Avaters falling, 
 Wlien to their memory recalling.
 
 ESTHER. 15 
 
 The solemn awe that o'er them stole 
 "While listening to their angry roll, 
 Know something of the mystic spell 
 That on their buoyant spirits fell, 
 As Donald Ross and Esther stood, 
 To watch the swift descending flood 
 Pour itself down, in raging heat, 
 To the abyss beneath their feet. 
 To them it imaged solemnly 
 
 Time rushing towards eternity ! 
 
 Silent and awed, they bent their gaze 
 
 On what they held too high for praise, 
 
 Till Jessie's merry voice again 
 
 Broke on the stillness of the glen. 
 
 Calling them fi-om the narrow bridge, 
 
 Resting on rock and moimtain ridge. 
 
 Above the fall, to join her there, 
 
 Following her up the rocky stair — 
 
 And view its glories from the height. 
 
 Declaring 't was a glorious sight. 
 
 There, Esther terrified, and pale. 
 
 Rehearsed the legendary tale 
 
 Of Emma and Sir Eglaniore, 
 
 And did her tragic fate deplore ; 
 
 Then much they talked of scenes more grand, 
 
 In Scotland and in Switzerland. 
 
 And, passing from their mountain stream, 
 
 They dwelt on many a distant theme ;
 
 16 ESTHER. 
 
 People and manners, lands and books, 
 Were all discussed witli kindling looks ; 
 Strange tales of cities he had seen, 
 And foreign shores on which he 'd been, 
 Of lands remote, yet highly famed, 
 The curious girls from Donald claimed ;- 
 Till forced by time to leave the spot. 
 And wend their way back to the boat. 
 
 Chiding the loiterers' delay, 
 
 And wondering much what caused their stay- 
 
 Fearful lest ill should Esther reach. 
 
 Her anxious father sought the beach. 
 
 Just as the trio drew to shore. 
 
 And Donald laid aside his oar. 
 
 To lend the merry maids his aid. 
 
 As to the ground their leap they made. 
 
 Now Mr. Stafford claimed the right 
 
 Himself to help them to alight, 
 
 And Jessie first gallantly kissed, — 
 
 She hardly caring to resist, — 
 
 Then clasp'd his daughter to his breast, 
 
 Tenderly fondled her and blessed. 
 
 As towards the hall they sauntered on, 
 
 His glance fell ever and anon. 
 
 Proudly upon his darling child ; 
 
 By her his thoughts seemed all beguiled.
 
 ESTHER. 17 
 
 His nature was a kindly one, 
 
 With mucli of good in it to atone 
 
 For want of strength in mind and will, 
 
 Too pliant far, yet graceful still ; 
 
 Like twining plant, that gropes its way 
 
 Till it can find some surer stay 
 
 Than its own stem, so weak and frail, 
 
 That yields to every passing gale ; 
 
 Yet its dependence seems to be 
 
 A fair and graceful thing to see, 
 
 Till its short summer-time soon past. 
 
 It fades the first in winter's blast. 
 
 And stripp'd of all the leaves and flowers 
 
 That had adorn'd its youthful hours. 
 
 When cultured and admired and prized. 
 
 In its old age 't is oft despised ; 
 
 Yet, even then, the boughs extend 
 
 Themselves in sweeping curves, and bend, 
 
 Light and elastic still, forsooth. 
 
 As in the sunshine of their youth. 
 
 The party soon arrived at home, 
 And Esther sought her mother's room ; 
 For, though the morning meal was laid, 
 Secluded there the lady stayed. 
 Waiting till their return should call 
 For her to join them in the hall.
 
 13 ESTHER. 
 
 Reclining on a sofa, now, 
 
 Gentle and peaceful was her brow ; 
 
 Yet suffering's signet rested there. 
 
 And marks of sorrow and of care. 
 
 Strange contrast 't was, as Esther knelt, 
 
 And on her bright young forehead felt 
 
 That mother's kiss, so pure and mild, 
 
 And heard the prayer, ' God bless my child ! ' 
 
 The one seemed more akin to heaven, 
 
 As though its holy joys were given, 
 
 Her every thought and hope to engage. 
 
 And cheer her on her pilgrimage ; 
 
 The other, a glad child of earth, 
 
 Holding its trifles things of Avorth, 
 
 Her face its noblest beauty wore. 
 
 To heaven's alone inferior ; 
 
 And even that, reflected, shone 
 
 As reverently she gazed upon 
 
 Her mother's calm and placid face. 
 
 And heard her tell of Jesu's grace. 
 
 And humbly hope her child might prove 
 
 The tender shielding of His love. 
 
 Till with her Lord she should sit down, 
 
 And wear for aye the victor's crown. 
 
 The boudoir Avhere the ladies sat, 
 Enlivening work with friendly chat, 
 Through the warm hours of cheerful morn, 
 Had doors that open'd on the lawn,
 
 ESTHER. 19 
 
 And through them stole into the room 
 Nature's sweet sounds, and rich perfume 
 Of flowers that gemm'd tlie garden beds, 
 And raised their many-colour'd heads 
 To catch the soft reviving breeze, 
 That rustled shily through the trees. 
 Idling in cushion'd easy chair, 
 With comfort's most luxuriant air, 
 Esther was weaving silken thread 
 In garlands gay on canvas spread ; 
 But 't was not much the work advanced. 
 So temptingly before her danced 
 The sunbeams on each object thrown, 
 That she was fain to put it down 
 And revel in those dear delights 
 To which earth's beauty oft invites. 
 
 But once, at dusk, had Jessie been 
 
 The neighbouring town of Penrith in, 
 
 When Donald brought her from the north. 
 
 Now thither he had ridden forth, 
 
 With Mr. Stafford, to attend 
 
 A meeting that had been convened. 
 
 Some public matters to discuss ; 
 
 And in his absence Jessie chose 
 
 To learn from Esther what she knew 
 
 Both of the town and people too. 
 
 It was not much she could relate, 
 
 Her tales were more of ancient date ; 
 c 2
 
 20 ESTHER. 
 
 But she described the beacon wood, 
 
 Where Cromwell's soldiery had stood 
 
 Upon the castle walls to fire, — 
 
 That fortress now a ruin dire 
 
 Of shattered fragments, crumbling fast, 
 
 Trembled and bent with every blast ; 
 
 She told how dwellings circled round 
 
 The gloomy church, and churchyard ground, 
 
 And, 'tomb'd within the last, did sleep. 
 
 With six large stones his grave to keep, 
 
 A giant, dreaded far and wide 
 
 By the whole town and country side ; 
 
 For every beauteous maiden near. 
 
 He captured, and removed to drear 
 
 Imprisonment within his caves. 
 
 Upon the banks that Eamont laves. 
 
 Till, one day, a yoimg damsel strained 
 
 Her wits and nerves, and freedom gained. 
 
 Once having reached the open air 
 
 She had no time to dally there. 
 
 But, in the hurry of her flight. 
 
 Mistook the path, turned to the right. 
 
 And ran along the narrow ledge 
 
 Of rock, above the river's edge. 
 
 Unmindful of the depths below. 
 
 Of rocks above as heedless too ; 
 
 But very soon her steps were stayed, 
 
 And sorely Avas the girl dismay 'd,
 
 ESTHER. 21 
 
 To find the path o'er which she went, 
 
 For near five feet apart was rent. 
 
 In terror on the sight she gazed ; 
 
 The farther side was slightly raised, 
 
 While, swollen by a recent flood, 
 
 Down yards below the river flowed. 
 
 She might not pause aAvhile to think, 
 
 For, as she stood upon the brink, 
 
 The giant in pursuit she heard, 
 
 Muttering full many an angry word, 
 
 "With awful threats of vengeance rife. 
 
 To her, escape was more than life ; 
 
 So, venturing one desperate bound, 
 
 She safely cleared the space, and found 
 
 Herself upon the other side ; 
 
 Then ran, as though she 'd have defied 
 
 Even her tyrant's rapid stride 
 
 To overtake her footsteps fleet, 
 
 Or hinder her abrupt retreat. 
 
 The giant's frame with fury shook 
 
 As he beheld the leap she took : 
 
 There he had deemed his prize secure ; 
 
 Now he must speed to make it sure. 
 
 For him to pass across the gap. 
 
 Was but an ordinary step ; 
 
 But, in his blinding rage and haste, 
 
 His foot unevenly he placed, 
 
 And stumbling, headlong swift Avas hurl'd, 
 
 And lifeless down the stream was whirl'd.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 The peasants still in memory keep 
 The story of ' The Maiden's Leap,' 
 And show tlie spot and tell the tale 
 To strangers visiting their vale ; 
 And should some sceptic doubt the force 
 Of Eamont's gentle gurgling course 
 To take away a giant's breath, 
 Though bruised and wounded unto death, 
 Or bear him onward in its flow, 
 Still nearer to the town below, 
 They 'd tell of frequent fearful floods. 
 And loss of life, and loss of goods, 
 And point him to a church that stands 
 Close by upon the level lands 
 The other side the stream, and say, 
 How eight times it was washed away — 
 The sacred edifice laid low 
 Each time by Eamont's overflow ; 
 A ninth rebuilt, received the name 
 Of Nine-Churches, to tell its fame ; 
 Of such convincing proofs apprised, 
 Eight heartily would be despised 
 All those who might refuse to hold 
 As truth, past doubt, the tale they told. 
 
 Though Esther was as wild and free 
 As light wind sweeping o'er the lea. 
 Her mind had been improved with care, 
 And to its natural powers — as rare
 
 ESTHER. 23 
 
 As they were good and excellent — 
 Was added to a great extent 
 The light that erudition lends 
 To him who as her votary bends. 
 Well tutor'd by the clergyman 
 Of the next hamlet she had been — 
 A man bereft of child and wife, 
 Leading a lonely, studious life. 
 Secluded from the world without, 
 His sole companions books and thought : 
 Yet, in his youth he had been thrown 
 'Mongst men of note, and much had known 
 Of active life and busy ways, 
 And mixed therein in other days, 
 Which gave the converse of his age 
 That sprightly charm, so sure to engage 
 And captivate the gay and young, 
 Like minstrel tune that 's sweetly sung. 
 The mere book-drudge may toil in vain 
 The same extent of power to gain. 
 While God has given him eyes to see 
 His wondrous works by land and sea. 
 And in the starry heavens above. 
 Shutting them out, he 'd rather prove 
 Their beauties from the words of men, 
 At second-hand, then praise again. 
 But little can such praises move 
 The sympathies, or wake the love,
 
 ESTHEK. 
 
 Of young Hearts still to nature true, 
 And wrapp'd in spring-time's rosy hue. 
 Such rich reward is not for him 
 Presumingly to hope to claim. 
 Nature ne'er spoke to him a word, 
 Nor may he touch one single chord 
 Within the breasts that own her reiffn, — 
 Unmoved and silent they 'd remain. 
 
 A different man was Cyril Grey, 
 
 Easy to love as to obey, 
 
 His generous and tender heart 
 
 Claim'd as its own no trivial part 
 
 In joys or sorrows that befel 
 
 The people of his charge ; and well 
 
 He knew how to console the sad, 
 
 Or trace the blessings of the glad 
 
 Back to the Source of every good. 
 
 Urging the while their gratitude. 
 
 Less as a tutor he appeared 
 
 •To Esther than as friend revered ; 
 
 Though he had sought her mind to store 
 
 With ancient and with modern lore, 
 
 Teaching her much for many a year 
 
 Of properties of earth and air, 
 
 Planets that roll in distant space. 
 
 Rocks, rivers, seas, that find a place 
 
 Upon the surface of the earth ; 
 
 And of the country of her birth ;
 
 ESTHER. 25 
 
 SLe learned of many a mighty state, 
 Its rapid rise and downfall great — 
 Of men wlio won a weighty name, 
 As wise, or valorous, known to fame ; 
 And langiiages the ancients used, 
 "With some o'er Europe then diffused ; 
 Well versed, too, was she in the classics, 
 Nor all unknown were mathematics. 
 In later times she 'd been a ' blue ; ' 
 INIuch more, when knowledge, shared by few. 
 Gained its possessors vast renown, 
 And wreath'd for them a laurel crown. 
 Yet all unconscious was the maid 
 Of homage to her talents paid : 
 If comphments they won, she smiled 
 As artless as a very child. 
 
 To greet her on her natal day. 
 And wish her Avell, came Cyril Grey. 
 The girls were busy with their flowers, 
 Whiling away the pleasant hours. 
 Nor once perceived their visitor 
 Till Wallace, who was standing near. 
 With loving zeal himself addressed 
 To give a welcome to their guest. 
 A favour'd guest, not hard to spy 
 From the bright light in Esther's eye,
 
 26 ESTHER. 
 
 As, turning round to where he stood, 
 Her dear and aged friend she viewed. 
 His presence brought them no restraint — 
 They laughed and talked without constraint ; 
 And, joining in their youthful glee. 
 None laughed more merrily than he. 
 At length, at Esther's strong desire, 
 He I'ead (till Donald and her sire 
 Retiu-n'd) a short and simple lay — 
 The newest lyric of the day : 
 The maidens, placed on either side, 
 Industriously their needles plied, 
 Wliile grassy bank for seats was tried. 
 Eagerl}^ listening to the rhyme, 
 Unheeded, slipped away the time. 
 Till Donald's voice first broke the spell, 
 Wond'ring what book could charm so well. 
 
 The news was quickly ask'd and told. 
 For to their quiet mountain hold, 
 If news e'er came, it travelled slow. 
 In some chance tossing to and fro. 
 Few visits to the town were paid ; 
 But, when were such excursions made, 
 "What they had heard and seen, to say 
 Occupied near a summer's day ;
 
 ESTHER. 27 
 
 Their purchases ^vere held to be 
 A sort of general property. 
 And books and papers ransack'd o'er, 
 For weeks to come a precious store. 
 
 A fine old picture Donald brought — 
 
 A ship at sea, Avith perils fraught, 
 
 For fearfully the waters raged — 
 
 And as they looked a war was Avaged, 
 
 Of merry words, as to the theme. 
 
 Best suited for an artist's dream. 
 
 ]\Iost beauty Mr. Stafford found 
 
 In stately stag, or noble hound ; 
 
 While the old pastor better loved 
 
 A simple landscape, far removed 
 
 From strife, or passion, where peace reigned ; 
 
 And Esther sturdily maintain'd, 
 
 'T was far the pleasantest to trace 
 
 The outlines of a human face. 
 
 Employing both the hand and head, 
 
 For, as the fingers o'er it sped, 
 
 Fancy would weave its history, 
 
 "Winning the drawer's sympathy, 
 
 Till it almost a friend became, 
 
 And had a pictured home and name. 
 
 ' Not less, my child,' said Cyril Grey, 
 
 ' Need thought entwine itself, and play
 
 28 ESTHER. 
 
 Among scenes scattered all abroad, 
 
 ' From Nature up to Nature's God, — ' 
 
 Leading the soul, though that may be 
 
 Eeilection more than reverie, 
 
 Yet dearer to a Christian heart 
 
 Than joys mere fancy can impart.' 
 
 Nothing was Esther's preference shook ; 
 
 But she confessed that each partook 
 
 A powerful charm to waken thought. 
 
