On the commencement of the contagion, Mrs. Mompesson threw herself with her babes at the feet of her husband, to supplicate his flight from that devoted place; but not even the entreaties and tears of a beloved wife could induce him to desert his flock, in those hours of danger and dismay. Equally fruitless were his solicitations that she would retire with her infants. The result of this pathetic contest was a resolve to abide together the fury of the pestilence, and to send their children away.
They went—those lovely ones, to their retreat.
They went—those glorious ones, to their employ;
To check the ominous speed of flying feet;
To quell despair; to soothe the fierce annoy,
Which, as a stormy ocean without buoy
Tossing a ship distressed, twixt reef and rock,
Hurried the crowd, from years of quiet joy
Thus roused to fear by this terrific shock;
And wild, distracted, mazed, the pastor met his flock.
It was the immediate purpose of this wise and excellent man, to stay his parishioners from flight, lest they should bear the contagion beyond their own district, and desolate the country.
They heard, and they obeyed,—for, simple-hearted,
He was to them their wisdom and their tower;
To theirs, his brilliant spirit had imparted
All that they knew of virtue’s loftier power;
Their friend, their guide, their idolized endower
With daily blessings, health of mind and frame;
They heard, and they obeyed;—but not the more
Obeyed the plague; no skill its wrath could tame;
It grew, it raged, it spread; like a devouring flame.
Oh! piteous was it then that place to tread;
Where children played and mothers had looked on,
They lay, like flowers plucked to adorn the dead;
The bright-eyed maid no adoration won;
Youth in its greenness, trembling age was gone;
O’er each bright cottage hearth death’s darkness stole;
Tears fell, pangs racked, where happiness had shone.
From a rational belief, that assembling in the crowded church for public worship during the summer heats, must spread and increase the contagion, he agreed with his afflicted parishioners, that he should read prayers twice a week, and deliver his two customary sermons on the sabbath, from one of the perforated arches in the rocks of the dingle. By his advice they ranged themselves on the grassy steep in a level direction to the rocky pulpit; and the dell being narrow, he was distinctly heard from that arch.
The poem describes the spot, and the manner of the worship:—
There is a dell, the merry schoolboy’s sling
Whirled in the village, might discharge a stone
Into its centre; yet, the shouts which ring
Forth from the hamlet travel, over blown,
Nor to its sheltered quietude are known.
So hushed, so shrouded its deep bosom lies,
It brooks no sound, but the congenial tone
Of stirring leaves, loud rill, the melodies
Of summer’s breezy breath, or autumn’s stormier skies.
Northward, from shadowy rocks, a wild stream pours;
Then wider spreads the hollow—lofty trees
Cast summer shades; it is a place of flowers,
Of sun and fragrance, birds and chiming bees.
Then higher shoot the hills. Acclivities
Splintered and stern, each like a castle grey,
Where ivy climbs, and roses woo the breeze,
Narrow the pass; there, trees in close array
Shut, from this woodland cove, all distant, rude survey.