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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5f08a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62767 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62767) diff --git a/old/62767-0.txt b/old/62767-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e59ae85..0000000 --- a/old/62767-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1015 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Miller and his Golden Dream, by Eliza -Lucy Leonard - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Miller and his Golden Dream - - -Author: Eliza Lucy Leonard - - - -Release Date: July 27, 2020 [eBook #62767] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILLER AND HIS GOLDEN DREAM*** - - -E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original hand-colored - illustrations. - See 62767-h.htm or 62767-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/62767/62767-h/62767-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/62767/62767-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/millerhisgoldend00leoniala - - -Transcriber’s note: - - The illustrations have been moved to the end of the - book to avoid disrupting the flow of the poem. - - - - - - THE - MILLER - AND - HIS GOLDEN DREAM. - - “With moderate blessings be content, - Nor idly grasp at every shade; - Peace, competence, a life well spent, - Are treasures that can never fade; - And he who weakly sighs for more— - —Augments his misery, not his store.” - - BY THE AUTHOR OF - “THE RUBY RING,” &c. - - WELLINGTON, SALOP: - _PRINTED BY AND FOR F. HOULSTON AND SON_, - And sold by Scatcherd and Co. Ave-Maria Lane, London. - - 1822. - - [_Entered at Stationers’ Hall._] - - - - -Advertisement. - - -In the construction of the following little Poem, the Author has declined -the aids of Genii, &c.—the powerful auxiliaries of her two former -works,—on the belief that a moral truth requires little of artificial -embellishment to render it attractive. She presents therefore a simple -unadorned tale to her young readers, as an experiment; not without hope -that their reception and approval of it may be such, as to sanction -future efforts, and to confirm her in the propriety of her present -opinion. - - - - -THE MILLER. - - - If, ’mid the passions of the breast, - There be one deadlier than the rest, - Whose poisonous influence would control - The generous purpose of the soul, - A cruel selfishness impart, - And harden, and contract the heart; - If such a passion be, the vice - Is unrelenting Avarice. - And would my youthful readers know - The features of this mortal foe, - The lineaments will hardly fail - To strike them in the following tale. - - In England—but it matters not - That I precisely name the spot— - A Miller liv’d, and humble fame - Had grac’d with rustic praise his name. - For many a year his village neighbours - Felt and confess’d his useful labours; - Swift flew his hours, on busy wing - Revolving in their rosy ring: - His life, alternate toil and rest, - Nor cares annoy’d, nor want oppress’d. - - Whang’s mill, beside a sparkling brook, - Stood shelter’d in a wooded nook: - The stream, the willow’s whispering trees, - The humming of the housing bees, - Swell’d with soft sounds the summer breeze; - Those simple sounds, that to the heart - A soothing influence impart, - And full on every sense convey - Th’ impression of a summer’s day. - - A cot, with clustering ivy crown’d, - Smil’d from a gently sloping mound, - Whose sunny banks, profusely gay, - Gave to the view, in proud display, - The many colour’d buds of May; - Flowers, that _spontaneous_ fringe the brink - Of sinuous Tame, and bend to drink. - My native River! at thy name - What mix’d emotions thrill my frame! - Through the dim vista of past years, - How shadowy soft thy scene appears! - With earliest recollections twin’d, - To thee still fondly turns my mind; - While Memory paints with faithful force - The grace of thy meandering course - ’Neath bending boughs, whose mingling shade - Now hid, and now thy stream betray’d.— - Bright—though long distant from my view— - Rise all thy magic charms anew; - And on thy calm and shallowy shore - Again, in Fancy’s eye, I pore, - The steps retrace, our infant feet - So buoyant trod, and once more meet - Each object in my wandering gaze - That form’d the joys of “other days.” - All, all return, and with them bring - The “life of life,” its vivid spring. - The sun is bright, the flowers re-bloom, - Cold friends are kind, kind e’en the tomb: - For one brief moment ’tis forgot - There once _were_ those, who now _are not_. - Eyes beam, and hearts as fondly beat, - Voices their wonted tones repeat— - But ’tis on Fancy’s ear alone— - I wake, alas! and _all are gone_! - - Yet, Tame, the theme of childish praise, - For thee were fram’d my earliest lays; - Thy banks of all were deem’d the pride, - Thy flowers, by none to be outvied. - Those days are past—and sad I view - The time I bade thee, Tame, adieu: - Those days are gone, and I have seen - Full many a river’s margent green; - Full many a bursting bud display - The rich luxuriance of May— - But loveliest _still_ thy flowers I deem, - And dearest thou, my native stream! - - Thus clings around our early joys - A mystic charm no time destroys, - Endearing recollections more, - When all of _real_ joy is o’er. - - Forgive, Whang, this digressive strain; - The journey done, I’m yours again. - If for a simile I sought - Back through the distant tracks of thought, - The flowers I gather’d by the way - Upon your fabled banks I lay; - Where primrose groups were yearly seen - Peeping beneath their curtain green, - With aromatic mint beside, - And violets in purple pride. - In gay festoons, o’er hazles thrown, - Hung many a woodbine’s floral crown; - The brier-rose too, that woos the bee, - And thyme, that sighs its odours free. - The lark, the blackbird, and the thrush, - Hymn’d happiness from every bush: - The Eden to their lot assign’d - Fill’d with content the feather’d kind; - Example worthy _him_, I ween, - Who reign’d sole monarch of the scene— - The Miller.