 Yet held His living works were fraught 
 
 With marks of their Creator's hand, — 
 
 That equal homage should demand 
 
 From those to whom the grace was given, 
 
 That things of earth should speak of heaven. 
 
 Then, having yielded what he claimed, 
 
 A shaft was next at Donald aimed : 
 
 ' I readily admit,' she said, 
 
 * Fitness of landscape or of head 
 
 To draw an artist's talents forth ; 
 
 Both time and labour they are Avorth ; 
 
 But who, in straight or curving lines 
 
 Of architectural designs, 
 
 Can find a beauty, or pretend 
 
 To hold communion with a friend ? 
 
 The noblest thoughts they can inspire. 
 
 Than human skill, can rise no higher. 
 
 Or seek perhaps to estimate 
 
 The cost of edifice so great.'
 
 ESTHER. 29 
 
 To Donald it was nought but fiin 
 To hear her as she thus ran on, 
 Abusing what she knew to be 
 His work and pleasure equally; 
 But when her merry raillery ceased, 
 He strove to justify his taste, 
 And in the same light playful tone 
 Defended what he praised alone. 
 ' But most I wonder,' he replied, 
 * You cannot imagery provide 
 For castle or cathedral stall ; 
 Or fancy ringing through the hall 
 The laus:h of maid and warrior bold, 
 That echoed there in days of old ; 
 Or picture thousands gathering where 
 Arose the solemn voice of prayer ; 
 And hopes and fears that had a part 
 In many a throbbing lifted heart. 
 That long'd to feel devotion's calm. 
 Or for some sorroAV sought a balm ! 
 Sketches like these, it seems to me, 
 Not only boast utility, 
 But might inspire a poet's dream, 
 And were an artist's fittest theme.' 
 
 Esther was pleased he understood 
 The visionary dreams that glow'd
 
 30 ESTHER. 
 
 So brightly in her girlish breast, 
 And timidly she half confessed, 
 As Donald turn'd her folio o'er. 
 The character each drawing bore. 
 ' That sailor boy, so blythe and gay. 
 With him I've travelled many a day, 
 In pleasant fancies far away 
 And stood beneath a tropic sun. 
 Or striven its glaring heat to shun. 
 By sheltering 'neath a feathery palm ; 
 Or watch'd, with terror and alarm. 
 The pagan rites of heathen lands. 
 In ignorance of Heaven's demands ; 
 Then sailing quickly towards the Avest, 
 Passing by shores in beauty dressed. 
 Gazed on those wondrous forests high. 
 That seem to mingle with the sky ; 
 Or view'd the prairie's vast extent. 
 Or watch'd the Indian in his tent ; — 
 Till with the seaman homeward bound, 
 Steering 'mong icebergs all around, 
 I've seen him smile with humid eye, 
 To think the happy hour was nigh. 
 When he would hear his father's voice. 
 And share his little sister's joys, 
 And feel once more his mother's kiss, 
 No home so dear, so blest as his. 
 So near, and yet it might not be. 
 The gallant ship was lost at sea,
 
 ESTHER. 31 
 
 And lie so young, and glad, and brave, 
 Was buried in an ocean grave. 
 Yon aged prisoner, in his cell, 
 It seemed that I remember'd well ; 
 When liis grey hair was black as j et, 
 And he was good and true ; and yet, 
 Once having yielded to the bait 
 Temptation held, his fall Avas great — 
 Great, but a thing of slow degrees. 
 Sin's chain at first was worn with ease, 
 For it was light ; but, coil l:)y coil. 
 It fastened closer on its spoil, 
 TiU fetter'd, as by deadly gi'asp, 
 He might not free him from its clasp. 
 How sadly moiirned his youthful wife. 
 That he she held more dear than life 
 Should alter thus ; her fears at first 
 Mingled with hopes that trembling burst 
 From her still loving, trusting heart ; 
 But soon, too soon, did hope depart. 
 And agony and dread despair 
 Poisoned a flower that bloom'd so fair. 
 But this bright child was happier theme, 
 Smiling at some pure baby dream, 
 As though in sleep he seemed to hear 
 The angels whisper in his ear ; 
 While o'er his coucli his mother bends, 
 And lovingly her darhng tends.
 
 32 ESTHER. 
 
 » 
 
 But, Donald, now I claim from you 
 
 Sight of a sketch and story, too : 
 
 The one your thoughts so much beguiled 
 
 This morning, for I siiw you smiled.' 
 
 A curious light shone in his eye, 
 
 At loss he seemed for some reply — 
 
 Half hesitating to obey ] 
 
 The mandate of the maiden gay ; [ 
 
 Yet scarcely venturing to say, ' nay.' J 
 
 But hesitation soon gave place 
 
 To his accustomed easy grace ; 
 
 And, with a mirthful glance that bode 
 
 Some hidden mischief, proudly show'd 
 
 A likeness of her own fair face — 
 
 So like, she could not fail to trace 
 
 Her image there. Her blush and start 
 
 Show'd it Avas recognised : apart 
 
 The rest had drawn some time before. 
 
 And Donald, lightly bending o'er 
 
 Her shoulder, ask'd if he should tell 
 
 Musings that he had loved so well. 
 
 She gave a deprecating look. 
 
 While mortified to feel how shook 
 
 Her hand and voice beneath his eye — 
 
 Nor could she guess the reason Avhy ; 
 
 But, such unwonted change to hide. 
 
 Assumed an air of injured pride ; 
 
 Then, finding night was drawing on, 
 
 Wonder'd where Jessie could be gone.
 
 ESTHER. 33 
 
 And Avent to seek her to prepare, 
 The evening's festive mirth to share, 
 And Donald, cold and proud as she, 
 Wander'd the gardens solemnly. 
 
 Can English hearts be growing cold, 
 That now 'tis thought a fashion old, 
 Unfit for stirring times like these, 
 When bustling haste seems best to please, 
 To welcome birthdays as they fall 
 With kindly words and smiles from all, 
 That tender ties of kindred bind, 
 Whose hearts are fondly intertwined ? 
 Not mine a foolish vain desire, 
 That pomp and worldly show conspire 
 The joys such days should bring to prove, 
 But rather that the voice of love 
 With thankfulness should hail the hour 
 That gave a dear and treasured flower, 
 (In years gone by) so fragrantly 
 To bloom beneath the household tree. 
 The child that feels his parents' kiss. 
 While from their tender hearts to his 
 Comes the assurance, loved the best, 
 They hold that hour as doubly blest 
 Which gave to them a child so dear, 
 A child they pray that God may spare, 
 
 D
 
 .34 ESTHER. 
 
 Longs with strange yearning still to be 
 
 Their joy and comfort ; bitterly 
 
 He mourns that e'er he gave them pain, 
 
 And vows to do so ne'er again. 
 
 Brothers and sisters smiling come, 
 
 To greet the sharer of their home, 
 
 So pleased, so kind, he thinks it strange 
 
 That ever he could interchange 
 
 With them one angry Avord or look, 
 
 And hopes thenceforth to meekly brook 
 
 Some little petulance of will. 
 
 Since each so dearly loves him still. 
 
 'Tis true that love awakens love, 
 
 And those who wish at home to prove 
 
 'Affection's joys will surely find 
 
 A little word or action kind, 
 
 Or fond caress, like magic, smooth 
 
 Tempers' unevenness, and soothe 
 
 The spirits care has fretted sore ; 
 
 O'er all love reigns a conqueror. 
 
 Many will doggedly admit, 
 
 For youth or homes of gladness fit 
 
 The pleasant look or gentle tone, 
 
 But all unsuited to their own 
 
 Dark moods of care, or sorrow stern ; 
 
 Love should depart till joy's return. 
 
 Oh ! that they would but bid it stay 
 
 To cheer and comfort while it may,
 
 ESTHER. 35 
 
 While long to them remains unknown 
 Life's bitterest grief, to weep alone. 
 
 Brightly the day on Esther beam'd, 
 From every eye she met there gleamed 
 The light of love, so gladsomely, 
 Her yomig heart overflow'd mth glee ; 
 Of all she saw the hope and pride, 
 Oh ! who would too severely chide, 
 If nestling deep within her breast, 
 Unworthier feelings sought to rest ? 
 For she was but of mortal birth, 
 And kindred claim'd with things of earth. 
 And oft, too oft, Avill self intrude 
 E'en on the musings of the good. 
 By age, or sorrow, taught to know 
 Thd vanity of all below. 
 To give to joy still livelier tone, 
 Nor share it by themselves alone, 
 Her sire had bidden many a guest, 
 To join the social evening feast 
 He held in honour of his child. 
 And brightly she and Jessie smiled, 
 As with imwonted care they sought 
 To choose the vestments that they thought 
 Would best befit a scene so gay ; 
 And never has the light of day 
 D 2
 
 36 ESTHER. 
 
 On fairer forms, or happier hearts , 
 
 Than those yonng maidens', flnng his darts, 
 
 VVhile vainly they call'd art to aid 
 
 The charms that nature had displayed, 
 
 Such thoughts in Donald's mind arose, 
 
 When presently again they chose 
 
 To join him (for the hour grew late), 
 
 The coming of their friends to wait ; 
 
 And Esther's face with kindness glowed, 
 
 Nor trace of her resentment show'd. 
 
 The flickering firelight on them fell, 
 
 And Donald played the watcher well, 
 
 Till, yielding to some sudden thought, 
 
 He hastily the greenhouse sought. 
 
 But soon again at Esther's side 
 
 Displayed the skill with which he'd tried 
 
 For each a floral wreath to twine, 
 
 Among their lovely locks to shine. 
 
 Of lilies of the vale was made 
 
 The one designed for Jessie's head. 
 
 While that which Esther's brow should grace 
 
 (And Donald there himself would place) 
 
 Was of the plant her name expressed, 
 
 Of love's sure token held possessed ; 
 
 Sacred to Esther and to Love, 
 
 The myrtle flowers of which he wove 
 
 The tiny wreath, to Donald seemed, 
 
 And bright as stars of hope they gleamed.
 
 ESTHER. 37 
 
 When he had twined them in her hair, 
 
 And she, consenting, deign'd to wear ; 
 
 But other guests soon claimed the right 
 
 To haii'her of the festive night 
 
 The -honoured queen, for many strove 
 
 To win her favour or her love. 
 
 And young hearts far and near had felt 
 
 The passion that in Donald's dwelt ; 
 
 But hers was all unruffled still, 
 
 Ever obedient to her w^ill. 
 
 Nor did she give one treacherous smile. 
 
 To deeper bondage to beguile 
 
 Those who her power so freely owai'd; 
 
 But guardedly on all she frowned 
 
 (Save Donald), if they dared to show 
 
 The hopes that smouldered deep below^ 
 
 The outward surface, and to him 
 
 Often indifferent she would seem, 
 
 When the best dictates of her heart 
 
 Taught her to act a truthful part ; 
 
 But sometimes (chafed, lie could repress 
 
 So easily what none the less 
 
 He felt for her of strong regard) 
 
 She strove by hope of sure reward 
 
 Falsely to lure him to her feet. 
 
 And make her triumphing complete. 
 
 Joyously passed that birthday eve. 
 
 With nouffht to dread and nought to grieve.
 
 38 ESTHER. 
 
 For every sparkling eye was bright, 
 And every heart was fluttering Hght, 
 And full content, and game, and song 
 Hurried the rapid hours along. 
 Until the breaking of the dawn 
 Announced the early hours of morn, 
 And chariot after chariot bore 
 Visitors quickly from the door. 
 Soon all were gone, each vacant room 
 Seem'd wrapt in silence and in gloom, 
 And quench 'd were all the brilliant lights, 
 While interchanging fond ' Good nights ' ; 
 Their chambers soon the Staffords sought ; 
 But still with Esther's dreamy thought 
 Music and laughter seem'd to blend. 
 And slumber long refused to lend 
 Refreshment to her weary eyes, 
 For ever and anon would rise 
 Before her visions of the day, 
 To chase all hope of sleep away ; 
 Yet stealing over her at last, 
 In close embrace it locked her fast. 
 Childlike and peaceful was her rest, 
 Her lot with every blessing blest.
 
 ESTHER. 39 
 
 PAET SECOND. 
 
 Has Earth one single tranquil spot 
 
 Of which to say, it changes not ? 
 
 Ever from year to year the same, 
 
 Well might it bear a world-wide fame ! 
 
 Or when her myriad voices speak 
 
 Of alter'd scenes or fortune's freak, 
 
 Could one through ign'rance fail to tell 
 
 A tale the others knew so well ? 
 
 Beats there a human heart that ne'er 
 
 Has known alternate hope and fear, 
 
 Joy chasing sorrow, sorrow joy, 
 
 Good seeking evil to destroy, 
 
 All striving to possess the ground. 
 
 And each in turn the conqueror found ? 
 
 There is not one; 'tis passing strange, 
 
 All that is earthly speaks of change ; 
 
 However fair, however good, 
 
 The mark of stern vicissitude 
 
 Rests upon each material form — 
 
 All prove alike both calm and storm ; 
 
 The flower that freshly blooms to-day 
 
 To-morrow will be swept away ; 
 
 First draped with foliage, then with snow, 
 
 For centuries the oak may show
 
 40, ESTHER. 
 
 Defiance to eacli angiy blast, 
 But it must surely fall at last ; 
 The rill that ripples o'er the ground 
 Will soon by frost-chain tight be bound, 
 And shifting sands, now here, now there, 
 Are blown by every breath of air ; 
 The billows on the ocean's breast, 
 Heaving and tossing, ne'er at rest. 
 Join in the loud tumultuous roar. 
 Then softly sighing touch the shore ; 
 And although mortal life is short, 
 With strange experience it is fraught, 
 Of struggling hope and yielding fear, 
 Calm fortitude and sad despair ; 
 For one brief moment joy's sweet song 
 May echo gladly from the tongue, 
 But ere the strain has ceased to flow 
 It turns again to notes of woe. 
 Mii"ror'd upon the silent sky, 
 Say, does not Earth's reflection lie 
 Of constant change ? We seldom view 
 It one vast canopy of blue ; 
 A thousand fleecy clouds of light. 
 Flitting and hurrying out of sight, 
 Spread themselves over it awhile, 
 Then, heap'd in one tremendous pile. 
 They gather blackness, and essay 
 To intercept the light of day, 
 Imprisoning each sunlit ray ;
 
 ESTHER. *^' 
 
 Perchance a sheet of leaden hue 
 
 Obscures the faintest tint of blue, 
 
 Anon, dissolving into tears, 
 
 It melts away and disappears. 
 
 Riding triumphant o'er the plains, 
 
 With' pride surveying his domains, 
 
 The dazzling sun we oft behold, 
 
 INI id clouds of purple and of gold ; 
 
 But presently he sinks to rest, 
 
 And. gorgeous crimson paints the west, 
 
 Like some grand monarch by his train 
 
 Close follow'd o'er a distant plain. 
 
 The glorious pageant soon sweeps by, 
 
 A few faint streaks like stragglers lie, 
 
 But one by one they fade from sight, 
 
 We look again, and lo ! 't is night. 
 
 For ever varying, ne'er the same. 
 
 The farthest limits change will claim 
 
 Of its vast territory ; high 
 
 It writes itself upon the sky. 
 
 But there it finds its utmost bound. 
 
 It may not, cannot pass beyond 
 
 Where dwells th' Almighty Changeless One, 
 
 And stands secure th' Eternal Throne. 
 
