Poems (Hinxman)/The Emigrant
THE EMIGRANT.
The farewell visit had to every friendBeen made: her task was done; and now the roadThat led her home was o'er the downs. The shadesOf that dear village at her feet she saw,And as she walked alone, the thoughts and tears,Kept back by force through all that busy day,Rose irrepressible. She stopped and satUpon a knoll where crept the humble thyme,Sweet in its early bloom; with fragrant breathThe breeze that haunts the downs about her strayed,And to her wistful eyes the dying day Put all its beauty forth. The slopes that stretchedBeneath her feet, blushed to the sunset sky,—Then came the tufted hedgerows, and the tractsOf quiet pasture-grounds that slept between;Some with a centre darkened by the shadeOf broad and solitary oak, or groupOf elms, to which, with busy voice and wing,The rooks were crowding home,—some sprinkled o'erWith placid herds of cattle, some still brownWith scattered hay; and ever and anon,—Catching a parting sunbeam,—the shy streamRevealed its course through all those pleasant fields,Then glided into arching shade again,While from its bank the sauntering angler droppedHis line upon its glassy breast, or stoopedThe maiden with her pitcher. Through the boughs Of orchard trees the cottage gables laughed,Past which his team along the curving roadThe whistling labourer guided. From the BridgeArose the shouts of children at their play;O there and thus had she a thousand timesPlayed through a merry childhood! Crimson lightFlamed in the windows of the old Church tower,That had so lately to the hills aroundGiven forth the music of her wedding-chime,—Her's, but a Bride last week, an EmigrantTo-morrow morn from England's happy shores.She sat and gazed until the tranquil skyHad yielded up its glories; in the west,Only a line of pale green light remained,O'er which, with meek and holy lustre, hungThe evening star;—so o'er the broad dark seaAnd lonely vessel on the morrow's nightIts gentle rays should beam, a link to home, A witness and a type to wanderers' hearts,Of that pervading Presence and that LoveWhich changes not with time or scene. She claspedHer hands, and bowed her forehead, and a prayerBreathed from a trusting spirit, flowed to Heaven.And when she took again her homeward path,Her step fell cheerily on the turf, her heartWas!lightened like a cloud that floats away,When showers were ended, over the blue sky;Nor, when the curfew chimes with sudden callAwakened the clear echoes of the hills,Fell they with sound too blithe upon a heartComposed and gladdened by love, hope, and faith.
1845.