——“What!” you will enquire, - “Possess’d he not his soul’s desire? - Ah! could his wishes soar above - The calm of this untroubled grove?” - Alas! his frailty must be told— - Whang entertain’d a love for gold: - And none, whatever their demerit, - That did of wealth a store inherit, - But gain’d (so strong the dire dominion) - Whang’s reverence, and his best opinion. - “_Gold_, my dear spouse,” would cry his wife, - “Is call’d an _evil_ of our life.” - “True,” Whang rejoin’d, “the only _evil_ - Whose visits I consider civil; - But ’tis, alack!—the thought is grievous— - _The evil_ most in haste to leave us.” - - ’Twere proper that my readers knew, - That, by _degrees_, this passion grew; - Not _always_ was the silly elf - So craving, coveting of pelf, - Though he was ever prone to hold - In high esteem _pound-notes_ and _gold_: - And CIRCUMSTANCES sometimes root - Firm in the mind the _feeblest_ shoot; - A truth, erewhile, this man of meal - By his example will reveal. - - “True,” would he say, “I am not poor: - What then? may I not wish for more? - This paltry mill provides me food, - Keeps dame and I from famine—good! - Yet, mark the labour I endure, - A meagre living to secure. - ’Tis lucky that I have my health, - Since this poor mill is all my wealth; - Though irksome, I confess, to toil - To catch Dame Fortune’s niggard smile, - When she so prodigal can be - To men of less desert than me, - Throwing her bounties in their lap, - Almost without their asking—slap! - ’Twas but to-day that I was told, - With truth I’ll vouch, a pan of gold - Seen by a neighbour in a dream— - —Thrice dreamt on, though, as it should seem— - My neighbour dug for, as directed— - (Shame had such warning been neglected!)— - Dug for, and, better still, he found - A treasure hidden under ground, - In the same spot, or thereabout, - His happy dream had pointed out. - Such riches _now_ his coffers fill, - No more he labours, let who will. - I wish with all my heart,” he cried, - “I wish such luck may me betide!” - So saying, from the bags he started, - While through his brain vague fancies darted, - And with a brisker air and gait - He left the mill to seek his Kate, - The golden vision to relate. - At eve, before the cottage-door, - They talk’d the wondrous story o’er; - And every time it was repeated, - With warmer hope Whang’s brain was heated. - Complacent to his bed he hies, - Certain, when sleep should close his eyes, - Like _him_ to dream who gain’d the prize: - And doubtless _might_ have dream’d the same; - But neither sleep nor vision came. - He toss’d and turn’d him all night long, - Tried all manœuvres—all were wrong. - “Had never known the like before, - Was us’d to sleep quite sound, and snore; - But now, when he desir’d it most, - The art to sleep seem’d wholly lost.” - - When Hope (t’ indulge a short digression) - Gains of weak minds complete possession, - She buoys them up, like cork and sail, - ’Gainst Disappointment’s heavy gale. - So Whang, with undishearten’d mind, - Trusting the _future_ would be kind, - Rose from his dreamless bed next morn - Neither discourag’d nor forlorn: - With one idea fill’d, he sought - His mill, but little there he wrought. - Week follow’d week, and months the same, - Whang slept indeed, but could not dream; - Yet, prescient still of his success, - His industry grew less and less. - He thought it wrong in him to labour, - Who, by and by, might, like his neighbour, - Receive the happy wish’d-for warning, - And wake to thousands in the morning! - It was amusing to observe - His solemn pomp, his proud reserve, - His sad exchange of glee, for state, - That ill-beseem’d his rustic gait. - His temper open, far from vicious, - Chang’d too—for he was grown ambitious. - He, that so early erst was seen - With active step to cross the green, - Now slept, supinely slept away - The prime, the golden hours of day. - The sun shot down his highest beam - Upon th’ unprofitable stream; - Whang’s duty bade him sleep and dream. - I will not say but Whang was born - With sense enough to grind his corn, - Or on a market-day to tell - Whether ’twere good to buy or sell; - But since the store his neighbour found, - I dare not say his wits were sound. - In sad neglect the mill-wheel stood - That long supplied his daily food; - And marvelling neighbours shook the head, - Amaz’d the Miller’s glee was fled. - Some thought his conscience overcast - Was but a judgment for the _past_. - Old Robin with a wink could tell - That “Whang had manag’d matters well; - He shrewdly guess’d how things would end, - For gain, ill-gotten, would not spend.” - And Gammer Gabble _now_ could prate - That her “last sack had wanted weight.” - _She_ “knew the Miller long ago, - And wonder’d _others_ did not know.” - So all most