 One little year had slipt away. 
 
 And dark and dense the shadows lay
 
 42 ESTHEE. 
 
 On StaiFord Hall ; no more was heard 
 The merry laugh or playful word ; 
 For death had silenced accents sweet, 
 And fetter'd hearts that used to beat 
 With tenderness for her whose fate 
 Was now so sad and desolate. 
 Esther was orphan'd ; fell the stroke 
 That first upon her gladness broke, 
 When a few months before was borne 
 Homeward, one long-remember'd morn, 
 With solemn awe and heavy tread. 
 Her father's corpse, for he was dead ! 
 Early that day he left his home. 
 With an old sporting IHend to roam 
 Across the moors, and try what skill 
 They might possess at shooting still; 
 And as they went he laughed, and tuld 
 Frolics and jests they shared of old. 
 Till grown excited by his theme. 
 And walking half as in a dream. 
 He fell upon the slippery turf; 
 At once his loaded gun went ofF, 
 Lodging its contents in his side, 
 And Avithout word or sign he died ! 
 Sadly his daughter learned the truth, 
 It crush'd the freshness of her youth ; 
 Sitting at work, with much surprise 
 She followed those, with curious eves.
 
 ESTHER. 43 
 
 Who with his lifeless body came, 
 
 Amazed to think that house their aim ; 
 
 She watched them halt awhile and wait, 
 
 Speaking in whispers, at the gate. 
 
 Then enter ; dread of unknown ill, 
 
 Forebodings that she could not still. 
 
 Crept to her heart and blanched her cheek ; 
 
 Breathless, without the power to speak. 
 
 She huiTied forth with flying feet. 
 
 The slow advancing train to meet : 
 
 She saw Avith undefined alarm 
 
 The outline cf a human form, 
 
 Beneath the covering concealed, — 
 
 To her the truth it half revealed ; 
 
 Closer she pressed ; none bade her stay, 
 
 None sought to draw her thence away, 
 
 Not one to break the tidings tried. 
 
 But, panic-struck, they stepp'd aside, 
 
 And suifer'd her to lift the pall ; 
 
 Alas ! poor child, she saw it all ! 
 
 Saw it Avith conscious agony ; 
 
 Her limbs seemed failing, and her eye 
 
 Eiveted by that ghastly face, 
 
 As though she could not choose but gaze 
 
 No tear-drop came, but pale and cold 
 
 She stood and listened while they told 
 
 How it had happened, when and where, 
 
 Then bade them follow up the stair
 
 44 ESTHER. 
 
 The servants used; all sound to keep 
 From breaking on her mother's sleep ; 
 For hers was now the settled doom 
 Of invalids, and in her room 
 She sought from pain some slight relief 
 In soothing sleep, however brief. 
 
 Now soon her shimber must be broken. 
 
 And the sad truth be gently spoken ; 
 
 But who, oh ! who, to her could dare 
 
 Tidings so terrible to bear? 
 
 Poor Esther knew not whom to ask 
 
 To undertake the dreaded task ; 
 
 No one was there she could entrust ; 
 
 The work was hers, she felt she must 
 
 Brace every nerve, and calmly strive 
 
 From her wrung heart each thought to drive 
 
 Of self and sorrow, and prepare 
 
 Her mother's grief to soothe and share^ 
 
 ' Twere better she should know at once ; 
 
 So, with the sad intelligence. 
 
 Her daughter sloAvly sought her side. 
 
 Struggling the gushing tears to hide, 
 
 That now so swift and freely came 
 
 WTiene'er she spoke her father's name. 
 
 But let the closing chamber door 
 
 Hide from our view the grief that tore 
 
 The widow'd heart when stricken sore 
 
 Beneath the overwhelming stroke
 
 ESTHER. 45 
 
 Esther herself so gently broke. 
 When others saw her she appear'd 
 Strangely composed, but much they feared, 
 As day by day her chasten'd brow 
 Shone with more peaceful, saintlike glow, 
 The blow severe her soul had riven ; 
 Soon Earth would have to yield to Heaven 
 The purest heart that beat within 
 Precincts so much defiled by sin. 
 Time proved the doubt was sadly true ; 
 Houidy she faded from their view ; 
 The sands of life were nearly run, 
 Its brittle thread was almost spun, 
 For fast the closing hours had sped. 
 When gather'd round her dying bed 
 Were the old pastor and her child, 
 With Jessie Ross; — on each she smiled. 
 And whispering words of love and faith. 
 Entered the dark, dark stream of death. 
 Deep were its waters, but it seemed 
 As though above her brightly beam'd 
 Some face she long had loved and known, 
 That never ceased to cheer her on. 
 Uphold, and guide her through the haze 
 Of doubt and danger, for her gaze 
 Steadfastly ever upward turned. 
 And as she looked her mild eyes burned 
 With strange, mysterious light, as though 
 Eeflected glory, shining so,
 
 46 ESTHEE. 
 
 Revealed itself to others near, 
 
 Who might not feel, or see, or hear ^ 
 What to the dying saint was clear ; J 
 Clearer than earthly sight or sound, 
 Save one, when fondly glancing round, 
 To comfort Esther's grief she strove, 
 With fond unutterable love. 
 Strove with her failing, voiceless breath, 
 Till it was sealed at length in death. 
 
 Three months had passed since that sad day, 
 And Esther now, no longer gay, 
 Sat lonely at that evening hour 
 When every spire and tree and tower 
 Stands forth with a distincter form. 
 And the blue sky, untouched by storm. 
 Or lower'd by intervening cloud 
 That seeks its loftiness to shroud, 
 Appears to rise in boundless space. 
 And take a more majestic place, — 
 Lonely she sat and watched the scene, 
 But not of it her thoughts I ween; 
 For as she looked the tears would start, 
 And sighs escape her troubled heart. 
 Till by her will's controlling force 
 She resolutely checked their course. 
 And turning to her work again. 
 Strove hard her sorrow to restrain.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Life's hopes and joys had changed no more 
 
 Than she from what she was of yore ; 
 
 The merry playful child had fled, 
 
 And rising graceful in its stead 
 
 The woman moved and spoke and thought, 
 
 And. energetic calmness fraught 
 
 The face so late with bliss endued. 
 
 For grief had saddened, not subdued ; 
 
 Pride linger'd still within her breast, 
 
 More as a monarch than a guest. 
 
 Not now by sudden flash displayed, 
 
 That every angry thought obeyed, 
 
 But changeless dignity, so stem. 
 
 So cold, so still, one seemed to yearn 
 
 To see such icy hauteur shook 
 
 By one spontaneous childlike look. 
 
 Sorrow and pride ! they should not meet. 
 
 Their union renders woe complete. 
 
 The same sweet hour saw swiftly rowing. 
 
 Against the breezes lightly blowing. 
 
 Over the lake a tiny skiff; 
 
 To guide it was a task so stiff, 
 
 It needed Donald's utmost strength 
 
 To land it in the creek at length. 
 
 He sat alone ; the freshening gale 
 
 Seemed welcome, for his cheek was pale, 
 
 Almost as though he had been vexed, 
 
 Or troubled, or was sore pei'plexed ;
 
 48 ESTHER. 
 
 His brow iincover'd, it appeared 
 
 As though the toil the task endeared, 
 
 For strange and wayward was his mood, 
 
 "Work was its need, for work it sued ; 
 
 But calmer soon, he drew to shore, 
 
 Still in the boat he poised his oar, 
 
 Then let it in the water dip, 
 
 But raised it up to watch the drip 
 
 Of liquid beads, as one by one 
 
 They sought observant eyes to shun, 
 
 Till mingling with their native deep, 
 
 They sank again in peaceful sleep. 
 
 Blending with that low trickling sound, 
 
 Donald for his excitement found 
 
 A vent in mournful wish and plaint, 
 
 Though both were uttered soft and faint : 
 
 ' I dared not hope to call her wife. 
 
 But I did trust to spend my life 
 
 Where every day I might rejoice 
 
 To listen to her girlish voice, 
 
 And gaze iipon her sweet young face. 
 
 So sad now in its loveliness. 
 
 To sorrow near her when she wept, 
 
 And tread the ground o'er which she stepped, 
 
 To clasp her little hand in mine. 
 
 For one brief moment, nor resign 
 
 The intercourse a friend might claim, 
 
 For mine, I hold that sacred name ;
 
 ESTHEE. 49 
 
 And if at times in day dreams, fleet 
 As tliey were false, but passing sweet, 
 I won the prize for whicli I strove, 
 And years, long years, of patient love 
 Gain'd love in sweet return at last, 
 Why should such dreams so soon be past? 
 Now all is changed ! and though they say 
 Still in her childhood's home she '11 stay, 
 My own heart tells me 't is not true ; 
 Hers, when she learns the truth, will sue 
 For change of scene, should choice be left ; 
 But much I fear, of home bereft, 
 Necessity may urge her forth, 
 And far, lar distant from the North, 
 Toil and unkindness be her fate, 
 In poverty's enslaving state. 
 'T is hard to think that I, aloof, 
 May never know the sheltering roof 
 'Neath which is all she finds of home. 
 But only in the sky's blue dome. 
 So wide and lofty, recognize 
 Her certain tent ; for that defies 
 Time's utmost efforts to eject 
 From its cold shielding those who 've wreck'd 
 Fortune, or better home, or friends ; 
 Ever o'er all alike it bends — 
 On happy child and wretch forlorn, 
 By life of sin and sorrow worn, 
 E
 
 60 ESTHEB. 
 
 Light from Heaven's radiant lamps will fall,- 
 
 It spreads its covering over all. 
 
 My suffering seems hard ; but worse, 
 
 A hundredfold, to think of hers, — 
 
 Her young heart breaking aU alone, 
 
 Beneath the world's unkindly frown. 
 
 It must not, will not, shall not be ; 
 
 Esther, I cannot part from thee !' 
 
 He clasped his hands in anguish dread, 
 
 And silently he bow'd his head ; 
 
 But Avhen again he raised it up 
 
 It glowed with a determined hope ; 
 
 Again his voice the silence broke. 
 
 And firmly hope and purpose spoke, 
 
 ' Love so intense and strong as mine 
 
 Must be successful ; I resign 
 
 A chance of bliss for certain woe ; 
 
 Without an effort I forego 
 
 Happiness that I might obtain ; 
 
 My suit might not be all in vain : 
 
 Perhaps she only tried to spare 
 
 Encouragement, my love to dare 
 
 Its strength to tenderly avow ; 
 
 Eight earnestly I'll plead it now, 
 
 And may success attend my cause ! 
 
 To weigh results I dare not pause. 
 
 Would I could find some hidden spell, 
 
 To win the heart I prize so well !
 
 ESTHEE. 51 
 
 Tenderest devotion should repay 
 The priceless gift from day to day. 
 I '11 plead to night, before she hears 
 That she is poor, and proudly fears 
 Some may adopt the grovelling thought 
 That conquest love could ne'er have Avrought 
 Was gained by offer of a home. 
 Humble and mean, if spared to roam 
 'Mid scenes of hardship and distress. 
 Her answer then I well could guess — 
 Love whom she might, however long 
 Or truthfully, both hearts she 'd wrong, 
 Poor child ! before she 'd dare to brave 
 The world's false censure. If I crave 
 Acceptance now it may be given ; 
 Morning would every hope have riven.' 
 When once resolved he did not wait, 
 Nor heeded that the hour grew late. 
 But hastened to the maiden's side ; 
 Thouo'h haiTOwing doubts he strove to hide, 
 Even from himself, his heart oppressed 
 And forced thefr power to be confessed. 
 
 Indifferent greeting Esther gave, 
 Eelapsing soon to silence grave, 
 Till Donald's tale of love bespoke 
 Her heart's attention, and awoke 
 e2
 
 52 ESTHER. 
 
 A trembling, strange, responsive thrill, 
 That pride itself cotild scarcely still. 
 With all a child's simplicity, 
 A man's deejj, fervent energy. 
 He told the secret of his breast, — 
 Love, hope, and fear were all confest, 
 And she was asked to be his wife, 
 Accept his love, and share his life. 
 He did not ask the same degree 
 Of earnest tenderness that he 
 In his wild jmssion had bestowed ; 
 If in her heart but faintly glowed 
 Affection's fire, 't was almost more 
 Than he had dared to hope before, — 
 Confiding love (though cold and calm). 
 The right to shield her safe from harm, 
 Was all he sought. His pleading eye 
 Urged more than words for kind reply. 
 Esther was gratified to hear 
 By Donald she was held so dear; 
 His best beloved, most precious one. 
 She did not feel so quite alone : 
 Her heart, acknowledging his power, 
 Saw dreamily some future hour. 
 When she might graciously afford 
 To give the coveted reward ; 
 Not now, — he must not think so soon, 
 So easily, her heart was won ;
 
 ESTHER. 53 
 
 'Twas right he should endure suspensp, 
 
 And grieve at her indifference ; 
 
 And if reproachful words she spoke, 
 
 That tortiire in his bosom woke, 
 
 As if^led on by spii'it ill. 
 
 That" seemed a greater triumph still ; 
 
 And so she spoke them, though she kne^v 
 
 The doubts implied were all untrue ; 
 
 Regard for Donald had been small. 
 
 When self-love overcame it all. 
 
 Thus she began, in fi-eezing tone, 
 
 ' Donald, I am surprised, I own, 
 
 That such a subject you should choose 
 
 At such a time to introduce, 
 
 When scarcely three short months have passed 
 
 Since death deprived me of the last 
 
 Dear friend I had ; yet you would dare 
 
 Attempt their memory's shrine to share ! 
 
 Real affection had concealed 
 
 Its own existence, or revealed 
 
 Itself in sympathy alone, 
 
 Not irksome and demanding grown. 
 
 And more, such words Avere ne'er addressed, 
 
 Nor did you venture such request, 
 
 To me while yet my father lived, 
 
 And pardon me if I believed, 
 
 I think not wrongly, that his land 
 
 Lent value to his daiighter's hand.
 
 54 ESTHEB. 
 
 Soon as the one the other brought 
 With earnest diligence 't was sought ; 
 Not long ago you had not cared 
 To slight and scorn it, had you dared.' 
 
 Amazed at first had Donald heard 
 
 Distinctly each disdainful word. 
 
 The piu-port soon of her reply, 
 
 He understood ; indignantly 
 
 His natiu^e spurn'd repulse so base, — 
 
 Such insult nothing could efface ; 
 
 To her who could so far forget 
 
 His honour, and his truth, not yet 
 
 An answer dared he to return, 
 
 Lest stern contempt and raging scorn 
 
 Should utter in a lady's ear 
 
 What, though he felt, she might not hear. 
 
 How could he e'er for her have felt 
 
 Pure fervent love, like that which dwelt 
 
 So late Avithin his heart? Ashamed, 
 
 The weakness of the past he blamed : 
 
 Never again such love should rise 
 
 For one he only could despise. 
 
 What if he cleared himself, forsooth, 
 
 And proudly flinging back the truth, 
 
 Left her to be consoled by pride, 
 
 That courtesy and truth denied.
 
 ESTHER. 55 
 
 Strange comforter ! Nay, Donald, nay, 
 
 Despise yourself as weak you may ; 
 
 But you must love lier. With the thouglit 
 
 Eush'd back tlie feeling that he sought , 
 
 To crush for ever from his heart ; 
 
 With life alone would it depart. 
 
