A Leaf from the Old Forest

by John D. Cossar

Are the soft murmurings of the silvery stream,
The gentle winds which whisper to the trees
As they go wandering in the border woods,
Or now and then the screeching of an owl,
The bleeting lamb, or distant watch-dog’s howl.

’Twas on this scene Lord Henry loved to dwell—
A noble bearer of a noble name—
Lured by the tranquil of a country home
To muse upon the beauties of the land.
’Twas here the castle of his fathers stood—
Time honored and of pleasing memories,
Adorned of nature and of every art
Which the devising of the mind can give
To feed the fancy of admiring man.
But in these pleasants soon there came a time
When he got weary of the lonesome life,
Which led him, day by day, in the same scenes,
And did not still the longings of his soul.
For now he felt the presence of a power
Which all men feel, that moves the will at ease
Unto a bondage which they fain would shun,
Yet loving well the while the gentle guile
Which bids the soul unto the presence sweet
Of some fair maid, whose winning charms had wrought
Well on the strongholds of a purposed heart,

Until the entrance hath been fully made,
And it is captive to her choosing will,
And all the forms to wedlock which pertain.
This mystic power incited on him more,
Till he resolved to seek a maiden fair,
And share with her the blessings of his home,
And mete with her the measure of his life.
Thus said the voice which whispered to his soul:
“And she shall cheer me in the heavy hours,
And give a spirit to my lonesome life;
And she shall be a maiden, young, and fair,
And gentle, and be termed the sweetest flower
Of all the land for many measures round;
And such a maiden I shall love, and serve,
And honor, and revere, with all the love
Which an admiring soul can give to one
Who is the perfect image of his heart.”
And, ere a while, Lord Henry loved, and wooed,
And wed a maiden of a worthy line,
And led her gently to his country home,
And uséd every power to make her glad,
And loved and served her with a constant love,
And had no mind to other than to her.
For she was sweet, and fair, and gentle (more
Than the bright picture he had fancied of);
And they were happy in such tranquil joys,

As day by day went fleeting on its course,
And saw them still in one united love,
And one to one the source of sweetest joy.
These bore their record ere they passed away
Of some distinguished pleasure to imply—
A sweetness to the retrospective thought.
She was his sole companion day and night.
Oft he would lead her to the flowery lawn,
And in the rosy bowers bedeck her hair,
And watch the image of his soul repose
In all her beauty ’neath a rosy crown;
Amid the fragrance of the blooming eve,
And the soft cadence from the sylvan towers,
Beheld the heaving of her gentle breast,
Moved by the passing of a peaceful breath,
Until of love his soul would overflow;
Then he would bend and lay his lips to hers,
And pour a shower of mellow kisses there.
Then he loved well to hear the harp reply—
The silvery harp—unto her nimble touch,
And shower its floods of melody away,
To mingle with the songs of nature by;
For it knew well the softness of her touch,
And gladly gave its music in return.
But more he loved than music of the harp,
Or songs of many valleys in the Spring,

When every fragment of the air is full
Of song and all the arts of melody,
To hear the sweetness of her full-tuned voice,
Raised to the measure of some favored song;
A life-like presence lending to the theme,
Until the soul is fervent in return
Of they who listen to its thrilling power.
Then they would wander to the village oft,
Now by the path along the bridge, and then
Across the water by the ferry-boat;
For the coy village is across the stream,
Near on a line from where the castle stands,
And nigh it well, that when the breeze accords,
Or calm prevails, the sounds come floating o’er
Of mirthful lads in gambol on the green,
Or the part song of buxom damsel raised,
Who lightly busies at her noonday task;
Anon the chime of the church clock, which tells
Another hour departed of the year.
And all these sounds familiar to them come,
And all the village holds them in respect,
Which as they near the rustic boys will doff
Their brown worn caps in manner rustic like,
While dame and damsel pay a reverence meet
Unto the lady they have learnt to love;
For she is loved by all the people well,

And held in honor as a God-sent friend,—
Kind-hearted to the poor, and to the sick
A double help and kindly comforter.
In manner thus the seasons quickly pass,
One after one,—the flowery Summer and
The golden Autumn, with her bounty hand;
Then, in the background, Winter, and again,
When Spring, the early Summer; it was then,
Her full time having come, the lady went
Unto her chamber, and brought forth a child.
And it was robed, and brought, and put into
The father’s hand, and he was very glad
With the full joy which fills a father’s heart,
And went and kissed his wife, and bade
Her speedy well, and all things seeméd good;
And in his ear a sweet, soft voice foretold:
“Thine is a happy lot of years to come,
All full of tranquil and domestic bliss;
Thy paths are by the ways of harmony,
And a fair train of love shall ever tend,
With all her blessings largely to bestow,
Upon thy head as dew in Summer night.”
Again he went unto his wife, to see
How quickly she got well and how she fared
For he was weary to be wanting her,
And longed to see her graceful form again