prudently prepare - To trust their grain to better care. - Thus, by degrees the stores declin’d, - Till Whang had scarce a batch to grind. - No matter! Hope still talk’d the more - About his unfound hidden store: - But inauspicious yet appear’d - His wish; no warning voice was heard. - Now Mistress Whang, of nature humble, - Had smil’d to hear her husband grumble, - And would admonish him, ’tis said, - To chase vain phantoms from his head. - She, more incredulous, insisted - His visions ought to be resisted; - Thought they had chang’d his very nature, - And sourly curl’d each homely feature: - She felt full dearly they bestood - Sad substitutes for wholesome food. - - At issue long, as oft the case, - The war of words to peace gave place. - In truth the visionary Whang - Ceas’d now entirely to harangue - On this dear theme:—he hated _doubt_, - And Kate had many, staunch and stout: - And in a hostile muster, they - Gave her the better of the fray. - Though silent on his favourite theme, - He did resolve, when he _should_ dream, - And _find_ th’ anticipated pelf, - To _keep_ the secret to _himself_; - For he averr’d it “quite vexatious - His wife should be so pertinacious.” - No passions vain _her_ heart misled: - The path of humble peace to tread - Was her sole aim; of this secure, - She felt content, nor sigh’d for more. - She griev’d to find her counsels failing, - They were sincere, though unavailing; - And oft midst wishes, fears, and sighs, - ’Twas thus she would soliloquise:— - “My pretty window! that commands - Those meadows green, and wooded lands, - So sunny, that the latest ray - Its panes receive of parting day. - O! with what joy, when near it plac’d, - I’ve watch’d my husband homeward haste! - Or heard, from fair returning late, - The welcome sounds of ‘Holla, Kate!’ - Through it I trace on every hand - Beauties, would grace a fairy-land, - And think that, like a grateful eye, - It smiles on all beneath the sky. - There, too, my sweet geranium blows, - And mignionette, and crimson rose, - When all without is clad in snows. - I doubt me, if a princess feels - More joy than that which o’er me steals, - When light and morn my slumbers break, - And to this blissful scene I wake. - I cannot form a wish beside - What Heaven’s bounty has supplied, - Save that to Whang I could impart - The same content that fills my heart; - Yield him that thankful state of rest, - Or teach to _prize the good possess’d_.” - - Good fortune seldom comes too late; - For lo! at last indulgent Fate - Smil’d on the importunate swain, - And eas’d at length his anxious pain. - Dreams—one,—two,—three,—th’ important number, - Omen’d him hence to quit his slumber, - With spade and mattock arm’d, to delve - Six feet—nay, I believe ’twas twelve, - Close by the long-forsaken mill— - He flies, the mission to fulfil! - The mattock rings, the spade descends, - The sturdy arm its vigour lends; - At such light labour who could sleep? - Whang is already three feet deep! - Upon the spade observe him smile: - What sees he?—what?—a broken tile; - The very tile his dream foretold, - A landmark to his pan of gold! - Upturns one token more—a bone! - And now, behold the broad flat stone! - A moment on its ample size - He gaz’d with wide distended eyes— - “Beneath _that_ is the pan!” he cries. - “’Twas under such a stone as this - That neighbour Drowsypate found his. - So then, at last, my hopes are crown’d! - Come, then, let’s raise thee from the ground.” - But, ere to lift the stone he tries, - He shook his head, not over wise, - And, with a self-approving glance, - One foot a little in advance, - With nose and lip contemptuous curl’d, - That said, “A fig for all the world!” - He cried, “My wife, she, silly trot! - Shall never know the wealth I’ve got: - To punish her I made a _vow_; - The time is come, I’ll keep it now. - She could not dream, poor fool! not she; - Some trite old tale of ‘busy bee,’ - Of saving pins, and pence, and groats, - For ever occupied _her_ thoughts. - Besides, the hussey laugh’d outright - Whene’er I pass’d a dreamless night. - Yes, yes, I will requite her scorn; - She’ll rue it, sure as she is born!”—— - Ah, bootless boast! the stone so great - Exceeds by far his strength in weight. - In vain he digs and delves the ground, - And clears away the rubbish round, - And gathering strength with his vexation, - Widens the fearful excavation. - He cannot move the stone for life; - So forc’d at last, he calls his wife, - Imparts the fact so long repress’d, - And glads, reluctantly, her breast. - The news he stated wak’d her fear; - What gave delight at first to hear, - One apprehension turn’d to pain— - She trembled for her husband’s brain. - “Can it be true?” cried she, misdeeming; - “Dear Whang, too surely thou _art dreaming_: - Try, recollect thyself, good man—” - “Tut, hussey! why, I’ll shew the pan: - Only a minute’s help I ask, - And thou shalt see’t—a trifling task - Just to remove, I know not what, - A stone, it may be, from the spot. - Come, come, thy hand.” They gain the door, - When, turning, Kate asks, “_Are you sure?_” - “_Sure? yes_,” vociferates her spouse. - This said, they issue from the house— - “I’m _certain_, as to all I’ve told, - As if e’en _now_ I _touch’d_ the _gold_: - _Sure_ as that I no more will bear - This russet doublet now to wear:— - That I no more will condescend - To own Ralph Roughspeech for _my friend_, - Nor tolerate the pert monition - Of neighbours, in my chang’d condition: - _Sure_—but, ye Powers! what do I see?