 He gazed upon her figure, slight 
 
 And small, drawn to its utmost height, 
 
 Her curling lip and stately mien. 
 
 And never dearer had she been. 
 
 The angry fire forsook his eye, 
 
 And, sinking into pity's sigh. 
 
 His voice, in accents calm and sad, 
 
 A half reproachfiil answer made. 
 
 ' Esther ! you wrong me, for you know 
 
 That I could never stoop so low ; 
 
 My love I had not dared to tell, 
 
 But none the less you knew it well. 
 
 Knew that I loved yourself alone, — 
 
 That every look for years had shown. 
 
 Some time perhaps you may believe 
 
 It was too truthful to deceive ; 
 
 You spurn it, but it does not die, 
 
 It lives in fervent constancy ; 
 
 Time every other friend may change, 
 
 My love it never can estrange, 
 
 Your weal will be my life-long prayer. 
 
 My constant thought, my hope, my care ;
 
 56 ESTHEE. 
 
 And should you ever want a friend, 
 Help in a trying hour to lend, 
 Somewhat to ease my heavy cross, 
 Promise to think of Donald Ross. 
 Farewell.' He sought her hand to clasp 
 In one last, lingering, parting grasp ; 
 But haughtily it was withdrawn, 
 And loftily her head Avas borne, 
 Then, stepping back, she bow'd it low, 
 With most majestic air to show 
 Donald that now he was dismissed. 
 Her silent mandate to resist 
 He tried not, but inclined his head, 
 In answer to the move she made. 
 And left her Avith an aching breast, 
 Sad for himself, for her distressed. 
 
 Poor human nature is but weak, 
 Guided by many an idle freak. 
 Speaks what it would not wish to say. 
 And sorrows oft for many a day 
 O'er deeds deliberately done, 
 Though all the fruits such deeds had won 
 Clear in the distance had been viewed, 
 And eagerly and long pursued. 
 Scarcely had Donald closed the door 
 Than Esther, sobbing on the floor.
 
 ESTHER. 57 
 
 Heaped harsh reproaches on her head, 
 
 And vainly wish'd her words unsaid. 
 
 ' Oh ! what could tempt me e'er to give 
 
 Utterance to doubts none could conceive 
 
 Of one so noble and so good, 
 
 Save meanest minds, with thoughts imbued 
 
 Loathsome and vile, and revelling 
 
 In wrong alone, attributing 
 
 To others motives of their own, 
 
 'Mid plots and schemes still crawling on ? 
 
 I am not quite like that, but still 
 
 Donald must think I am ; he ^vill 
 
 Is ow spurn me as most mean and base. 
 
 Unworthy to have held a place 
 
 Within his heart ; and yet I cared 
 
 For his regard more than I dared 
 
 Ever even to myself confess — 
 
 Far more than he shall ever guess ! 
 
 Vainly, but earnestly, I long, 
 
 K ow, that I coiild repair the wrong ; 
 
 I only thought to rouse his ire, 
 
 And set his passions all on fire. 
 
 Truly I might have known full well 
 
 That Donald only would repel 
 
 Insult so gross with silence stern, — 
 
 Cold, calm contempt its sole return. 
 
 Not quite, for pity found a vent. 
 
 And gently Avith his sternness blent.
 
 56 ESTHER. 
 
 So sad, so hopeless, liad he spoke 
 
 The thought that in his breast awoke, 
 
 Poor child ! had almost been the sound ; 
 
 But words in feeling all were drowned. 
 
 Some slight concession I would make, 
 
 And even his forgiveness take, 
 
 Eather than he should think I meant 
 
 Words that have degradation lent 
 
 To her who spake them ; in my heart 
 
 Such doubts had shared no real part. 
 
 An opportunity I'll seek, 
 
 Eegret for what has passed to speak.' 
 
 And yet, had Donald then returned. 
 
 Although with heartfelt truth she yearned 
 
 For reconciliation, she 
 
 Had striven inconsistently 
 
 To gall with rudeness still more plain, 
 
 Inflicting yet a deeper pain. 
 
 Another friend the morrow brought, 
 
 With tidings of such strange import 
 
 To tell them he had scarcely dared, 
 
 For Cy]-il Grey had gladly spared 
 
 His pupil sorrow's lightest blow. 
 
 One single pang of grief; but now 
 
 His arm was powerless to avert 
 
 The stroke that threatened her with hurt. 
 
 Appointed by her father's will. 
 
 With Gerald Marsden, of the hill,
 
 ESTHER. 59 
 
 His joint executor, tliey deemed 
 Their duty light and easy seemed, 
 Till suddenly a claim was made 
 For payment of a debt delayed. 
 Long'years ago, it seemed, he lost 
 Near ail he had— a pricely cost — 
 For having sought one little while 
 With bets and gambling to beguile 
 A life of weary, listless ease. 
 Whose dissipation failed to please. 
 That mode of life was quickly done, — 
 Nothing but ruin had it won. 
 Quite at a loss what course to take, 
 Almost like light the thought did break 
 Across his mind, to mortgage all 
 His property, except the hall ; 
 That with the furniture left free. 
 All else was burdened heavily. 
 To gain enough with which to pay 
 His debts of honour — fruits of play. 
 One sole condition he imposed, — 
 The mortgage should not be foreclosed 
 During the period of his life, 
 Or that of his then youthful wife. 
 So long as interest, year by year. 
 Was given in payments regular. 
 His wife knew nothing of the deed, 
 She had known nothino; of his need,
 
 60 ESTHER. 
 
 And for liis child, it was his hope 
 
 Before his death to give her up, 
 
 As wife, to one whose joy should be 
 
 To cherish her right lovingly; 
 
 For vain had all his efforts proved, 
 
 Even for one so much beloved, 
 
 To save for what her wants might call. — 
 
 That yearly sum consumed it all. 
 
 Cyril explain'd, as best he might, 
 
 To his young ward their sudden plight ; 
 
 The claim advanced they found too true. 
 
 From memoranda, brought to view 
 
 Since the disclosure, that her sire 
 
 Had kept, and an event so dire 
 
 Fully confirmed. The wisest course 
 
 ('T was well he said things were not worse) 
 
 Would be to sell the mortgaged lands, 
 
 And when the creditor's demands 
 
 Were satisfied she might decide 
 
 Her future plans : the safest guide 
 
 Would be their failure or success 
 
 In well disposing of the place. 
 
 Six months the claimant would allow 
 
 To raise the sum, and when, and how, 
 
 The sale should be was left to them 
 
 To fix ; their power alone to stem 
 
 Was the requirement to receive, 
 
 No less than he had dared to give, —
 
 ESTHEE. 61 
 
 If the half year should pass away, 
 And they the mortgage fail'd to pay, 
 He then should claim the large estate 
 As his own property, nor wait. 
 Affording them a longer chance 
 Miss Stafford's interests to advance. 
 
 Paler at each successive word 
 
 Grew Esther's face ; composed she heard 
 
 Him tell the whole long story through, — 
 
 All it involved full well she knew. 
 
 One single fear had blanch'd her cheek, 
 
 And half denied her jDOwer to speak; 
 
 Yet speak she must, if but to gain 
 
 Assurance, added to the pain 
 
 Of doubt. Her question she preferred, 
 
 Had Donald Ross or Jessie heard, 
 
 Or any other, how bereft 
 
 Of value the estate was left ? 
 
 Donald had heard, to him alone 
 
 The truth, in confidence, was known. 
 
 He had been told the day before ; 
 
 Eesponsibilities so sore 
 
 They scarcely dared to bear alone, 
 
 So ask'd him what had best be done. 
 
 He gave them what advice he could, 
 
 Though much abstracted seem'd his mood,
 
 62 ESTHER. 
 
 And urged for her the slight reliel 
 Of respite for one evening brief 
 From knowledge harassing and strange,- 
 One evening free in thought to range, 
 Unfetter'd by the fact's stem truth, 
 Amid the gladsome hopes of youth. 
 On other things soon Cyril ran, 
 Suggesting many a minor plan 
 For their adoption. Calm and still, 
 As though she feared no touch of ill. 
 While hearing, Esther understood. 
 Commented freely, and withstood 
 Various suggestions, or as great 
 Allow'd their wisdom and their weight. 
 He had to say 'Adieu' at length. 
 And physical and mental strength, 
 Exhausted by continued strain. 
 Now yielded to the aching pain 
 At Esther's heart : for once — but once- 
 His going seemed deliverance 
 From almost torture : she was free 
 To analyse her misery, — 
 Free for this once to give it vent. 
 Hereafter an assumed content 
 Must veil the wretched, weary woe 
 Her heart for long was doom'd to know, 
 By far the bitterest pang she felt 
 In mortified remembrance dwelt
 
 ESTHER, 63 
 
 Of her o-wn vulgar, empty boast 
 
 Of wealth, to her for ever lost, 
 
 When Donald pleaded for her hand, 
 
 Insinuating that her land 
 
 Induced him the attempt to make. 
 
 Yet, knowing all, he did not take 
 
 Advantage of her, and with scorn 
 
 Proclaim her poverty forlorn. 
 
 * And Avhy, oh why,' she sadly sigh'd, 
 
 ' Should he have wished my loss to hide 
 
 From me that little while, and haste 
 Hither, before I saw the rest. 
 To tell a tale like his? He might, 
 Surely he had, believed that night 
 Alone remained in which to prove 
 If he himself could win my love, 
 And that the morrow's grief might tempt 
 A feign'd return, that should exempt 
 From effort, that my helplessness 
 Would weakly shrink from in distress. 
 Better I had deserved his trust ; 
 A doubt like that was too unjust, 
 But bear it I suppose I must, — 
 Both must and will ; a pride hke mine 
 Shall never by a word or sign 
 Succumb to son-ow, doubt, or slight. 
 Or wounded seem ; by its own might
 
 64 ESTHER. 
 
 It shall sustain itself and dare 
 To strive, to suffer, and to bear.' 
 Eesolves were all awhile dispell'd. 
 As up the garden she beheld 
 Jessie, with lightsome step, advance. 
 Half shily she appeared to glance 
 Eound for her friend, who to resume 
 Her wonted manner, and assume 
 A ladylike indifferent air. 
 Before she saw her, strove with care. 
 Just as 't was won a gentle hand 
 Drew back her face, and Jessie scann'd 
 It fondly, and, with warm caress. 
 Sought on her brow a kiss to press ; 
 Then kneeling lightly by her side. 
 Her loving innocence defied 
 All Esther's wishes to repel 
 The sympathetic words that fell 
 From lips so youthful and so pure. 
 Striving to happier thoughts to liu-e. 
 Esther soon gathered that she knew 
 Nothing of Donald's interview. 
 As, all unconscions, did she grieve 
 That he had been obliged to leave 
 For London on that very morn. 
 Not knowing Avhen he should return. 
 The rest she learned from Cyril Grey, 
 Who called, ere Donald left, to say
 
 E8THER. 65 
 
 What calm and noble fortitude 
 Esther on hearing all had showed. 
 Then she descanted more at large 
 On Donald's grief; his parting charge 
 To join her friend, and strive to share 
 Her plans and sorrows, if she dare, 
 She soon disclosed ; while Esther met 
 Her love with confidence, for yet 
 She scarcely could repulse bestow 
 On one like Jessie, or forego 
 The tenderness of such a friend, 
 Whose presence comfort seem'd to lend. 
 So at the hall for weeks she stayed, 
 Long as the sale could be delayed. 
 
 By private contract it was thought 
 For land the highest price was brought. 
 And so 't was tried ; — as time passed on 
 Of all their tenders only one 
 Was what they could accept, and it 
 The hall included ; but to quit 
 Its shelter Esther meant iull soon. 
 They said if it were sold alone 
 A mere acknowledgment 't would gain : 
 The offered sum, though in the main 
 Far 'neath its value, yet would meet 
 Mortgage and each outstanding debt :
 
 66 ESTHER. 
 
 So 't was accepted ; and, to raise 
 
 A tiny fund for rainy days, 
 
 All of the furniture was sold 
 
 By auction. Esther's heart grew cold 
 
 While, ovit of sight, she heard the stroke. 
 
 That oft upon the stillness broke. 
 
 Whene'er the hammer falling gave 
 
 Things that she had not power to save — 
 
 Familiar things her parents loved. 
 
 O'er which her childhood's eyes had roved- 
 
 For ever into strangers' hands. 
 
 No more to serve her own demands. 
 
 Dependent then for daily bread 
 Upon the efforts that she made, 
 A governess's life she chose : 
 She knew not half its stinging woes. 
 Her cultivated talents soon 
 A lucrative engagement won ; 
 But distant far she had to roam 
 From, her own native mountain home. 
 
 Donald, with eager hiury, went 
 From London to the Continent, — 
 Anywhere, to prolong his stay. 
 Yet anxiously from day to day 
 Were Jessie's letters waited for ; 
 Tidings of all that j)assed they bore :
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Esther's resolve the latest one 
 Told him, when fast he hastened on, 
 Homeward ; — she never would deny 
 His right to claim a last ' Good bye.' 
 But letters then were oil delayed, 
 And Jessie's on the road had stayed 
 Too long for Donald to attain 
 The object that he hoped to gain. 
 He guessed not Esther was within 
 The little bustling Yorkshire inn 
 At which he waited for the coach 
 Going north ; she, watching its approach 
 From out an upper window, viewed 
 Donald, in most impatient mood, 
 Enter, and quick they drove away ; — 
 Southward her own long joiirney lay. 
 
 Upon a small, low wicker chair 
 Jessie sat in the open air. 
 Attentive to the birds' sweet song, 
 Yet swift her needle sped along. 
 The cottage, and the beech and lake, 
 A livelier hue appeared to take. 
 As on them shone the foil, warm sun, 
 That pierced each nook that afternoon ; 
 Autumn with beauty tinged the trees. 
 But did not stir the faintest breeze. 
 F 2
 
 68 ESTHER. 
 
 Heated and tired, soon Jessie's eye 
 Over the lake roved longingly ; 
 But eager grew lier listless glance, 
 As towards her she beheld advance 
 A little boat, — 't was Donald's hand, 
 Slie knew, that guided it to land. 
 Wallace (for he was left to share, 
 With Esther's linnet, Jessie's care) 
 Watch'd by her side, but soon a leap 
 He made, and through the water deep 
 Swam to the boat with loving haste, 
 To greet him, and to be caressed. 
 At home his sister soon explained 
 How the old favourite dog remained 
 With her, and much did she deplore 
 That Esther left two days before. 
 Donald a mere regret expressed ; 
 His deeper sorrow was repressed, 
 Till, lighted by the silvery moon. 
 He wander'd to the hall alone, 
 Visiting each deserted room. 
 While, echoing sadly through their gloom, 
 His footsteps seem'd a startling sound, 
 So hushed and still was all around. 
 Laid in the study, Donald saw, 
 'Mid paper waste and packing straw, 
 Something that like a drawing seemed. 
 And, as the moonbeams brightly gleamed
 
 ESTHER. 69 
 
 Upon it, gladly recognised 
 
 Esther's yomig sailor boy. He prized 
 
 It more, far more, than words could tell — 
 
 It seemed a sort of magic spell, 
 
 Bringing her nearer ; imeffaced, 
 
 Her-iiame beneath he plainly traced. 
 
