Poems (Procter)/The Sailor Boy

by Adelaide Anne Procter

THE SAILOR BOY.

Y Life you ask of? why, you knowFull soon my little Life is told;It has had no great joy or woe,For I am only twelve years old.Erelong I hope I shall have beenOn my first voyage, and wonders seen.Some princess I may help to freeFrom pirates on a far-off sea;Or, on some desert isle be left,Of friends and shipmates all bereft.

 For the first time I venture forthFrom our blue mountains of the north.My kinsman kept the lodge that stoodGuarding the entrance near the wood,By the stone gateway gray and old,With quaint devices carved about,And broken shields; while dragons boldGlared on the common world without;And the long trembling ivy sprayHalf hid the centuries' decay.In solitude and silence grandThe castle towered above the land:The castle of the Earl, whose name(Wrapped in old bloody legends) cameDown through the times when Truth and RightBent down to armèd Pride and Might.He owned the country far and near;And, for some weeks in every year,(When the brown leaves were falling fast And the long, lingering autumn past,)He would come down to hunt the deer,With hound and horse in splendid pride.The story lasts the live-long year,The peasant's winter evening fills,When he is gone and they abideIn the lone quiet of their hills.

 I longed, too, for the happy night,When, all with torches flaring bright,The crowding villagers would stand,A patient, eager, waiting band,Until the signal ran like flame,"They come!" and, slackening speed, they came.Outriders first, in pomp and state, Pranced on their horses through the gate;Then the four steeds as black as night,All decked with trappings blue and white,Drew through the crowd that opened wide,The Earl and Countess side by side.The stern grave Earl, with formal smileAnd glistening eyes and stately pride,Could ne'er my childish gaze beguileFrom the fair presence by his side.The lady's soft sad glance, her eyes,(Like stars that shone in summer skies,)Her pure white face so calmly bent,With gentle greetings round her sent;Her look, that always seemed to gazeWhere the blue past had closed againOver some happy shipwrecked days,With all their freight of love and pain;She did not even seem to seeThe little lord upon her knee. And yet he was like angel fair,With rosy checks and golden hair,That fell on shoulders white as snow:But the blue eyes that shone belowHis clustering rings of auburn curlsWere not his mother's, but the Earl's.

 I feared the Earl, so cold and grim,I never dared be seen by him.When through our gate he used to ride,My kinsman Walter bade me hide;He said he was so stern.So, when the hunt came past our way,I always hastened to obey,Until I heard the bugles playThe notes of their return.But she—my very heart-strings stirWhene'er I speak or think of her—The whole wide world could never seeA noble lady such as she,So full of angel charity.

 Strange things of her our neighbors toldIn the long winter evenings cold,Around the fire. They would draw nearAnd speak half-whispering, as in fear;As if they thought the Earl could hearTheir treason 'gainst his name.They thought the story that his prideHad stooped to wed a low-born bride,A stain upon his fame.Some said 't was false; there could not beSuch blot on his nobility:But others vowed that they had heard The actual story word for word,From one who well my lady knew,And had declared the story true.

 In a far village, little known,She dwelt—so ran the tale—alone.A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright,Shone through the mist of grief, her charms;They said it was the loveliest sight—She with her baby in her arms.The Earl, one summer morning, rodeBy the sea-shore where she abode;Again he came—that vision sweetDrew him reluctant to her feet.Fierce must the struggle in his heartHave been, between his love and pride,Until he chose that wondrous part,To ask her to become his bride.Yet, ere his noble name she bore,He made her vow that nevermoreShe would behold her child again,But hide his name and hers from men.The trembling promise duly spoken,All links of the low past were broken;And she arose to take her standAmid the nobles of the land.Then all would wonder—could it beThat one so lowly born as she,Raised to such height of bliss, should seemStill living in some weary dream?'T is true she bore with calmest graceThe honors of her lofty place,Yet never smiled, in peace or joy,Not even to greet her princely boy. She heard, with face of white despair,The cannon thunder through the air,That she had given the Earl an heir.Nay, even more, (they whispered low,As if they scarce durst fancy so,)That, through her lofty wedded life,No word, no tone, betrayed the wife.Her look seemed ever in the past;Never to him it grew more sweet;The self-same weary glance she castUpon the greyhound at her feet,As upon him, who bade her claimThe crowning honor of his name.