— - The mill! the mill!—Oh! woe is me! - My only stay, my certain aid, - All level with the earth is laid!—— - Presumptuous! I have scorn’d my fate, - And wrought this mischief: all too late - The error of my life I see, - And misery my portion be. - Time, that no more I may recal, - By wise men priz’d, and dear to all, - How have I squander’d! how abus’d! - My friends, my neighbours, basely us’d! - How shall I bear, acquaintance meeting, - Scorn to behold where once was greeting? - Now comes _their_ turn to treat the fool - With jeers, contempt, and ridicule. - Laugh’d at on all sides—and to know - And _feel_ I have _deserv’d_ the blow! - Undone by mine own discontent!— - But ah! too late I do repent. - Forc’d now in poverty to roam, - I soon must quit this quiet home; - And where with thee, poor Kate! to fly?— - Oh! I could lay me down and die! - Wretch that I am! Kate, Kate, forgive!” - “_My_ pardon, dearest Whang, receive: - But ’twas not _I_ who gave thee health, - Strength, talent to improve thy wealth; - Who cast thy lot in such fair land, - Or bless’d thee with such liberal hand. - O! turn to _Him_ with thankful prayer - Who deigns e’en yet thy life to spare; - Implore His pardon—kneel with me; - This ruin might have cover’d _thee_. - But thou art spar’d, and yet remain - The means our livelihood to gain: - A heartfelt willing perseverance - Will mend our lot before a year hence. - Thou knowest well that neighbour Ralph - Each morn will spare an hour or half - To help us to repair the mill.” - “Doest think,” Whang blushing ask’d, “he will?” - “Yes, yes, I do believe so too, - He was a neighbour kind and true; - And if his counsels gave offence, - The fault was in my want of sense. - Yet, ideot! I”—“Enough!” cried Kate, - Exulting in her alter’d mate; - “To see our faults in their just light, - Is next akin to acting right. - But time no longer let us waste; - I’ll to friend Roughspeech quickly haste: - Own thou, meanwhile,” she smiling cried, - “To have a help-mate in thy bride - Is _treasure perhaps_ of equal worth - With _aught conceal’d beneath the earth_.” - With look of conscious proud delight, - She caught the sound of, “Kate, thou’rt right;” - While a “small voice” responsive join’d - Applausive music in her mind. - - Then turn’d she from the yawning ground, - And, eying Whang with thought profound, - Saw in his look, on her that bent, - A meaning most intelligent. - A wish defin’d she saw, and knelt; - Beside her soon his form she felt: - Then, with join’d hands uplift in air, - Burst from their lips the ardent prayer. - With brighter hopes from earth they rose, - Nor long (—for so the story goes) - In idle wailings spent the day: - Just then a neighbour pass’d that way.— - Whang turn’d his head; a crimson streak - Rush’d hastily across his cheek, - And Cath’rine’s palpitating breast - A momentary shame confess’d: - For well they knew, Old Robin’s tale - Soon through the village would prevail, - And bring a host about their ears, - With pity some, and some with jeers. - But _guilt_ and _folly_ must endure - The _caustics_ that effect a cure. - Whang therefore strove, with patient heart, - To bear th’ anticipated smart; - Nor vainly strove: the threaten’d ill - Fell, he with patience met it still. - Few in the morning of his grief - Or gave, or proffer’d him relief. - Those who had _counsell’d heretofore_, - Excus’d themselves from doing more, - “Presuming nothing _they_ could offer - Would meet acceptance from the scoffer.” - Others, meanwhile, of nature good, - Assisted, comforted, withstood - With honest scorn the worldling’s cant, - Nor shunn’d a neighbour, though in want. - To all, Whang bore an humble mien, - By all, his contrite spirit’s seen; - Till even they who smil’d at first, - When o’er his head the tempest burst, - Were forc’d, in justice, to declare - His penitence _appear’d sincere_. - “They trusted, nay, _almost believ’d_ - His loss of character retriev’d:” - And, soften’d by his chang’d address, - “Good fortune _wish’d_, and happiness.” - - And he _was_ happy—“he was bless’d - Beyond desert,” he oft confessed, - By friends, by all the good caress’d. - A smiling garden, rescu’d mill, - His dear old cottage on the hill, - A faithful wife, a conscience clear, - Shed brightness on each coming year. - - The church-yard stone, that bears his name, - Records his failing and his fame; - And, in his life and death, conveys - A moral truth to future days. - -FINIS. - -[Illustration: - - Burst from their lips the ardent prayer. - -_Page 28._] - -[Illustration: - - ’Tis lucky that I have my health. - Since this poor mill is all my wealth: - -_Page 12._] - -[Illustration: - - At eve before the cottage-door. - They talk’d the wondrous story o’er; - -_Page 14._] - -[Illustration: - - My pretty window! that commands - Those meadows green and wooded lands. - -_Page 19._] - -[Illustration: - - One foot a little in advance. - With nose and lip contemptuous curl’d. - That said, “A fig for all the world!” - -_Page 22._] - -[Illustration: - - ——ye Powers! what do I see?—— - -_Page 24._] - - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILLER AND HIS GOLDEN DREAM*** - - -******* This file should be named 62767-0.txt or 62767-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/2/7/6/62767 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Miller and his Golden Dream, by Eliza -Lucy Leonard