 The thought her hand had rested there. 
 
 And marked the characters so fair. 
 
 Was dear and soothing ; many a day 
 
 Impatient thoughts it charm'd away, — 
 
 A simple relic, treasured long, 
 
 Eound which sweet memoiies used to throno:.
 
 70 ESTHER. 
 
 PAET THIED. 
 
 Those natures own a blessed gift, 
 Endowed with power their sight to lift 
 Up to the sunshine and the skies, 
 While dark and dim their pathway lies ; 
 Or glancing down upon the thorn 
 And rugged steep, the light of morn 
 That gilds them they alone perceive, — 
 Hopeless and crush'd, they cannot grieve ! 
 Such was the bent of Esther's mind : • 
 Beauty she never failed to find ; 
 And now her novel mode of life 
 Appear'd with many pleasures rife. 
 Her quiet dignity restrain'd 
 The slights that others might have pained. 
 Her pupils were two merry boys, 
 Whose romping glee and boisterous noise 
 Spirit so dauntless could not quell ; 
 Active as they, she guided well, 
 Check'd and controU'd, yet led the way, 
 Alike in study and in play. 
 Chivalric homage soon she won 
 From those two votaries of fun : 
 Her wish was held a binding law ; 
 Shown by a single glance 't would draw
 
 ESTHER. 71 
 
 Wild, heedless little Harrj back 
 
 From folly rash to duty's track, 
 
 And strengthen Arthur's sturdier aim 
 
 Knowledge to win and future fame. 
 
 Each "to the other oft confessed 
 
 Th^t^-dear Miss Stafford ' Avas the best, < 
 
 The cleverest, being ever seen, 
 
 Fit for an empress or a queen. 
 
 Thus pleasantly two years they passed ; 
 
 Content and useful, Esther cast 
 
 Few longing, lingering looks behind. 
 
 Nor in the future hoped to find 
 
 A deeper joy ; her present hours 
 
 Fully employ'd her varied powers, 
 
 And left her satisfied ; but then 
 
 Change visited her once again, 
 
 This time assuming pleasure's guise. 
 
 And sparkling bright before her eyes. 
 
 Paterfamilias had to go 
 
 To London for a month or so 
 
 On business, and resolved to take 
 
 With him his family, and make 
 
 Business and pleasure once agree. 
 
 And view the sights there were to see : 
 
 And Esther (who of course went too) 
 
 Wild as her pupils almost grew. 
 
 Did ever child anticipate 
 
 A sight so much as of the great,
 
 72 ESTHEK. 
 
 Great city ? — strange, mysterious theme 
 
 For waking thoughts and midnight dream. 
 
 Imagination, lialf in awe, 
 
 Its wondrous things attempts to draw 
 
 Before the mental eye, but yet 
 
 The 2:>icture never could complete. 
 
 Harry and Arthur never tired 
 
 Of its attractions ; they admired 
 
 In prospect all they were to see 
 
 With most enthusiastic glee ; 
 
 But silence hush'd each youthful voice 
 
 When, reaching the metropolis. 
 
 Upon it first their vision fell, 
 
 While whirling on to their hotel. 
 
 And lamps and lighted shops revealed 
 
 Much else in mystery conceal'd ; 
 
 For it was wrapp'd in night's dark shroud. 
 
 Esther beheld the living crowd 
 
 Eapidly hurrying to and fro, — 
 
 A stream that seemed no end to know. 
 
 With awe-struck wonder, 'mid a mass 
 
 So dense, she thought that she must pass 
 
 Unheeded by the Lord of all : 
 
 Units must surely be too small 
 
 For Him to cherish and protect. 
 
 Her doubt His own assurance checked ; 
 
 Compassionate, the King of kings. 
 
 Knowing that human nature clings.
 
 ESTHER. 73 
 
 In its dim sight, to unbelief, 
 
 For all His little ones' relief, 
 
 Told how the very sparrows share 
 
 Almighty providence and care. 
 
 The sweet remembrance seemed to charm 
 
 All,EstJaer's fears to instant cahn, 
 
 And touch'd her heart's most grateful chords, 
 
 While low she spoke the prayerful Avords — 
 
 Words by the world's Redeemer given — 
 
 ' Our Father ' (our) ' Who art in Heaven.' 
 
 Who has not felt that sacred prayer 
 An overwhelming power to bear, 
 Wlien uttered 'mid a city's crush ? 
 Along each clause there seems to rush 
 A hidden and a deeper thought 
 Of more significant import. 
 With reverence may we not compare 
 Thoughts it suggesteth everywhere 
 To truth in ordinary type ? 
 But 'neath the city's light 'tis ripe 
 With fuller meaning ; on the heart 
 'T is writ in capitals, apart 
 From earthly rivalries and rights. 
 Human magnificence and sights 
 Of kingly splendour far above ; 
 The praises of the' God of love
 
 7A ESTHER. 
 
 We offer, in its last grand strains, 
 
 Chanted upon the heavenly plains ; 
 
 For is not such the angels' story, — 
 
 ' Thine is the kingdom, power, and glory, 
 
 For ever and for ever ' ? Then, 
 
 Wlio would not breathe a thrilled ' Amen ' ? 
 
 Happy the youthful travellers woke 
 
 Next morning, as upon them broke 
 
 The glad remembrance where they Avere, 
 
 Giving a most impetuous spur 
 
 To toilet operations, while, 
 
 Serving their fancies to beguile. 
 
 The street cries sounded merrily. 
 
 All rules of strict propriety 
 
 Their curiosity defied, 
 
 And blinds Avere slightly drawn aside. 
 
 Permitting the first dayhght peep 
 
 At London risen from its sleep. 
 
 With eai-nest haste they soon begun 
 
 Their eager pleasure-hunting fun : 
 
 Museum, tower, and public mart. 
 
 Palace and gardens, — all had part 
 
 In their inspection ; but to tell 
 
 All that they saw would be to dwell 
 
 Upon a theme half tiresome groAvn, 
 
 So wide are London's wonders known.
 
 ESTHER. 75 
 
 Suffice it that each rapid day 
 'Mid strange delights was passed away — 
 Delights that when recounted o'er 
 Increased in lustre tenfold more. 
 
 Shprtly before they left it chanced, 
 
 In some excursion, that there glanced 
 
 On Esther's face an eye that knew 
 
 That face full well ; — its own sweet blue 
 
 Deepen'd and brighten'd as across, 
 
 To where she stood, sprang Jessie Ross. 
 
 Gladly did each the other greet, 
 
 "Wondering how they chanced to meet ; 
 
 But explanations were delayed ; — 
 
 Jessie had an appointment made 
 
 To meet her brother, and the hour 
 
 Was past already ; but before 
 
 She left her, it was understood 
 
 That the day following Esther should 
 
 Spend with her. Much she seem'd to shun 
 
 Giving the promise ; but 't was won 
 
 From Mrs. Lindsay, who, amused 
 
 At seeing Esther so confused. 
 
 Fancying she did not like to make 
 
 Engagements that might chance to break 
 
 Upon arrangements they had made. 
 
 Advanced, her modesty to aid, 
 
 Frankly insisting she should go. 
 
 And hush'd her faintly-spoken ' No. '
 
 76 ESTHER. 
 
 Ker friend's reluctance Jessie saw, 
 
 And, puzzled, from it sought to draw 
 
 Conclusions probable, yet wrong : 
 
 Had absence she had felt so long 
 
 Cool'd Esther's love for friends of youth ? 
 
 Or was it nearer to the truth 
 
 To guess that her dependence found 
 
 Harshness, and that her will was bound 
 
 By others' tyranny ? And yet 
 
 She scarcely thought so when she met 
 
 That lady, with her kindly face. 
 
 And those bright boys, whose youthful grace 
 
 Charm'd her so much ; and so she told 
 
 The tale to Donald, to unfold 
 
 The mystery. He quickly guessed 
 
 The doubt that Esther's mind possessed : 
 
 She thought that she should meet him there, 
 
 And had not wished it ; so, to spare 
 
 Her that annoyance, he would go 
 
 On a day's journey, that, although 
 
 Important, might have been delayed. 
 
 Absent, so long as Esther stayed 
 
 Jessie would find her still the same 
 
 To her ; he did but merely name 
 
 His firm belief that she would find 
 
 Esther imchanged in heart or mind ; 
 
 That he would have to be away 
 
 Most, if not all, the conaing day.
 
 ESTHER. "? 
 
 Poor simple Jessie never guessed 
 At hidden motives ; she expressed, 
 Both then, and on the following morn, 
 To Esther hopes of his return. 
 And her vexation he should need 
 To leave with such immediate speed 
 That day ; yet, may be, 't was as well. 
 For each had got so much to tell 
 The other. Esther's story first 
 It was agreed should be rehearsed. 
 Then Jessie told how Donald grew 
 Noted and rich ; some site to view. 
 Before he planned, they first had come 
 To London ; but she longed for home ; 
 And now not long would be their stay. 
 Then Esther asked ibr Cyril Grey, 
 And who lived at the dear old hall, — 
 Was it inhabited at all ? 
 "With faltering voice and crimsoned cheek, 
 Jessie, embarrassed, strove to speak. 
 Telling her it was empty now. 
 Of some one, too, she murmur'd low, 
 Who, renting it, lived there in spring, 
 And now she thought was purchasing 
 The whole estate ; again she paused, 
 While her shy conscious manner caused 
 Esther some speculative thought, — 
 Not long, for soon poor Jessie sought
 
 78 ESTHEE. 
 
 To tell how thereby hung a tale 
 
 Of love ; but scarce she could prevail 
 
 Upon herself the tale to tell — 
 
 For she was heroine — but to quell 
 
 The quivering at her heart she tried, 
 
 "With all her might, and then confide 
 
 To Esther how Lord Atherton 
 
 Came to the hall when first begun 
 
 Spring's birds to sing and flowers to bloom, 
 
 And from its solitary gloom 
 
 Oft to their cottage had repaired, 
 
 And walks with her and Donald shared, — 
 
 Oftenest with her ; what pleasant hours 
 
 They spent among their books and flowers. 
 
 He was so genial and so kind ; 
 
 Well stored, like Donald's, was his mind ; 
 
 But he was yomig, and not so stern, 
 
 And it was easier far to learn 
 
 From him, — his glad light-hearted way 
 
 Made gravest study seem but play. 
 
 ' T was pleasant very, for she felt 
 
 No dread at the deep joy that dwelt, 
 
 When he was near, within her heart. 
 
 The thought that he must soon depart 
 
 Dawned not yet, teaching her to know 
 
 She loved him by love's thrilling woe. 
 
 She little guessed 't was love, poor child ! 
 
 That nestled in her heart, and smiled
 
 ESTHER. 79 
 
 So brightly, making earth more gay, 
 Till one sweet afternoon in May 
 Percy (Lord Atherton) and she 
 Had Avander'd searching merrily 
 For primroses and violets sweet, 
 Soiiie miles from home ; her weary feet 
 Begun to plead at length for rest; 
 So, turning towards the tinted west. 
 They sat upon a grassy knoll 
 Above the lake, and o'er them stole 
 The calm delicious stillness brings, — 
 INIusings that come on fairy wings 
 But once or twice ; for bliss so sweet. 
 Not oft dare mortals hope to greet ; 
 Joy undefined ; we may not know 
 What source has made the stream to flow. 
 But Jessie was to leam the truth. 
 For as they sat the noble youth, 
 Fervent, yet shy, commenced to tell 
 How her sweet presence cast a spell 
 Of gladness o'er him, erst unknown ; — 
 An orphan, lonely Iiad he grown 
 To manhood ; love had cheered him not ; 
 Flatter'd he had been, but his lot 
 Had been but desolate till now. 
 When gazing on that candid brow, 
 And reading in those calm blue eyes — 
 Whose truthfid light knew no disguise —
 
 80 ESTHER. 
 
 A sympathy for which he yearned, 
 Hope for the moment brighter burned 
 That love would follow ; his he gave 
 Her long before, — to be her slave 
 And serve her would be dear delight. 
 But oh ! to be her own loved knight, 
 To share her smile each precious hour, 
 And cherish her with all his power — 
 His honoured wife — she would not say, 
 Unpityingly and sternly, ' Nay ' ? 
 "What could she say ? — each look and tone 
 Eeveal'd the story of her own 
 Fond heart, and Jessie realised 
 How much, how very much, she prized 
 That deep affection. But anon 
 ■ The thought how rank an^l talent shone 
 In circles where Lord Percy moved. 
 Love, hope, and trust alike reproved : 
 She would disgrace, and vex, and grieve, 
 And then not long would she receive 
 Love, that half tempted her to share 
 A name so noble, and to dare 
 The world's contempt. It must not be ; 
 So, like a child, she guilelessly 
 Told what she felt, and fear'd, and thought, 
 And eagerly young Percy sought 
 ' To prove her arguments unjust 
 
 And groundless. Would not Jessie trust
 
 ESTHER. 8 [ 
 
 His own assurance that there Avere 
 
 In the great world none half so fair, 
 
 So charming, noble, and so ti'ue 
 
 As her sweet self? And, though she knew 
 
 Better than trust all he might tell, 
 
 Somehow love always will prevail : 
 
 Percy won that for Avhich he sighed, 
 
 And Jessie was his promised bride. 
 
 Donald's consent was soon obtained, — - 
 
 Glad for his sister ; but it pained 
 
 That sister to observe the look 
 
 Of weary sadness that he shook 
 
 OIF when she joined him — all alone, 
 
 And desolate, when she was gone. 
 
 She grieved for Donald, though he strove 
 
 To soothe her by his cheerful love, 
 
 And talked of pleasant days in store, 
 
 Happier, perchance, than those of yore. 
 
 With loving archness Esther heard 
 Most of the story, nor deferred 
 Expression of the joy she felt. 
 Nor of the true warm hopes that dwelt 
 Within her heart that, as a wife, 
 Jessie's might be a long glad life. 
 The marriage day was fixed to be 
 A few weeks later. Urgently 
 
 G
 
 82 ESTHER. 
 
 Jessie besought her friend to come 
 
 jVnd spend a while with her at home, 
 
 Acting as bridesmaid on the day : 
 
 The clergyman was Cyril Grey. 
 
 But Jessie pleaded all in vain ; 
 
 Esther still urged she must remain 
 
 With her young pupils ; none the less 
 
 She wished her every happiness ; 
 
 Never again she hoped to spend 
 
 Such pleasant hours. Henceforth her friend 
 
 Could not be quite so much her own ; 
 
 But, to retain when she was gone, 
 
 One little golden curl she took, 
 
 A theft that Jessie would not brook, 
 
 Unless she might herself possess 
 
 From Esther's head a light brown tress. 
 
