A winter in retirement

by Hannah Blaney Washburn

There is a spot, dearer than all beside;

A spot where all the joys of life abide;

Where sweet affections cluster round the heart,

Where peace and love their purest hopes impart;

That spot is Home—

Call you this Death? ’Tis Life, immortal Life.

The duties of the succeeding day were not neglected, though even the short day seemed longer in anticipation of the evening employments. Cowper has given a delightful description of the “ushering in” of a winter evening with all its pleasant accompaniments, and the truth of his lively picture was fully realized as the happy group collected around the sparkling fire. As Herbert continued the tale which had so interested them all listened with attention.

“The tender mother and much loved sister had arrived at the home now rendered solitary by the absence of the son and brother, whose love had sweetened every passing hour. As they approached the mansion of their aged relative, upon whose ancient towers the moon now cast a silvery brightness, and had ascended the eminence upon which it was situated, they stood for a moment to contemplate the scene before them. There lay the proud and magnificent city, its domes and palaces reflecting the soft brightness, and, here, the waves of the Tiber rolled at their feet, its winding course lost in the distance. On their right hand and strongly defined by the light, towered the imperial palace where abode the haughty arbiter of the fate of their Curtius, and, on their left stretched that Amphitheatre, the scene of the most horrid cruelties, drenched with the blood of martyred victims and strewn with their ashes. One thought seemed to possess their minds, one terrible reflection to agitate their bosoms, as they turned, shuddering, from this last prospect and bent their steps toward their dwelling.

“In a spacious but low apartment, bearing marks of ancient magnificence, but lighted by only a solitary lamp, lay reclined upon a couch the kind but feeble old man, so long their protector and sole friend, but now sinking by age and sorrow, for he had seen many endeared to him by the most sacred associations suffering cruel tortures and an ignominious death for Christ’s sake, and amongst them the holy apostle Paul, from whose lips he had first heard the truth proclaimed, “as it is in Jesus.” This stroke had bowed him to the earth, and, although bending in submission to the will of his Maker, his frame had yielded and he was fast hastening to his rest. The untiring watchfulness of faithful love hovered around him, smoothed his pillow and delighted in presenting to his rapt attention the joys of heaven. The walls of that apartment, which had formerly echoed with mirth and revelry, with the heavy tramp of the warrior preparing for battle against the enemies of Rome, or with the commanding voice of the Dictator, issuing mandates to his subjects, now gave back but the heavy breathing of one of the last of their descendants, a feeble old man, but in whose exhausted body dwelt a spark of ethereal fire unknown to them with all their boasted power and splendor. This feeble old man was a Christian. Near him sat a faithful domestic, watching over him in the absence of her mistress with earnest solicitude. As the matron entered the room and bent over him with anxious love, he raised his eyes and a smile of affection passed over his features. ‘Welcome, dearest daughter,’ said he. ‘I am weary of your absence; time passes heavily when I do not see those forms so dear to my heart. Where is Cleone?’ ‘Here, dearest father. You are not worse, I trust. Here is your own Cleone.’ ‘Ah, sweet child, those tones would almost recall me to life, were it indeed deserting this time-worn body; but why do I not see my Curtius? Why is he so long absent? Speak, Octavia; say, Cleone, where is Curtius?’ A look of deep distress shaded their countenances, for with sedulous care they had concealed from him the situation of that darling boy who had been, from his earliest youth, the delight of his heart. ‘Think not, dear father, that, though absent, he forgets you. Oh, no; his messages are full of love and fond remembrance and we will pray that the Lord will restore him to us in his own good time.’ ‘May the blessing of his father’s God rest upon him and you, dear children. Ah,’ said he, partly addressing those around him and partly uttering his own thoughts, ‘I could almost wish that I might live, if it were the will of God, to witness his bright career of glory, dispensing happiness and prosperity over our country and turning the hearts of the people from the worship of their heathen deities to that of the true God. Say, dear daughter, may we not believe that those ties which unite us on earth will continue in heaven, nay, even grow stronger through eternity?’ ‘Father, I cannot doubt it; it is the consoling hope of the Christian.’ ‘Aye, I shall there meet your father, my Cleone; perhaps we shall be permitted to watch over those so beloved upon earth.’ ‘Oh, father!’ said Cleone, ‘would that we might all go together.’ ‘Not so, dearest, you have yet much, I trust, to do in this world.’ He lay silent for some time, apparently in deep meditation; then, raising himself upon his couch and clasping his trembling hands, he said: ‘How long, O Lord, holy and just, shall this fair land be polluted by these abominations? The blood of thy servants has been poured out like water; grant, O Father, that it may call to Thee from the ground, not for vengeance, but for mercy upon the murderers! And the time will come,’ said he, his whole countenance glowing with the animation of youth, ‘the time is not far distant when Rome in her splendor shall bow before the cross of Jesus; when her haughty Emperors shall prostrate themselves before the Christian’s God, and her temples, now blazing with golden honors to Pagan divinities, shall echo with prayers and thanksgivings to the God of the whole earth.’ And he fell back upon his pillow, overpowered by the exulting emotions of his mind, a glow of triumphant joy still rested upon his features and even retained its station there after the heart, which had exulted in this vision of futurity, had ceased to beat and the tongue which had uttered the inspiring prophecy had become mute in death; for, even as the fervent ‘Amen’ lingered upon the lips of those around him, the spirit left its decayed tenement and returned to God who gave it.”

Herbert ceased reading and a solemn stillness prevailed for a few moments, when he repeated the following lines.