-

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.

-

Title: The Miller and his Golden Dream

-

Author: Eliza Lucy Leonard

-

Release Date: July 27, 2020 [eBook #62767]

-

Language: English

-

Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILLER AND HIS GOLDEN DREAM***

-

 

-

E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor
- and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
- (http://www.pgdp.net)
- from page images generously made available by
- Internet Archive
- (https://archive.org)

-

 

- - - - - -
- Note: - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - - https://archive.org/details/millerhisgoldend00leoniala -
-

 

-

Transcriber’s Note: The illustrations -have been moved to the end of the book -to avoid disrupting the flow of the poem.

-
-

 

-

 

-

 

- -

[1]

- -

THE
-MILLER
-AND
-HIS GOLDEN DREAM.

- -
-
-
-
“With moderate blessings be content,
-
Nor idly grasp at every shade;
-
Peace, competence, a life well spent,
-
Are treasures that can never fade;
-
And he who weakly sighs for more—
-
—Augments his misery, not his store.”
-
-
-
- -

BY THE AUTHOR OF
-“THE RUBY RING,” &c.

- -

WELLINGTON, SALOP:
-PRINTED BY AND FOR F. HOULSTON AND SON,
-And sold by Scatcherd and Co. Ave-Maria Lane, London.

- -

1822.

- -

[Entered at Stationers’ Hall.]

- -

[2]

- -
- -

[3]

- -
- - - -
- -

In the construction of the following little Poem, -the Author has declined the aids of Genii, &c.—the -powerful auxiliaries of her two former works,—on -the belief that a moral truth requires little -of artificial embellishment to render it attractive. -She presents therefore a simple unadorned tale -to her young readers, as an experiment; not without -hope that their reception and approval of it -may be such, as to sanction future efforts, and to -confirm her in the propriety of her present opinion.

- -

[4]

- -
- -

[5]

- -
- -

THE
-MILLER.

