DJOUNI. THE RESIDENCE OF LADY HESTER STANHOPE.
Oh ladye, wherefore to the desert flying,
Didst thou forsake old England’s sea-beat strand,
To dwell where never voice to thine replying,
Repeats the accents of thy native land?
Around thee the white pelican is sweeping,
Watching the slumbers of her callow brood;
And at the fountains of her fond heart keeping
The last supply of their precarious food.
Far spreads the wilderness of sand, as lonely
As is the silence of the eternal grave;
And for thy home companions, thou hast only
The dog, the Arab steed, the flower, the slave.
And rightly hast thou judged. On the strong pinion
Of an unfettered will thy flight was made;
At once escaping from the false dominion
Of our cold life, whose hopes are still betrayed.
What is the social world thou hast forsaken?—
A scene of wrong and sorrow, guilt and guile;
Whence Love a long and last farewell has taken,
Where friends can smile, and "murder while they smile."
Small truth is there among us—little kindness—
And falsehood still at work to make that less.
We hurry onward in our selfish blindness,
Not knowing that the truth were happiness.
Ah! wisely hast thou chosen thus to leave us,
For thou hast left society behind.
What are to thee the petty cares that grieve us,
The cold—the false—the thankless—the unkind?
Thy home is in the desert; fit disdaining
Thou showest to the present and to us.
Calm with the future and the past remaining,
Hopeful the one—the other glorious.
"How could I," said Lady Hester, "live with the common people of usual life, after having lived with my uncle—England's prime minister—Pitt?"
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