 This gossip, if old Walter heard,He checked it with a scornful word:I never durst such tales repeat;He was too serious and discreetTo speak of what his lord might do;Besides, he loved my lady too.And many a time, I recollect,They were together in the wood;He, with an air of grave respect,And earnest look, uncovered stood.And though their speech I never heard,(Save now and then a louder word,)I saw he spake as none but oneShe loved and trusted durst have done;For oft I watched them in the shadeThat the close forest branches made,Till slanting golden sunbeams cameAnd smote the fir-trees into flame,A radiant glory round her lit,Then down her white robes seemed to flit, Gilding the brown leaves on the ground,And all the waving ferns around.While by some gloomy pine she leantAnd he in earnest talk would stand,I saw the tear-drops, as she bent,Fall on the flowers in her hand.—Strange as it seemed and seems to be,That one so sad, so cold as she,Could love a little child like me,Yet so it was. I never heardSuch tender words as she would say,And murmurs, sweeter than a word,Would breathe upon me as I lay.While I, in smiling joy, would rest,For hours, my head upon her breast.Our neighbors said that none could seeIn me the common childish charms,(So grave and still I used to be,)And yet she held me in her arms,In a fond clasp, so close, so tight,I often dream of it at night.She bade me tell her all,—no otherMy childish thoughts e'er cared to know:For I—I never knew my mother;I was an orphan long ago.And I could all my, fancies pour,That gentle, loving face before.She liked to hear me tell her all;How that day I had climbed the tree,To make the largest fir-cones fall;And how one day I hoped to beA sailor on the deep blue sea,—She loved to hear it all!

 Then wondrous things she used to tell,Of the strange dreams that she had known.I used to love to hear them well,If only for her sweet low tone,Sometimes so sad, although I knewThat such things never could be true.One day she told me such a taleIt made me grow all cold and pale,The fearful thing she told!Of a poor woman mad and wildWho coined the life-blood of her child,And, tempted by a fiend, had soldThe heart out of her breast for gold.But when she saw me frightened seem,She smiled, and said it was a dream.When I look back and think of her,My very heart-strings seem to stir;How kind, how fair she was, how good,I cannot tell you. If I could,You, too, would love her. The mere thoughtOf her great love for me has broughtTears in my eyes: though far away,It seems as it were yesterday.And just as when I look on high,Through the blue silence of the sky,Fresh stars shine out, and more and more,Where I could see so few before;So, the more steadily I gazeUpon those far-off misty days,Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories starsBefore my eyes and in my heart.I can remember how one day(Talking in silly childish way)I said how happy I should be If I were like her son,—as fair,With just such bright blue eyes as he,And such long locks of golden hair.A strange smile on her pale face broke,And in strange, solemn words she spoke: "My own, my darling one,—no, no!I love you, far, far better so.I would not change the look you bear,Or one wave of your dark brown hair.The mere glance of your sunny eyes,Deep in my deepest soul I prizeAbove that baby fair!Not one of all the Earl's proud lineIn beauty ever matched with thine;And, 't is by thy dark locks thou artBound even faster round my heart,And made more wholly mine!"And then she paused, and weeping said,"You are like one who now is dead,—Who sleeps in a far-distant grave.O, may God grant that you may beAs noble and as good as he,As gentle and as brave!Then in my childish way I cried,"The one you tell me of who died,Was he as noble as the Earl?"I see her red lips scornful curl,I feel her hold my hand again,So tightly, that I shrink in pain,—I seem to hear her say,"He whom I tell you of, who died,He was so noble and so gay,So generous and so brave,That the proud Earl by his dear side Would look a craven slave."She paused; then, with a quivering sighShe laid her hand upon my brow:"Live like him, darling, and so die.Remember that he tells you now,True peace, real honor, and content,In cheerful, pious toil abide;That gold and splendor are but sentTo curse our vanity and pride."