- -
- -
-
-
-
If, ’mid the passions of the breast,
-
There be one deadlier than the rest,
-
Whose poisonous influence would control
-
The generous purpose of the soul,
-
A cruel selfishness impart,
-
And harden, and contract the heart;
-
If such a passion be, the vice
-
Is unrelenting Avarice.
-
And would my youthful readers know
-
The features of this mortal foe,
-
The lineaments will hardly fail
-
To strike them in the following tale.
[6] -
-
-
In England—but it matters not
-
That I precisely name the spot—
-
A Miller liv’d, and humble fame
-
Had grac’d with rustic praise his name.
-
For many a year his village neighbours
-
Felt and confess’d his useful labours;
-
Swift flew his hours, on busy wing
-
Revolving in their rosy ring:
-
His life, alternate toil and rest,
-
Nor cares annoy’d, nor want oppress’d.
-
-
-
Whang’s mill, beside a sparkling brook,
-
Stood shelter’d in a wooded nook:
-
The stream, the willow’s whispering trees,
-
The humming of the housing bees,
-
Swell’d with soft sounds the summer breeze;
-
Those simple sounds, that to the heart
-
A soothing influence impart,
-
And full on every sense convey
-
Th’ impression of a summer’s day.
[7] -
-
-
A cot, with clustering ivy crown’d,
-
Smil’d from a gently sloping mound,
-
Whose sunny banks, profusely gay,
-
Gave to the view, in proud display,
-
The many colour’d buds of May;
-
Flowers, that spontaneous fringe the brink
-
Of sinuous Tame, and bend to drink.
-
My native River! at thy name
-
What mix’d emotions thrill my frame!
-
Through the dim vista of past years,
-
How shadowy soft thy scene appears!
-
With earliest recollections twin’d,
-
To thee still fondly turns my mind;
-
While Memory paints with faithful force
-
The grace of thy meandering course
-
’Neath bending boughs, whose mingling shade
-
Now hid, and now thy stream betray’d.—
-
Bright—though long distant from my view—
-
Rise all thy magic charms anew;
[8] -
And on thy calm and shallowy shore
-
Again, in Fancy’s eye, I pore,
-
The steps retrace, our infant feet
-
So buoyant trod, and once more meet
-
Each object in my wandering gaze
-
That form’d the joys of “other days.”
-
All, all return, and with them bring
-
The “life of life,” its vivid spring.
-
The sun is bright, the flowers re-bloom,
-
Cold friends are kind, kind e’en the tomb:
-
For one brief moment ’tis forgot
-
There once were those, who now are not.
-
Eyes beam, and hearts as fondly beat,
-
Voices their wonted tones repeat—
-
But ’tis on Fancy’s ear alone—
-
I wake, alas! and all are gone!
-
-
-
Yet, Tame, the theme of childish praise,
-
For thee were fram’d my earliest lays;
[9] -
Thy banks of all were deem’d the pride,
-
Thy flowers, by none to be outvied.
-
Those days are past—and sad I view
-
The time I bade thee, Tame, adieu:
-
Those days are gone, and I have seen
-
Full many a river’s margent green;
-
Full many a bursting bud display
-
The rich luxuriance of May—
-
But loveliest still thy flowers I deem,
-
And dearest thou, my native stream!
-
-
-
Thus clings around our early joys
-
A mystic charm no time destroys,
-
Endearing recollections more,
-
When all of real joy is o’er.
-
-
-
Forgive, Whang, this digressive strain;
-
The journey done, I’m yours again.
-
If for a simile I sought
-
Back through the distant tracks of thought,
[10] -
The flowers I gather’d by the way
-
Upon your fabled banks I lay;
-
Where primrose groups were yearly seen
-
Peeping beneath their curtain green,
-
With aromatic mint beside,
-
And violets in purple pride.
-
In gay festoons, o’er hazles thrown,
-
Hung many a woodbine’s floral crown;
-
The brier-rose too, that woos the bee,
-
And thyme, that sighs its odours free.
-
The lark, the blackbird, and the thrush,
-
Hymn’d happiness from every bush:
-
The Eden to their lot assign’d
-
Fill’d with content the feather’d kind;
-
Example worthy him, I ween,
-
Who reign’d sole monarch of the scene—
-
The Miller.——“What!” you will enquire,
-
“Possess’d he not his soul’s desire?
-
Ah! could his wishes soar above
-
The calm of this untroubled grove?”
[11] -
Alas! his frailty must be told—
-
Whang entertain’d a love for gold:
-
And none, whatever their demerit,
-
That did of wealth a store inherit,
-
But gain’d (so strong the dire dominion)
-
Whang’s reverence, and his best opinion.
-
“Gold, my dear spouse,” would cry his wife,
-
“Is call’d an evil of our life.”
-
“True,” Whang rejoin’d, “the only evil
-
Whose visits I consider civil;
-
But ’tis, alack!—the thought is grievous—
-
The evil most in haste to leave us.”
-
-
-
’Twere proper that my readers knew,