 Poor Esther ! As the day wore on 
 She wished that Donald might return 
 Before she left ; it might be weak. 
 But she so longed to hear him speak, 
 To feel that he forgave the past, 
 And that in scorn he had not cast 
 Her wholly from his heart ; — ^but nay. 
 Too surely he prolonged his stay. 
 The carriage came to bear her home. 
 But he she looked for had not come. 
 Yes ! But he had, and in the hall 
 Was waiting there, to hear the fall
 
 ESTHER. 83 
 
 Of her light step, and see again 
 Her who had caused him so mnch pain. 
 She met him with a nervous start, 
 A strange deep yearning at her heart. 
 And towards him had her hand advanced, 
 when, thinking of the past, she glanced 
 Up to his face. Would he refuse 
 To take it then ? She could not choose 
 But see that he looked grey and old. 
 Indifferent, too, and stern and cold. 
 Her hand Avas taken while she looked : 
 Donald would never have rebuked 
 Her deeds by rudeness of his own ; 
 And that short glance to him had shown 
 That she was pale, subdued, and sad ; — 
 Her sorrow could not make him glad. 
 Heavy it weighed upon his heart 
 As he stood watching her depart. 
 And every thought of angry scorn 
 It banished, never to return. 
 
 And Esther, she could doubt no more, 
 If she had had a doid^t before, 
 She loved, and knew it when too late : 
 Her stubborn pride had seal'd her fate. 
 Yet through it all she felt a thrill 
 Of joy, as she remember'd still 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ESTHER. 
 
 That kindlier look and gentle grasp, — 
 Her hand stiU seemed to feel its clasp. 
 
 Donald and Jessie sat alone, 
 
 Talking of what the girls had done 
 
 And told each other, when she thought 
 
 Of Esther's lock of hair, and brought 
 
 It for her brother to admire. 
 
 With much of covetous desire, 
 
 And loving pride and reverence too, 
 
 He drew the little ringlet through 
 
 His fingers, thinking whence 'twas shorn, 
 
 And who the silken tress had worn. 
 
 Jessie looked on with curious eyes. 
 
 But great indeed was her surprise 
 
 When Donald begged it, with that quick 
 
 And high-pitched utterance that would trick 
 
 Others to thinking that we mind 
 
 Little or nothing, shotdd we find 
 
 Eefused to us the boon we ask 
 
 With such indifference. Foohsh task ! 
 
 That very light nonchalant air 
 
 Often betrays how much we care : 
 
 It did to Jessie, — she could trace 
 
 Love's autograph on Donald's face ; 
 
 And blind and stupid she had been, 
 
 She thought, in never having seen 
 
 The truth before : she saw it now, 
 
 And urged her brother to avow
 
 ESTHER. 85 
 
 Her surmise right. He laid aside 
 
 All jesting vain attempts to hide 
 
 The struggling passion in his breast ; 
 
 Slowly and sadly he confessed 
 
 Its early growth and changeless strength, 
 
 And how he told his love at length. 
 
 Of Esther no reproachfnl word 
 
 Or slighting speech his sister heard ; 
 
 None, to condemn her, e'er should hear 
 
 How he was met with taunt and sneer ; 
 
 He merely said his siiit was vain, 
 
 Not his the power her heart to gain. 
 
 Jessie both grieved and wondered too ; 
 
 That Esther named him not she knew ; 
 
 But, hoping some day she might learn 
 
 That Donald's love was worth return. 
 
 She gave him half the lock of hair, — 
 
 The other half she could not spare. 
 
 Contented, he the giver kissed. 
 
 And ever after was dismissed 
 
 From conversation Esther's name, 
 
 Though either heart confessed its claim 
 
 To loving memory, and slirined 
 
 It in itself with feelings kind ; 
 
 But never was allusion made 
 
 To Avhat had been that evening said. 
 
 The earth its annual circle round 
 
 The sun twice more had made, and wound
 
 S6 ESTHER. 
 
 Some of the threads of mortal life 
 
 From out the web ; in busy strife 
 
 Many were tangled ; few were rolled 
 
 In smooth straight course and even fold. 
 
 Cyril was nuniber'd with the dead — 
 
 A crown'd, instead of mitred, head; 
 
 Donald was oft obliged to roam 
 
 As much in London as at home ; 
 
 But travel when or where he would, 
 
 Finding some means of doing good, 
 
 Honour'd for many a noble deed, 
 
 Beloved by many a child of need 
 
 His hand had help'd, in such a part 
 
 Gaining a solace for his heart ; 
 
 For though the Lord Himself will heal, 
 
 And wounded hearts with comfort seal, 
 
 Yet, kind and pitiful and just, 
 
 Remembering that we are but dust, 
 
 He often condescends to bless 
 
 By human loves and sympathies. 
 
 Jessie, now Lady Atherton, 
 
 Thought she quite worldly-wise had groAvn, 
 
 A continental bridal tour 
 
 (At court presented, too be sure) 
 
 Had made her statelier than before — 
 
 Simply in manner, nothing more. 
 
 Her childlike heart was still unspoiled. 
 
 And still from vanity recoiled.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 So peerless was his treasured bride, 
 We might forgive youiig Percy's pride. 
 Esther was sad ; the time was come, 
 She felt, for her to leave the home 
 Four happy years had rendered dear ; 
 But dtity's path was marked and clear. 
 She knew 't was time the boys should mix 
 With other boys, and men should fix 
 Their studies, subject to the rule 
 And discipline of public school. 
 Should she retain her ofiice long, 
 'T would be to them luijust and wrong ; 
 So she resigned it — though in dread 
 Of the dark future o'er her head — 
 Spite of remonstrance and request. 
 For she alone believed it best. 
 The Lindsays, finding it was vain 
 To urge her stay, much wished to gain 
 Her some engagement, with as li2;ht 
 And easy duties as they might. 
 The search required no instant haste. 
 For Esther longed once more to taste 
 The breezes by her mountain lake, 
 And had resolved three months to take 
 Of quiet holiday ; and then, 
 Strengthen'd, return to work again. 
 She meant to lodge (to most unknown) 
 With her old nurse — a widow lone,
 
 88 ESTIIEB. 
 
 Who from the hall above a mile 
 Resided now — and there beguile 
 The pleasant quiet hours away 
 Of her brief transient holiday. 
 
 Adieux were spoken, sad but kind, 
 
 And Esther left her iriends behind. 
 
 Urged ever to regard their home 
 
 As hers, and never fail to come 
 
 To them when sorrowful or ill, — 
 
 There welcome would await her still. 
 
 Her letters they agreed to send 
 
 To Penrith ; thence a country friend, 
 
 Her nurse's son, would bring them on. 
 
 For he was often in the town. 
 
 He met the stage with his light cart, 
 
 And drove her home. Her weary heart 
 
 Beat half with pleasure, half with pain. 
 
 As she beheld each sight again 
 
 Once so familiar to her eyes. 
 
 And saw the whitewashed cottage rise ; 
 
 And nurse sat knittinor at the door, 
 
 Just as she used four years before. 
 
 For days a roving life she spent. 
 
 And by the lake's still margin went. 
 
 Wandering far distant from the cot. 
 
 At length she sought a fxvourite spot.
 
 ESTHER. 89 
 
 And sat upon its liilly rise 
 
 Till daylight faded from the skies, 
 
 And the fair moon shone clear and bright, 
 
 And, under cover of the night, 
 
 Sui-veyed her own reflected face 
 
 In nature's liquid looking-glass. 
 
 Suddenly upon Esther's ear 
 
 The sound of oar-strokes drawing near, 
 
 Mingled with human voices, fell ; 
 
 And quickly did her bosom swell, 
 
 When 'midst them Donald's voice she heard. 
 
 She caught the tone, though not the word — 
 
 That rapid eager Scottish tone 
 
 Amongst a thousand she had known ; 
 
 Its rugged sweetness charmed her ear ; 
 
 No music had been half so dear. 
 
 Just then a boat appeared in sight, 
 
 And, mid the shadows of the night 
 
 She could distinguish figures three, 
 
 And almost fear'd that they might see 
 
 Her standing there ; but it soon passed. 
 
 On it one farewell look to cast, 
 
 Between the trees she forward bent ; 
 
 At once the branch on which she leant 
 
 Gave way, and, with a startled cry. 
 
 She plunged beneath — she thought to die ! 
 
 It reached the boat, and Donald said 
 
 He heard a rustling overhead ;
 
 90 ESTHER. 
 
 The cry was iitter'd in distress, 
 
 But whence it came they could not guess. 
 
 Wallace was with them in the boat, 
 
 So he was quickly ordered out — 
 
 Needing no sign, but swimming round 
 
 The rock ; and Donald, following, found 
 
 He held a lady by her dress, 
 
 Wrapp'd in complete imconsciou'sness. 
 
 The dog was brave, but groAving old, 
 
 And scarcely could retain a hold 
 
 Of his fair charge, till Donald bore 
 
 Her lightly from him to the shore. 
 
 Fast onwards to the hall he sped, 
 
 Half fearing that the girl was dead. 
 
 And vexed to think his house was closed, 
 
 Or she might nearer have reposed ; 
 
 But all the household were away ; 
 
 His own was just a passing stay, 
 
 A week or two, as Jessie's guest ; 
 
 So faster towards her home he pressed. 
 
 Wallace was running by his side, 
 
 And whine and caper testified 
 
 Some strange emotion that he felt; 
 
 But in his master's heart there dwelt 
 
 No dim suspicion that his arm 
 
 Had rescued from impending harm. 
 
 And now encii-cled, one so dear 
 
 As Esther, till, on drawing near
 
 ESTHER. 91 
 
 The hall, a light shone on her face, 
 
 Eevealing to his anxious gaze 
 
 The -well-known features, pale and still, 
 
 So deathlike that he felt a thrill 
 
 Of almost terror seize his breast 
 
 As close th' unconscious form he pressed. 
 
 She had not in the least revived 
 
 When Percy and his wife arrived 
 
 Up from the boat, amazed to hear 
 
 Their guest had proved a friend so dear. 
 
 At length she heaved a struggling sigh. 
 
 And quick and nervously her eye 
 
 Glanced round, as if to question where 
 
 She was, and Avho besides was there. 
 
 The glance was followed by a rush 
 
 Of recollections, while a blush ' 
 
 AVith crimson stains suffused her cheek ; 
 
 But Jessie would not let her speak, 
 
 And lovingly forbade her tell 
 
 Even how the accident befel 
 
 Till she was rested ; but she knew 
 
 'Twas easiest then, and so a true 
 
 Brief story of the whole she told. 
 
 And playfully did Jessie scold 
 
 At her desertion of them all ; 
 
 But now they held her safe in thrall. 
 
 Long her captivity should last 
 
 In expiation of the past !
 
 92 ESTHER. 
 
 Alarmed at her protracted stay, 
 
 Her cottage friends had made their way 
 
 Up to the hall, to tell their tale, 
 
 And seek for counsel to avail 
 
 Them in a search. They heard, with tears. 
 
 Her peril had surpassed their fears. 
 
 Jessie protesting that her friend 
 
 There her remaining stay must spend, 
 
 Listless and faint from weariness 
 
 Esther was forced to acquiesce — 
 
 More willingly that she perceived 
 
 HoAv fully Jessie's plan received 
 
 Her husband's sanction : all his face 
 
 Was lighted up with kindly grace. 
 
 She heard who saved her with a start 
 
 4 
 Of conscious joy : her foolish heart 
 
 "Would dwell with pleasure on the thought 
 
 That it was Donald ; and she sought. 
 
 Timidly, as she bade ' Good night,' 
 
 To own her grateful thanks aright. 
 
 Illness confined her to her room 
 
 For many days ; though to resume 
 
 Her Avonted course of life she tried, 
 
 Weakness long steadily defied 
 
 Her efforts ; but she hoped at length 
 
 She had regained her foriner strength, 
 
 Bringing from her secluded rest 
 
 For social joys a keener zest.
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 One morning, as slie sat alone 
 With Jessie, somehow talk had grown 
 l\Iore confidential, till it veer'd 
 Round to a subject each had feared 
 To touch upon,— the slighted suit 
 Donald had offered. Esther, mute. 
 Heard Jessie iitter her regret, 
 And found she knew not all as yet. 
 Her gentle words pain'd Esther more 
 Than harsh reproach. A while she bore 
 It patiently, but illness stole 
 From her her power of self-control. 
 And made her suddenly confess, 
 With much of passionate distress. 
 Her foolish pride and worthless sneer. 
 To Jessie's kind forgiving ear. 
 Her very love she did not hide — 
 Longer concealment it defied. 
 She strove less, may be, as she knew 
 That Jessie's dehcate and true 
 Womanly feeling would compel 
 Her sacred silence : she would tell 
 Her confidence to none beside ; 
 But most from Donald wou.ld she hide 
 Its purport ; so she frankly told 
 Her sorrow now, Avith faults of old. 
 
 They knew not in an inner room 
 Donald sat struggling with the gloom 
 
 ys
 
 94 ESTHER. 
 
 He felt ; and, writing while tliey spoke, 
 He heard all ; but it strangely woke 
 No consciousness, until his name 
 Housed tranquil thoughts to instant flame. 
 He knew too much to join them then 
 "With easy coolness ; but, again, 
 His room possessed no door but that 
 Leading to theirs ; and so he sat, 
 Still musing on each tender word 
 That he so heedlessly had heard. 
 Almost afraid her love to deem 
 As other than a blissful dream. 
 
 His sister presently was gone ; 
 Esther, he knew, was quite alone. 
 Should he disclose himself, and ask 
 Her troth and pardon then, or task 
 His patience longer, and conceal 
 Knowledge not meant for him, but seal 
 His fate by pleading as before ? 
 Loving, she would not, as of yore. 
 Deny his passionate request. 
 That course he thought might be the best ; 
 But not for him, — his candid truth 
 Compell'd confession ; so, forsooth. 
 He went at once and owned the whole. 
 Vowing that scorn and time had stole
 
 ESTHER. 95 
 
 Nouglit from the fervour of liis love, 
 
 And iir<Tin<T Esther to remove 
 
 The word that severed them so long. 
 
 Well did he plead — for hope Avas strong — 
 
 So Avell that Esther's quivering heart 
 
 Yearn'd to consent, till, like a dart, 
 
 The past rush'd back upon her view, 
 
 And fired her willing pride to sue 
 
 For love's subjection, till it gained 
 
 Its cause ; and as the victor reigned 
 
 Within her breast, her words were cold, 
 
 From stern compulsion, as she told 
 
 Donald that he had heard aright — 
 
 She loved, but never would she plight 
 
 Her faith while poor, and he contrast 
 
 Contemptuous hauteur of the past 
 
 With present yielding, and believe 
 
 Her love what selfishness might weave — • 
 
 A Avorthless fabric. All in vain 
 
 Were argument or plea to gain 
 
 A difierent answer ; — calm and still, 
 
 She conquer'd impiilse by her Avill 
 
 (For love with pride had strangely striven), 
 
 Though in the strife her heart was riven. 
 
 Donald the contest well perceived. 
 
 Chafed by her folly, yet he grieved 
 
 Sadly, and one last effort made 
 
 From her rash purpose to dissuade : —
 
 96 ESTHER. 
 
 * Esther, I pray you not to fling 
 
 Away our happiness, and bring 
 
 A cloud to shade the path of each, 
 
 And trouble hearts doubt should not reacli, 
 
 Merely because when but a child. 
 
 By fanciful caprice beguiled, . 
 
 Scarce old enough to know your heart, 
 
 You read its whisp'rings wrong. Apart 
 
 From all the past, more justly now, 
 
 In pity to VIS both, allow 
 
 My claim for love's dear bond to stand — 
 
 Deny me not this priceless hand.' 
 