Come quickly here and there about his home.
But lo! he saw the hand of sickness had
Upon his loved one laid a ruthless hold,
And that the lustre of her eye had gone,
And that her voice had lost its brightest chords.
Then day and night he watched her, and bestowed
Of every tendence he could think to give,
Which would allay the fever, or imply
Relief awhile unto her aching head.
But day and night he saw her further wane,
Her life-stream ebbing every hour away;
Until at last he saw her wane and die,
Beheld her sink into the arms of death.
Then woeful was the scene, to see him bend
Upon the lifeless form in floods of woe,
Whose bitter torrents overwhelméd long;
And much he wept in full and heavy tears,
Till they who saw it thought his heart would break;
And for long hours he gazed upon her form,
Nor could conceive that she was truly dead.
And all the household wept, and many came
To give him comfort, but he turned away,
And could not hearken to their kindly words,
And rose and left the house to wander out,
And passed the old domestic at the door,
Who dare not question where his master went.

And to the woods he wandered. It was night,
And long the warblers of the dale had sung
Their last glad anthem to the dying day,
And gone to slumber in the sylvan bowers
Until the dawning of another morn.
And on he wandered, but he knew not whence,
For all his thoughts were maddened and confused.
Then to the bower he came, where oft in time
But lately gone he had his loved one led,
And with the fairest flowers bedecked her hair.
He paused awhile, and, with a heavy sigh,
Spake to the flowers, “O ye fair flowers, receive
The lamentations of a widowed heart.
Thy gay perfections have no further charms;
And those sweet odors are diffuséd now
As fragrance is unto a wasted land,
Since she who loved them has for ever gone.”
Then on he pressed into the deepest depths
Of the still woods, his mournful story told
In tears and sighs unto the woods and wilds;
And they made answer in a murmur deep,
Which ran from tree to tree adown the break;
While from the stream a low lamenting came,
And the clear heavens wept gentle tear-drops down,
And every star seemed as a pitying eye—
An eye of love with sparkling tear-drops full.

And all around was mute, and the pale moon
Came forth to take a survey of her realm,
Parading in a calm majestic air
From end to end, and casting here and there,
Through the condenseness of the sylvan boughs,
Her sidelong glances, which intrude the depths,
And lay strange shadows wrangling on the ground.
Then for a while he stood amazed amid
The awful tremor of this death-like calm,
And for a time his grief forgot its depth;
For a calm wonder sat enthroned instead
Upon his soul, which shewed the great, and good,
And grand conception of the God who made
The earth and heavens in order so profound.
And, growing weary, there he sat him down
Beneath the cover of a spreading tree;
For it was many days since he had slept
Or rested for his earnest watchfulness.
He breathed a silent prayer that God would send
Him comfort in and strength to bear the grief,
Then drew his mantle o’er him, and remained
Wrapt in the sadness of his mournful thoughts,
Until the gentle arms of slumber closed
Around him, and he slept a deep, soft sleep.
And in the watches of the night there came
A bright and wondrous vision on his mind.

He dreamt that on a lovely eve he sat
Beneath the shadow of a spreading tree,
In adoration of the beauties round
But heartsore with the burden of his woe;
When the sweet fragments of a heavenly song
Broke on his ear. He raised his eyes, and lo!
Amid the tranquil heights above he saw
Forth from the portals of the eternal gates
Two angel forms descending unto him.
Their garments were as white as Winter snow,
And on their brows were sparkling crowns of gold,
And they had wings as angels, and each held
A banner in her hand, on which these words
In golden letters were so strangely wrought:
“’Tis peace, and love, and joy eternally
Adorns the precincts of our blessed home.”
And bright their presence was as dazzling suns,
Which send a radiance through the heavens wide.
They now before him stood, and she who spake
Was lovely to behold; her perfect form
Was as the form of his departed one,
Yet lovelier far; and the sweet voice did seem
The same sweet voice he had been wont to hear.
In fervent power, yet softly, thus she spake:
“Dear Henry, rise and mourn no more for me,
Since I am in a sweet eternity,