-
That, by degrees, this passion grew;
-
Not always was the silly elf
-
So craving, coveting of pelf,
-
Though he was ever prone to hold
-
In high esteem pound-notes and gold:
[12] -
And circumstances sometimes root
-
Firm in the mind the feeblest shoot;
-
A truth, erewhile, this man of meal
-
By his example will reveal.
-
-
-
“True,” would he say, “I am not poor:
-
What then? may I not wish for more?
-
This paltry mill provides me food,
-
Keeps dame and I from famine—good!
-
Yet, mark the labour I endure,
-
A meagre living to secure.
-
’Tis lucky that I have my health,
-
Since this poor mill is all my wealth;
-
Though irksome, I confess, to toil
-
To catch Dame Fortune’s niggard smile,
-
When she so prodigal can be
-
To men of less desert than me,
-
Throwing her bounties in their lap,
-
Almost without their asking—slap!
[13] -
’Twas but to-day that I was told,
-
With truth I’ll vouch, a pan of gold
-
Seen by a neighbour in a dream—
-
—Thrice dreamt on, though, as it should seem—
-
My neighbour dug for, as directed—
-
(Shame had such warning been neglected!)—
-
Dug for, and, better still, he found
-
A treasure hidden under ground,
-
In the same spot, or thereabout,
-
His happy dream had pointed out.
-
Such riches now his coffers fill,
-
No more he labours, let who will.
-
I wish with all my heart,” he cried,
-
“I wish such luck may me betide!”
-
So saying, from the bags he started,
-
While through his brain vague fancies darted,
-
And with a brisker air and gait
-
He left the mill to seek his Kate,
-
The golden vision to relate.
[14] -
At eve, before the cottage-door,
-
They talk’d the wondrous story o’er;
-
And every time it was repeated,
-
With warmer hope Whang’s brain was heated.
-
Complacent to his bed he hies,
-
Certain, when sleep should close his eyes,
-
Like him to dream who gain’d the prize:
-
And doubtless might have dream’d the same;
-
But neither sleep nor vision came.
-
He toss’d and turn’d him all night long,
-
Tried all manœuvres—all were wrong.
-
“Had never known the like before,
-
Was us’d to sleep quite sound, and snore;
-
But now, when he desir’d it most,
-
The art to sleep seem’d wholly lost.”
-
-
-
When Hope (t’ indulge a short digression)
-
Gains of weak minds complete possession,
-
She buoys them up, like cork and sail,
-
’Gainst Disappointment’s heavy gale.
[15] -
So Whang, with undishearten’d mind,
-
Trusting the future would be kind,
-
Rose from his dreamless bed next morn
-
Neither discourag’d nor forlorn:
-
With one idea fill’d, he sought
-
His mill, but little there he wrought.
-
Week follow’d week, and months the same,
-
Whang slept indeed, but could not dream;
-
Yet, prescient still of his success,
-
His industry grew less and less.
-
He thought it wrong in him to labour,
-
Who, by and by, might, like his neighbour,
-
Receive the happy wish’d-for warning,
-
And wake to thousands in the morning!
-
It was amusing to observe
-
His solemn pomp, his proud reserve,
-
His sad exchange of glee, for state,
-
That ill-beseem’d his rustic gait.
-
His temper open, far from vicious,
-
Chang’d too—for he was grown ambitious.
[16] -
He, that so early erst was seen
-
With active step to cross the green,
-
Now slept, supinely slept away
-
The prime, the golden hours of day.
-
The sun shot down his highest beam
-
Upon th’ unprofitable stream;
-
Whang’s duty bade him sleep and dream.
-
I will not say but Whang was born
-
With sense enough to grind his corn,
-
Or on a market-day to tell
-
Whether ’twere good to buy or sell;
-
But since the store his neighbour found,
-
I dare not say his wits were sound.
-
In sad neglect the mill-wheel stood
-
That long supplied his daily food;
-
And marvelling neighbours shook the head,
-
Amaz’d the Miller’s glee was fled.
-
Some thought his conscience overcast
-
Was but a judgment for the past.
[17] -
Old Robin with a wink could tell
-
That “Whang had manag’d matters well;
-
He shrewdly guess’d how things would end,
-
For gain, ill-gotten, would not spend.”
-
And Gammer Gabble now could prate
-
That her “last sack had wanted weight.”
-
She “knew the Miller long ago,
-
And wonder’d others did not know.”
-
So all most prudently prepare
-
To trust their grain to better care.
-
Thus, by degrees the stores declin’d,
-
Till Whang had scarce a batch to grind.
-
No matter! Hope still talk’d the more
-
About his unfound hidden store:
-
But inauspicious yet appear’d
-
His wish; no warning voice was heard.
-
Now Mistress Whang, of nature humble,
-
Had smil’d to hear her husband grumble,
-