 Eeading refusal in her eye, 
 
 He did not wait for her reply, — 
 
 ' I ask it now ; my love would stoop 
 
 Even to imploring ; I would droo23 
 
 All pride myself, and why, oh ! why. 
 
 Should yours our happiness defy ? 
 
 Esther, again I ask it never — 
 
 You will not bid me go for ever V 
 
 ' For ever,' she distinctly spoke, 
 
 Though low and hoarse. The words scarce broke 
 
 On Donald's ear before be turn'd 
 
 And left her, thinking that he spurn'd 
 
 A heart so obstinate and j)roud : 
 
 His own with bitterest grief was bow'd. 
 
 One step, as if to bid him stay, 
 
 Quick Esther moved unseen ; but, nay, —
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 "T was right, she thought, that he should go ; 
 "Wiser it was, and better so, 
 Though worse than misery to her — 
 Goading her woe as with a spur. 
 ' For ever ' sounded in her ear. 
 Nought but ' For ever ' could she hear. 
 Till her poor heart could bear no more. 
 And she sank senseless on the floor.
 
 98 ESTHER. 
 
 PAET FOURTH. 
 
 Youth has few trials more severe, 
 
 ISIore harassing, or hard to bear, 
 
 Than constant murmurings from the old — 
 
 Fretful repinings, that enfold 
 
 Each hour of morning, noon, and night. 
 
 Weighing on hearts else gay and light. 
 
 The quibbling plaint and anxious sigh 
 
 Of fretful age would often try 
 
 Patience that seldom is bestow'd 
 
 On those who in life's rugged road 
 
 Have traversed but a few short steps, 
 
 Save where some chasten' d spirit reaps, 
 
 Even in youth, the holy calm 
 
 Of sanctified affliction's balm. 
 
 'T is passing strange, we oftenest see 
 
 Querulous age where luxury, 
 
 And ease, and comfort have been given ; 
 
 While those who for long years have striven 
 
 With hardship, penury, and care, 
 
 With self-forgetting cheerful air. 
 
 Smile at and share the hopes of youth ; 
 
 And if forebodings of the truth 
 
 Should cross their minds, that thorns may grow 
 
 And rankle where the roses blow,
 
 ESTHEE. 99 
 
 Not theirs all present bliss to mar ; 
 Yet none when meeting sorrow are 
 Readier to lend a helping hand, 
 Or feel humanity's demand. 
 "Woidd that such lustre might adorn 
 Each hoary head by trial worn — 
 Uniretted though ; in perfect love 
 Resembling spirits crown'd above ; 
 Resting upon the border-land, 
 Alluring us to that bright strand. 
 They seek of purity and peace. 
 Patiently waiting their release ; 
 Fitted themselves, by grace, to dwell 
 Where everlasting praises swell. 
 
 With one far different Esther's lot 
 Was cast, when hastening from a spot 
 So fraught with pain as Westmoreland, 
 And sooner than at first she planned : — 
 Companion to a stately dame 
 (Infirm and aged) she became. 
 'T was all that offer'd, and she seized 
 It eagerly, though scarcely pleased. 
 Or by the prospect greatly cheer'd. 
 Yet worse, far worse, than she had fear'd 
 She quickly found it ; but she bore 
 With calm indifference all the store 
 H 2
 
 100 ESTHER. 
 
 Of railing censure and of siglis, 
 Scarce heeding them : deep grief defies 
 The power of little trifling wrongs 
 And petty stings ; to them belongs 
 The task of pois'ning happiness : 
 They pass unfelt by true distress. 
 Her hopeful heart had lost its spring, 
 Her joyous fancies taken wing; 
 Duty's demands she tried to meet, 
 Eegret and memory to defeat ; 
 Feeling was lull'd, and sunshine gone ; 
 And slowly thus the days wore on. 
 
 Yet deadlier shadows might surround, 
 And things be worse, as Esther found 
 When young Sir Henry INIerton came, — 
 Merton was the old lady's name. 
 Widow'd, this was her only child ; 
 But seldom had his presence whiled 
 Away her solitary hours. 
 Save when the somewhat dangeroiis powers 
 Of creditors, with wrath replete, 
 Eender'd it prudent to retreat 
 From their displeasure for a while. 
 And charm the country with his smile. 
 On such a visit he arrived 
 Soon after Esther, and deprived
 
 ESTHER. 101 
 
 Her of what peace she might have foimd. 
 
 Strife and conftision reigned around 
 
 During his tiresome lengthy stay : 
 
 Idling he spent each livelong day — 
 
 Drinking and swearing at his dogs, 
 
 Cursing the dampness of the fogs, 
 
 Scolding the servants, with abuse 
 
 Loading his mother, who let loose 
 
 An angry volley in reply, 
 
 With harsh shrill tones and fiendlike eye. 
 
 Esther was witness to the whole, 
 
 And sometimes scarcely could control 
 
 Her deep disgust ; yet greater fear 
 
 Oppress'd her when she saw the leer 
 
 "With which he watched her, or she caught 
 
 Looks with coarse admiration fraught. 
 
 He strove a friendship to advance 
 
 By treating her to jest and glance, 
 
 With confidential nods and winks, 
 
 From which the heart of woman shrinks 
 
 As from a loathsome poison'd air, 
 
 That weeds, not fresh sweet flow'rs, should share. 
 
 She shunn'd his presence when she might : 
 It seemed each holy thought to blight ; 
 Yet perseveringly he talked 
 On to her still, and often baulked
 
 102 ESTHER. 
 
 Her best-laid schemes for solitude. 
 
 One day he ventured to intrude 
 
 Upon her when, some errand done, 
 
 Home from the village she begun 
 
 To saunter. Gliding by her side, 
 
 Viper-like, much Sir Henry tried, 
 
 By complimentary discourse, 
 
 .His own imagined charms t' endorse, 
 
 Though curt the answers and constrain'd 
 
 His fashionable lisp obtained. 
 
 Esther was not one prone to fear, 
 
 But never was Sir Henry near 
 
 Than, with an almost nervous dread, 
 
 She hastened on with faster tread, 
 
 And now had swift her way pursued. 
 
 But that it suited not his mood. 
 
 Informing her 't was with intent 
 
 To meet her there his course was bent, 
 
 At once he started to bewail 
 
 His lofty station, and to rail 
 
 At Providence, or Chance, or Fate ; 
 
 Then more succinctly to relate 
 
 How love for her such outburst drew — 
 
 A love, he vowed, both strong and trae, 
 
 Strengthen'd by intercourse so sweet ; 
 
 And why shoidd pride its course defeat ? 
 
 "What if his mother's wrath should rise ? — 
 
 That he learned long since to despise.
 
 ESTHER. 102 
 
 Though old associates, too, might sneer, 
 
 His manly courage would not fear. 
 
 With much in like heroic strain 
 
 He seemed to seek her love to gain ; 
 
 "While, ere the grand oration closed, 
 
 A private marriage he proposed. 
 
 Esther was vexed that words too weak 
 
 Half her indignant thoughts to speak 
 
 Were all that came at her command ; 
 
 But even they to fury fann'd 
 
 Sir Henry's pompous boastful mind. 
 
 Not his the common lot (more kind 
 
 Than many think) of being told 
 
 His real faults in darkest fold 
 
 They were enwrapp'd and hid from view — 
 
 At least his own ; but now in true 
 
 Clear light before him Esther placed 
 
 Meanness and falsehood that disgraced 
 
 The name of man. His rage no bound 
 
 Appear'd to know, and soon she found 
 
 He might not love, but he could hate ; 
 
 And, long or short, no tranquil state 
 
 He knew until he trampled low 
 
 Those who had dared to aim a blow 
 
 At his desires or self-esteem, — 
 
 Revenge as certain they might deem. 
 
 In Esther's case awhile it stayed — 
 More to be dreaded since delayed.
 
 104 ESTIIEE. 
 
 On reaching home she soon reveal'd 
 All to his mother, and appeal'd 
 To her protection from his rage ; 
 Awaking in that breast of age 
 Harsh taunting speeches for her son, 
 And hatred, lasting as his own, 
 For Esther, though she did not share 
 The vengeance his wild mind might dare, 
 If his poor victim he might crush ; 
 Her plan, with yet a heavier rush 
 Of anger, fretfulness, and spite. 
 All Esther's harass'd youth to blight. 
 From it at least one good accrued 
 (To Esther one of magnitude) — 
 Sir Henry left his mother's roof. 
 And held himself a while aloof; 
 But in a few short months he came 
 Again its sheltering guard to claim. 
 This time his plan was all arranged, 
 And greatly were his habits changed. 
 His coming marriage he declared. 
 And gladly all the household shared 
 His seemingly more gentle mood — 
 Only to Esther gravely rude, 
 "Watching her with suspicious look. 
 Whatever course her actions took. 
 Her desk (now seldom used) he knew — 
 And that his key unlocked it, too.
 
 ESTHER. 105 
 
 And when the others were asleep 
 To it with stealthiest step he 'd creep, 
 Jewels and trinkets placing there, 
 That from his mother's set with care 
 He .took away from time to time. 
 For charging Esther with the crime 
 Of theft was what he had devised 
 As fitting punishment. Apprised 
 That one by one her jewels went, 
 All Lady Merton's thoughts were bent 
 On finding the offender out ; 
 But, baffled, she could only doubt. 
 Until she missed a diamond ring, 
 Costly and rare. Vowing to bring 
 The mystery to a sudden close. 
 She summon'd law to interpose ; 
 And brought its officer to haul 
 And search at once the goods of all. 
 
 Sir Henry ventured to suggest 
 That probably it might be best 
 To ascertain who saw it last : 
 That little clue some light might cast 
 Upon it ; and he deemed 't were Avell 
 On that one's property first fell 
 Investigation. It might chance 
 Their object greatly to advance.
 
 106 ESTHER. 
 
 To all 't was known that Esther's eye 
 
 Had been the last the ring to spy, 
 
 When bringing Lady Merton down 
 
 A brooch she wanted : it was gone 
 
 "When next the casket was surveyed 
 
 By Antoinette, the lady's maid. 
 
 Esther was conscious of the slight 
 
 Sir Henry's words convey'd ; and might 
 
 Her innocence be fully proved, 
 
 And that strange stigma be removed, 
 
 "Resolved a more congenial home 
 
 To seek, though far she had to roam. 
 
 All she possess'd was ransack'd o'er. 
 
 Except her desk. Sir Henry wore 
 
 A haggard, nervous, pallid look, 
 
 His hand, too, somewhat slightly shook. 
 
 When, having placed it in their view, 
 
 ToAvards it he fresh attention drew. 
 
 But — little guessing that his hand 
 
 Had touched, and oft his eye had scanned. 
 
 Each content, that a sacred thing 
 
 She held — quick Esther made a spring 
 
 Forward, with the impulsive plea, 
 
 ' Oh ! not my desk ! ' in time to see 
 
 The missing jewels all disclosed. 
 
 Those who unshaken trust reposed 
 
 In her till then now stood aloof, 
 
 Stagger'd by such convincing proof.
 
 ESTHEE. 107 
 
 Swift 'cross her mind there flash'd the thought 
 
 By whom the treachery was wrought ; 
 
 Calm and collected, she perceived 
 
 The_well-laid plot ; nor more deceived 
 
 Was Lady Merton. Well she knew 
 
 Her son would ruthlessly piusue 
 
 A triumph that she strove to aid, — 
 
 Of his detection most afraid. 
 
 That night within the county gaol 
 
 Esther was lodged ; of no avail 
 
 Was it that she disclaim' d the deed : 
 
 The facts were thought too strong to need 
 
 More confirmation ; so she pent 
 
 Her heart's deep angvdsh up, and bent 
 
 Prostrate to let them work their will, 
 
 Cold as a statue and as still. 
 
 The story soon appeared in print : 
 Thus it was Donald gained a hint 
 Of the affair ; his trustful mind 
 No doubt of Esther's truth enshrin'd. 
 Puzzled and grieved he was indeed, 
 But of her suffering and her need 
 He only thought ; — his was the right 
 To soothe and cheer her ; and ere night 
 Set in, his journey was begun — 
 Trusting that Esther would not shun
 
 lOS ESTHER. 
 
 His sympathy in her distress, 
 His aid in seeking some redress. 
 
 Thick fell the lar^e white flakes of snow, 
 And winds were moaning out their woe, 
 As, on a dark December morn. 
 Deserted, hopeless, and forlorn, 
 Esther sat crouching in her cell, 
 Crush'd 'neath the blow that on her fell 
 So suddenly ; her heart felt cold, 
 As prison'd in an icebound hold. 
 And hope and joy and grief had fled, — 
 Pride and resentment too were dead. 
 Her thoughts were free to range the past, 
 But fetter'd if a glance they cast 
 On present or on future things — 
 Like to a harp whose broken strings 
 Only admit a trifling part 
 Of its wild whisp'rings to the heart. 
 No feeling seem'd her -soul to thrill. 
 Except it might be terror's chill. 
 As footsteps sounded 'long the floor. 
 And the key turn'd within the door ; 
 And no emotion or surprise 
 Appear'd by outward sign to rise 
 T\^ien Donald entered there alone. 
 Rigid and motionless as stone,
 
 ESTHER. 109 
 
 She ■watclied Mm witli a steady gaze 
 
 Advance, and suffered him to raise 
 
 Her up and kiss her pale worn cheek ; 
 
 But neither had the power to speak. 
 
 He drew her head on to his breast, 
 
 And long 'twas silently caressed; 
 
 While Esther, clinging to his arm, 
 
 As if there only safe fi-om harm. 
 
 Had locked the floodgates of her grief — 
 
 Words would not come to give relief. 
 
 Thus nearly half an hour had passed. 
 
 Gliding too surely and too fast, 
 
 When towards them heavy footsteps sped ; 
 
 And in an agony of dread 
 
 She hfted u.p her shackled ^vrist, 
 
 Their separation to resist. 
 
 ' Donald, don't leave me, do not go ! ' 
 
 She pleaded heedless of the woe 
 
 That echoed in her bitter cry ; 
 
 If left, she felt it was to die. 
 
 Donald had been to offer bail 
 
 Before he visited the gaol : 
 
 His o"\vn and Percy's name obtained 
 
 Acceptance of it, — so he gain'd 
 
 Freedom for Esther till the time 
 
 Fixed for the trial of the crime. 
 
 He knew not now how much to tell, 
 
 If but that she must leave, as well.
 
 110 ESTHER. 
 
 Unqtiestioning slie Avould receive 
 What he should say, and might believe 
 That truth had won the victory, 
 And hope that she was wholly free. 
 Details he feared might give her pain, — 
 And that his tenderness was fain 
 To spare her wounded breaking heart ; 
 So he strove gently to impart 
 The real truth, and yet suppress 
 Terms that might waken her distress. 
 Well Esther understood the whole : 
 Feeling was roused, and teardrops stole 
 Fast from her eyes, while burning came 
 To her fair cheek the blush of shame. 
 Confinement in that hideous place, 
 The degradation and disgrace, 
 She knew but scarce had felt before ; 
 The scene now all its horrors wore 
 Before a gaze intensified ; ; 
 And, almost wishing she had died. 
 Her face 'gainst Donald's arm she hid. 
 Till fainting from its clasp she slid. 
 The pang that forces human grief 
 To words or tears oft brings relief ; 
 And Esther felt, when she revived. 
 Her sorrow's outbui-st had deprived 
 That sorrow of its keenest hold. 
 Her face seem'd more of mortal mould,
 
 ESTHER. 1 1 1 
 
 And less like rigid sculptured stone, 
 "While somewhat lighter, too, had grown 
 The heavy weight upon her heart, 
 That might not all at once depart. 
 
