DIRGE
I
Weep not for her!—Oh she was far too fair,
Too pure to dwell on this guilt-tainted earth!
The sinless glory, and the golden air
Of Zion, seem’d to claim her from her birth;
A Spirit wander’d from its native Zone,
Which, soon discovering, took her for its own:
Weep not for Her!II
Weep not for her!—Her span was like the sky,
Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright;
Like flowers that know not what it is to die;
Like long-linked, shadeless months of Polar light;
Like music floating o’er a waveless lake,
While Echo answers from the flowery brake:
Weep not for Her!III
Weep not for her!—She died in early youth,
Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues;
When human bosoms seem’d the homes of truth,
And earth still gleam’d with beauty’s radiant dews.
Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze;
Her wine of life was run not to the lees:
Weep not for Her!IV
Weep not for her!—By fleet or slow decay,
It never grieved her bosom’s core to mark
The playmates of her childhood wane away,
Her prospects wither, or her hopes grow dark;
Translated by her God with spirit shriven,
She pass’d as ’twere in smiles from earth to heaven.
Weep not for Her!V
Weep not for her!—It was not hers to feel
The miseries that corrode amassing years,
’Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel,
To wander sad down age’s vale of tears,
As whirl the withered leaves from friendship’s tree,
And on earth’s wintry wold alone to be:
Weep not for Her!VI
Weep not for her!—She is an angel now,
And treads the sapphire floors of paradise:
All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow,
Sin, sorrow, suffering, banish’d from her eyes;
Victorious over death, to her appear
The vista’d joys of heaven’s eternal year;
Weep not for Her!Weep not for her!—Her memory is the shrine
Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers,
Calm as on windless eve the sun’s decline,
Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,
Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light,
Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night:
Weep not for Her!VIII
Weep not for her!—There is no cause for woe;
But rather nerve the spirit that it walk
Unshrinking o’er the thorny paths below,
And from earth’s low defilements keep thee back:
So, when a few, fleet, severing years have flown,
She’ll meet thee at heaven’s gate—and lead thee on!
Weep not for Her.
Having right and law on my side, as any man of judgment may perceive with half an eye, nothing could hinder me, if I so liked, to print the whole bundle; but, in the meantime, we must just be satisfied with the foregoing curiosities, which we have picked out. All that I have set down concerning myself, the reader may take on credit as open and even-down truth; but as to whether Taffy’s master’s nick-nackets be true or false, every one is at liberty, in this free country, to think for himself. Old sparrows are not easily caught with chaff; and unless I saw a proper affidavit, I would not, for my own part, pin my faith to a single word of them. But every man his own opinion,—that’s my motto.
In the Yankee Almanack of Poor Richard, which, besides the Pilgrim’s Progress and the Book of Martyrs,
I whiles read on the week-days for a little diversion, I see it is set down with great rationality, that “we should never buy for the bargain sake.” Experience teaches all men, and I found that to my cost in this matter; for, cheap as the coat and waistcoat seemed which I had bought from the auld-farrant Welsh flunkie with the peaked hat and the pigtail, I made no great shakes of them after all. Neither the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, nor any other of the grand public characters, ever made me an offer for them, as some had led me to expect; and the play house people lay all as quiet as ducks in a storm. After hanging at my window for two or three months, collecting all the idle wives and weans of the parish to glour and gaze at them from morn till night, during which time I got half of my lozens broken, by their knocking one another’s heads through, I was obliged to get quit of them at last, by selling them to a man and his son, that kept dancing dogs, Pan’s pipes, and a tambourine; and that made a livelihood by tumbling on a carpet in the middle of the street, the one playing “Carle now the King’s come,” as the other whummled head over heels, and then jumped up into the air, cutting capers, to show that not a bone of his body had been broken.
Knowing that the raiment was not for everybody’s wear, and that the like of it was not to be found in a country side, I put a decent price on it, “foreign birds with fair feathers” aye taking the top place of the
market. When I mentioned forty shillings to the dancing-dog man and his son, they said nothing, but, putting their tongues in their cheeks, took up their hats, wishing me a good day. Next forenoon, however, a sleight-of-hand character having arrived, together with a bass drum and a bugle horn, that was likely to take the shine out of them, and maybe also purchase my article—which was capital for his purpose, having famous wide sleeves—they came back in less than no time, asking the liberty, before finally concluding with me, of carrying them home to their lodgings for ten minutes to see how they would fit; and, in that case, offering me thirty-five shillings and an old flute. The old flute was for next to no use at all, except for wee Benjie, poor thing, too-tooing on, to keep him good, and I told them so, myself being no musicianer; but would take their offer not to quarrel. It would not do unless some of us were timber-tuned; men not being meant for blackbirds.
Home went the man, and home went the son, and home went my grand coat and waistcoat over his arm; and putting my hands into my breeches pockets, as if I had satisfactorily concluded a great transaction, I marched ben to the back shop, and took my needle into play, as if nothing in the world had happened; but where their home lay, or whether the raiment fitted or not, goodness knows, having never to this blessed hour heard word or wittens of either of them. Such a
pair of blacks! It just shows us how simple we Scotch folk are. The London man swindled me out of my lawful room-rent and my Sunday velveteens; the Eirishers, as will be but too soon seen, made free with my hen-house, committing felonious robbery at the dead hour of night; and here a decent-looking old Welshman, with a pigtail tied with black tape, palmed a grand coat and waistcoat upon me, that were made away with by a man and his son, a devilish deal too long out of Botany Bay.
Benjie, poor doggie, was vastly proud of the flute, which he fifed away on morning, noon, and night; and, for more than a fortnight, would not go to his bed unless it was laid under his pillow. But for me I could not bide the sight of it, knowing whose hands it had been in, and reminding me as it did of the depravity of human nature.