 One day some childish fever painBurnt in my veins and fired my brain,Moaning, I turned from side to side;And, sobbing in my bed, I cried,Till night in calm and darkness creptAround me, and at last I slept.When suddenly I woke to seeThe Lady bending over me.The drops of cold November rainWere falling from her long, damp hair;Her anxious eyes were dim with pain;Yet she looked wondrous fair.Arrayed for some great feast she came,With stones that shone and burnt like flame;Wound round her neck, like some bright snake,And set like stars within her hair,They sparkled so, they seemed to makeA glory everywhere.I felt her tears upon my face,Her kisses on my eyes;And a strange thought I could not traceI felt within my heart arise;And, half in feverish pain, I said:"O if my mother were not dead!" And Walter bade me sleep; but sheSaid, "Is it not the same to theeThat I watch by thy bed?"I answered her, I love you, too;But it can never be the same;She was no Countess like to you,Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame."O the wild look of fear and dread!The cry she gave of bitter woe!I often wonder what I saidTo make her moan and shudder so.Through the long night she tended meWith such sweet care and charity.But I should weary you to tellAll that I know and love so well:Yet one night more stands out aloneWith a sad sweetness all its own.

The wind blew loud that dreary night:Its wailing voice I well remember;The stars shone out so large and brightUpon the frosty fir-boughs white,That dreary night of cold December.I saw old Walter silent stand,Watching the soft, white flakes of snowWith looks I could not understand,Of strange perplexity and woe.At last he turned and took my hand,And said the Countess just had sentTo bid us come; for she would fainSee me once more, before she wentAway—never to come again.We came in silence through the wood(Our footfall was the only sound) To where the great white castle stood,With darkness shadowing it around.Breathless, we trod with cautious careUp the great echoing marble stair;Trembling, by Walter's hand I held,Scared by the splendors I beheld:Now thinking, "Should the Earl appear!"Now looking up with giddy fearTo the dim, vaulted roof that spreadIts gloomy arches overhead.Long corridors we softly passed,(My heart was beating loud and fast,)And reached the Lady's room at last:A strange, faint odor seemed to weighUpon the dim and darkened air;One shaded lamp, with softened ray,Scarce showed the gloomy splendor there.The dull red brands were burning low,And yet a fitful gleam of lightWould now and then, with sudden glow,Start forth, then sink again in night.I gazed around, yet half in fear,Till Walter told me to draw near:And in the strange and flickering light,Towards the Lady's bed I crept;All folded round with snowy white,She lay; (one would have said she slept;)So still the look of that white face,It seemed as it were carved in stone,I paused before I dared to placeWithin her cold white hand my own.But, with a smile of sweet surprise,She turned to me her dreamy eyes;And slowly, as if life were pain, She drew me in her arms to lie:She strove to speak, and strove in vain;Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh.The throbs that seemed to shake her breast,The trembling clasp, so loose and weak,At last grew calmer, and at rest;And then she strove once more to speak:"My God, I thank thee, that my painOf day by day, and year by year,Has not been suffered all in vain,And I may die while he is near.I will not fear but that Thy graceHas swept away my sin and woe,And sent this little angel face,In my last hour, to tell me so."(And here her voice grew faint and low,)"My child, where'er thy life may go,To know that thou art brave and true,Will pierce the highest heavens through,And even there my soul shall beMore joyful for this thought of thee."She folded her white hands, and stayed;All cold and silently she lay:I knelt beside the bed, and prayedThe prayer she used to make me say.I said it many times, and thenShe did not move, but seemed to beIn a deep sleep, nor stirred again.No sound woke in the silent room,Or broke the dim and solemn gloom,Save when the brands that burnt so low,With noisy, fitful gleam of light,Would spread around a sudden glow,Then sink in silence and in night. How long I stood I do not know:At last poor Walter came, and said(So sadly) that we now must go,And whispered, she we loved was dead.He bade me kiss her face once more,Then led me sobbing to the door.I scarcely knew what dying meant,Yet a strange grief, before unknown,Weighed on my spirit as we wentAnd left her lying all alone.

 We went to the far North once more,To seek the well-remembered homeWhere my poor kinsman dwelt before,Whence now he was too old to roam;And there six happy years we past,Happy and peaceful till the last;When poor old Walter died, and heBlessed me and said I now might beA sailor on the deep blue sea.And so I go; and yet in spiteOf all the joys I long to know,Though I look onward with delight,With something of regret I go;And young or old, on land or sea,One guiding memory I shall take,—Of what She prayed that I might be,And what I will be for her sake!