 Confiding all to Donald's care. 
 She drove, — but never asking where — 
 With him, miles distant from the gaol, 
 By far too stricken and too frail 
 To plan her course or make request 
 What Donald will'd would be the best. 
 Supposing Jessie's home to be 
 Their destination, silently 
 And long she ponder'd should she find 
 Her still the same, or might her mind 
 Be warp'd by doubt : she could not say. 
 But when her grief the heaviest lay 
 Full faith in Donald's trust she felt ; 
 Within her heart had constant dwelt 
 The sweet assurance he would ne'er 
 Leave her alone deserted there ; 
 Proofs might be many and be strong, 
 He 'd hold her guiltless of the wrong 
 Of Jessie she was not so sure ; 
 She felt she never could endure 
 From her a doubting glance to meet ; 
 But scarcely was the thought complete,
 
 112 ESTHEE. 
 
 Ere all its bitterness and fear 
 
 "Were whispered into Donald's ear, 
 
 And, all unasked, slie tried to tell 
 
 How every circumstance befel. 
 
 To him this once she would declare 
 
 Her innocence of any share 
 
 In the strange theft of which he knew, 
 
 Though tears of shame the effort drew. 
 
 Donald was glad at length to gain 
 
 Her confidence ; to her, 'twas plain. 
 
 Without that'aid his faith stood fast, 
 
 Firm and endurmg to the last. 
 
 Again the sound of Jessie's name 
 
 From Esther questioningly came. 
 
 And with a strange surprise she heard 
 
 Her friend had never learned a word 
 
 Of the event : Lord Atherton 
 
 And she to Italy were gone 
 
 Ere it occurred. With puzzled air, 
 
 Esther next asked of Donald where 
 
 He meant to take her ? — she had thousfht 
 
 The haU had been the home they sought. 
 
 With tenderness, resolved and grave, 
 
 Donald his answer calmly gave, — 
 
 Home to the cottage ! Hastily 
 
 Unfolding them, he let her see 
 
 A marriage licence and a ring ; 
 
 Less than an hour, he said, would bring
 
 ESTHEK. 113 
 
 Them to a village, where he stayed 
 In going, and arrangements made 
 From their home-course an hour to spare, 
 And take the marriage vows while there 
 That morning. Well did he maintain 
 An air of confidence, to gain 
 His end, and yet 't was little felt. 
 Meanwhile in Esther's bosom dwelt 
 Conflicting thoughts she scarce could guide 
 Or regulate, though much she tried. 
 Sorrow had taught humility, 
 And love was echoing Donald's plea ; 
 She seemed to rest upon his strength, 
 And yearn' d to have a right at length 
 His counsel and his aid to claim ; 
 While separation's very name 
 Tortured her heart. Yet could she bear 
 His name in her disgrace to wear ? 
 Her pride before had done him wrong, 
 That to repair she had not long. 
 For life she felt was ebbing fast ; 
 'T were sweet to spend it to the last 
 With Donald, and she judged him well 
 In guessing how his heart v/ould swell 
 With raptiu-e, and would sternly fling 
 Aside the world's disdain and bring 
 Solace to hers ; — that time woidd be 
 His one most cherished memory. 
 I
 
 114 ESTHER. 
 
 When she was gone it might impart 
 Some comfort to his siiiFering heart. 
 So with his Avishes she comphed, — 
 Wishes so oft before denied. 
 Hiding forebodings in her breast, 
 She every other thought confessed, 
 And sought forgiveness of the pride 
 So long permitted to divide 
 Hearts closely knit in bonds of love. 
 Sadly she mused, as Donald strove 
 (Hope shining brightly from his eyes 
 At all they were to realise) 
 To picture years of happiness ; 
 Her heart ached with the consciousness 
 That near and heavy was the blow 
 Visions so fair were doomed to know. 
 
 Ere long the village church they gained. 
 Within a peaceful stillness reigned. 
 No agitation marked the look 
 Or tone of either as they took 
 Those holy vows ; but calm they knelt 
 Before the altar, while there dwelt 
 In both a precious trusting faith — 
 Dearer than life, more strong than death. 
 The rite was ended : Donald raised 
 His wife up lovingly, and gazed
 
 ESTHEE. 115 
 
 Upon her face. To liim it seem'd 
 The glance of tenderness that gleam'd 
 From her clear ejes so pure and fair 
 Was such as angels' looks might wear. 
 But let us veil an hour replete 
 With sacred confidence, and greet 
 The travelers as their home they neared 
 By night ; — a myriad, stars appear'd, 
 Shining above the mountain ridge, 
 While in a boat from Pooley Bridge 
 Quickly along the lake they rowed. 
 'T was Christmas Eve, and feeling glow'd 
 Grateful and strong as Esther thought 
 Of Bethlehem and the love that brought 
 Christ to redeem a sinful race 
 Of ruined men : what wondrous grace 
 Were in His life and death combined ! 
 Then faith glanced forward, till her mind 
 Kested upon the peace, the love. 
 The bliss awaiting her above — 
 Bliss Donald, very soon would share. 
 That thought made all the rest more fair ; 
 And closer to his side she drew, 
 As earthward then a glance she threw. 
 And thoughts of death and parting came, 
 To wake a sigh that few could blame. 
 Lights from the cottage now were shown. 
 The waters, too, had shallower grown, 
 I 2
 
 116 ESTHER. 
 
 And almost in a moment more 
 
 She stood with Donald on the shore, 
 
 In childhood trodden and beloved. 
 
 Why had her footsteps ever roved ? 
 
 They never more should wand'ring roam 
 
 From this her own and Donald's home. 
 
 Nursing, and tenderness, and skill 
 
 Were given her there, but prosper'd ill : 
 
 Weaker, more shadowy, day by day 
 
 She seemed to grow, and anguish lay, 
 
 Fighting with hope, in Donald's heart ; 
 
 If aught could bid the stain depart 
 
 That rested upon deeds so pure 
 
 As hers, he thought 't would work a cure 
 
 The most effectual, so he drew 
 
 Forth all his energy and threw 
 
 It to the work. Alas ! in vain, — 
 
 The charge seem'd only strength to gain. 
 
 The Lindsays spurn'd it, and their aid 
 
 Was given to Donald ; but, afraid 
 
 Of agitating Esther more. 
 
 The aspect that the matter wore 
 
 Was hidden from her ; till one day. 
 
 As she was sitting near the bay 
 
 Talking with Donald, news was brought, 
 
 Officially, of strange import : — 
 
 Sir Henry Merton had been slain 
 
 In duelling ; while he had lain.
 
 ESTHER. U7 
 
 In terror at the point of death, 
 He pleaded with his gasping breath 
 To see a magistrate. They brought 
 One to his presence, and he sought 
 Distinctly to relate the wrong 
 Esther had suffered from so lono;. 
 His scheme of vengeance and his deed 
 Of crime confess'd entirely freed 
 Her from suspicion ; but too late, — 
 Sorrow and shame had seal'd her fate. 
 The eyes were tearful that she raised 
 To Donald's ; he had fondly gazed. 
 Trusting to see the healthful sjjring 
 Of life, that hope revived should bring ; 
 But in those clear sweet eyes he read 
 The withering, blighting truth instead — 
 That waning was her mortal life, 
 Fast, A^ery fast. His gentle wife 
 Knew what it was that he perceived. 
 And for his agony she grieved. 
 Each knew the other's thought as well 
 As if expressed in words it fell 
 Upon the ear ; but neither spoke, 
 Save when from Esther quivering broke 
 Some word of soothing tenderness. 
 Answer'd by fond, but mute, caress. 
 
 Donald possessed a power of will 
 Not often found, and stronger still
 
 1 18 ESTHER. 
 
 Was love for Esther ; so he vowed 
 He would not let his misery cloud 
 Her parting life; — love, only love, 
 Then should it be her lot to prove 
 He vowed, and well he kept it long, 
 Striving ' to suffer and be strong.' 
 But once the tempest in his soul 
 Burst forth, in spite of all control, — 
 A hurricane of passion's tide. 
 The anguish, for so long denied 
 A voice, now bitter accents wrung ; 
 And to his lips despairing sprung 
 Words filling Esther with dismay, — 
 To comfort him, what could she say ? 
 She thought that what had brought relief 
 To her might soothe her husband's grief, 
 And help him to endure the stroke ; 
 So grave and quietly she spoke : — 
 
 When first I knew that I must die, 
 
 Donald, my heart was wrung 
 With dread and darksome agony. 
 
 And fast to life I clung ; 
 Till one day, as I sorrowed thus, 
 
 Distinct I seemed to hear 
 The Saviour's kind upbraiding voice. 
 
 Speaking in accents clear : —
 
 ESTHER. 119 
 
 ' " Esther, you were not used to spurn 
 
 The messages I sent, 
 Or from My loving gifts to turn, 
 
 Or blessings that I lent ; 
 But now I send My messenger, 
 
 To bring you safely home. 
 You will not listen to the voice, 
 
 But, lingering, wish to roam !" 
 
 ' I pleaded earth was beautiful, 
 
 I could not quit my hold. 
 And death seem'd very terrible — 
 
 I fear'd its icy cold. 
 Why had we sunshine, flowers, and spring. 
 
 To twine around the heart. 
 Making it tighter earthward cling ? — 
 
 We had so soon to part. 
 
 ' He said, " Yes, earth is beautiful ; 
 
 My hand its surface bless'd 
 With joys you fain would stay to cull ; 
 
 But heavenly joys are best. 
 To those who all their sacred bliss 
 
 Are privileged to find 
 Itemembrance of the former things 
 
 Shall never come to mind.
 
 '20 ESTHER. 
 
 ' " The flowers of that eternal spring 
 
 Under no curse are laid ; 
 Earth's, while they seem so flourishing, 
 
 Are almost seen to fade. 
 Here sunshine, even when 'tis seen. 
 
 Is but a passing light ; 
 Heaven's is a clear enduring beam, — 
 
 There naught is known of night." 
 
 ' I listened, and my weary heart 
 
 Almost inclined to go, 
 For well I knew that trouble oft 
 
 Was felt by those below. 
 But, then, life's dearest, strongest claim 
 
 Came rushing on my heart ; 
 And, as I breathed my husband's name, 
 
 I prayed we might not part. 
 
 * But oh ! the sight of Jesu's love, 
 
 That then to me was given — 
 Surpassing, dearest, even yours — 
 
 It made me long for Heaven. 
 And yet, and yet — may God forgive ! — 
 
 But, Donald, even then 
 Shadows seemed resting on its joys 
 
 Till we should meet again.
 
 ESTHEK. 121 
 
 * Compassionate the Saviour spoke, 
 
 And bade me not to grieve, 
 For He would guard and bless the one 
 
 That I so fear'd to leave — 
 Leading us both by paths unknown, 
 
 If thorny, yet to meet 
 In happiness before His throne. 
 
 And worship at His feet. 
 
 ' Life, death, and thee I now can trust 
 
 Entirely to Him, 
 So kind, so merciful, and just — 
 
 So gracious to redeem. 
 And Donald, dear one, tell me that 
 
 You would not have me stay ; 
 Jesus will heal your wounded heart 
 
 When I have passed away.' — 
 But, * May He help me to submit I' 
 
 Was all that heart could say. . 
 
 The day was breaking one sweet morn 
 In spring, and breezes light were borne, 
 A widely-opened casement through, 
 Into a room, where Esther drew 
 Faintly and slow her failing breath. 
 No need to ask if that were death !
 
 12-2 ESTHER. 
 
 It was her birthday — twenty-three 
 Were all that she had lived to see. 
 This was the last ; its sunshine bore 
 Thoughts back to one seven years before, 
 When gay they went to Aira Force ; — 
 It still roll'd on with accents hoarse, 
 But Esther's course was almost run, 
 Less sparkling than when first begun ; 
 But such the clear pure calm displayed, 
 It seemed far loveliest in the shade. 
 The watchers spoke not, — all was hush'd 
 In silence, but there often rush'd 
 'Cross Esther's watchful dying gaze 
 A look of love she sought to raise 
 To Donald, and his hand was fast 
 Clasp'd by her own till life was past. 
 So still, so peacefully, it fled, 
 They scarcely knew that she was dead. 
 
 Alone beside her Donald knelt, 
 Heedless to hide the grief he felt ; 
 It could not hurt her ; but it seem'd 
 As if the perfect peace that beam'd 
 Even in death from that fair face 
 Forbade his woe ; — he could but trace 
 Her upward flight ; now she was bless'd 
 Unutterably, and at rest.
 
 ESTHER. 123 
 
 Sunbeams that pierced that darken'd room 
 He did not feel to mock his gloom : 
 They seemed to typify the light 
 Then bursting upon Esther's sight. 
 Not his the wish to bring her back ; 
 But often as the lone dark track, 
 Spread out before him, met his view, 
 In prayer and faith he sorrowing drew 
 Close to the tender loving Arm 
 That sheltered her so safe from harm. 
 Even as they laid her 'neath the sod, 
 Heart-broke, he tried to kiss the rod. 
 
 Distant he wandered from the spot. 
 And both had been long time forgot ; 
 For nearly fifty years had flown : 
 Old men were dead, and boys were grown 
 To grandsires, when a stranger came 
 (An aged man of unknown name) 
 To the old cot ; his step was slow, 
 Infirm, and feeble ; white as snow 
 His locks of hair ; but travel's dye 
 Had stained his cheek ; his full dark eye 
 Shone with the lustre of his youth, 
 And told of nobleness and truth. 
 The children watch'd him day by day 
 Visit the place where Esther lay ;
 
 124 ESTHER. 
 
 But intercourse with none he sought, 
 
 Save when some kindly deed he wrought. 
 
 He linger'd kneeling there so still 
 
 One day that, fancying he was ill, 
 
 Shily the little ones drew near ; 
 
 But with a strange alarm and fear 
 
 Back to their homes they swiftly fled, 
 
 To tell them there that he was dead ! 
 
 It was too true ; but none could tell 
 
 His name, or where his friends might dwell ; 
 
 So the old clergyman was brought, 
 
 And his decisive counsel sought. 
 
 He had succeeded Cyril Grey, 
 
 And glancing on the form that lay 
 
 Before him, wrapt in Death's embrace, 
 
 Instantly knew the speaking face 
 
 Of Donald Ross. The weary strife 
 
 And sorrow of his lonely life 
 
 Were over — and in Esther's grave 
 
 The wished-for resting-place they gave. 
 
 There a small tombstone used to rise, 
 
 Sometimes attracting strangers' eyes : 
 
 But mosses now and lichens hide 
 
 Its record that they lived and died. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODK AND CO., NBW-STBKBT SQCABE, LONDOW. 
 
 ;-

 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 lOM-l 1-50 2^5,470 remington rand inc. 2a 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 CHIVERSITY OF CAUFORmS 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 PR 
 J35e 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC 
 
 AA 000 374 106 :
 
 ■V^>1 
 
 '.\ 
 
 Jt