And would admonish him, ’tis said,
-
To chase vain phantoms from his head.
[18] -
She, more incredulous, insisted
-
His visions ought to be resisted;
-
Thought they had chang’d his very nature,
-
And sourly curl’d each homely feature:
-
She felt full dearly they bestood
-
Sad substitutes for wholesome food.
-
-
-
At issue long, as oft the case,
-
The war of words to peace gave place.
-
In truth the visionary Whang
-
Ceas’d now entirely to harangue
-
On this dear theme:—he hated doubt,
-
And Kate had many, staunch and stout:
-
And in a hostile muster, they
-
Gave her the better of the fray.
-
Though silent on his favourite theme,
-
He did resolve, when he should dream,
-
And find th’ anticipated pelf,
-
To keep the secret to himself;
[19] -
For he averr’d it “quite vexatious
-
His wife should be so pertinacious.”
-
No passions vain her heart misled:
-
The path of humble peace to tread
-
Was her sole aim; of this secure,
-
She felt content, nor sigh’d for more.
-
She griev’d to find her counsels failing,
-
They were sincere, though unavailing;
-
And oft midst wishes, fears, and sighs,
-
’Twas thus she would soliloquise:—
-
“My pretty window! that commands
-
Those meadows green, and wooded lands,
-
So sunny, that the latest ray
-
Its panes receive of parting day.
-
O! with what joy, when near it plac’d,
-
I’ve watch’d my husband homeward haste!
-
Or heard, from fair returning late,
-
The welcome sounds of ‘Holla, Kate!’
-
Through it I trace on every hand
-
Beauties, would grace a fairy-land,
[20] -
And think that, like a grateful eye,
-
It smiles on all beneath the sky.
-
There, too, my sweet geranium blows,
-
And mignionette, and crimson rose,
-
When all without is clad in snows.
-
I doubt me, if a princess feels
-
More joy than that which o’er me steals,
-
When light and morn my slumbers break,
-
And to this blissful scene I wake.
-
I cannot form a wish beside
-
What Heaven’s bounty has supplied,
-
Save that to Whang I could impart
-
The same content that fills my heart;
-
Yield him that thankful state of rest,
-
Or teach to prize the good possess’d.”
-
-
-
Good fortune seldom comes too late;
-
For lo! at last indulgent Fate
-
Smil’d on the importunate swain,
-
And eas’d at length his anxious pain.
[21] -
Dreams—one,—two,—three,—th’ important number,
-
Omen’d him hence to quit his slumber,
-
With spade and mattock arm’d, to delve
-
Six feet—nay, I believe ’twas twelve,
-
Close by the long-forsaken mill—
-
He flies, the mission to fulfil!
-
The mattock rings, the spade descends,
-
The sturdy arm its vigour lends;
-
At such light labour who could sleep?
-
Whang is already three feet deep!
-
Upon the spade observe him smile:
-
What sees he?—what?—a broken tile;
-
The very tile his dream foretold,
-
A landmark to his pan of gold!
-
Upturns one token more—a bone!
-
And now, behold the broad flat stone!
-
A moment on its ample size
-
He gaz’d with wide distended eyes—
-
“Beneath that is the pan!” he cries.
[22] -
“’Twas under such a stone as this
-
That neighbour Drowsypate found his.
-
So then, at last, my hopes are crown’d!
-
Come, then, let’s raise thee from the ground.”
-
But, ere to lift the stone he tries,
-
He shook his head, not over wise,
-
And, with a self-approving glance,
-
One foot a little in advance,
-
With nose and lip contemptuous curl’d,
-
That said, “A fig for all the world!”
-
He cried, “My wife, she, silly trot!
-
Shall never know the wealth I’ve got:
-
To punish her I made a vow;
-
The time is come, I’ll keep it now.
-
She could not dream, poor fool! not she;
-
Some trite old tale of ‘busy bee,’
-
Of saving pins, and pence, and groats,
-
For ever occupied her thoughts.
-
Besides, the hussey laugh’d outright
-
Whene’er I pass’d a dreamless night.
[23] -
Yes, yes, I will requite her scorn;
-
She’ll rue it, sure as she is born!”——
-
Ah, bootless boast! the stone so great
-
Exceeds by far his strength in weight.
-
In vain he digs and delves the ground,
-
And clears away the rubbish round,
-
And gathering strength with his vexation,
-
Widens the fearful excavation.
-
He cannot move the stone for life;
-
So forc’d at last, he calls his wife,
-
Imparts the fact so long repress’d,
-
And glads, reluctantly, her breast.
-
The news he stated wak’d her fear;
-
What gave delight at first to hear,
-
One apprehension turn’d to pain—
-
She trembled for her husband’s brain.
-
“Can it be true?” cried she, misdeeming;
-
“Dear Whang, too surely thou art dreaming:
-
Try, recollect thyself, good man—”
-
“Tut, hussey! why, I’ll shew the pan:
[24] -
Only a minute’s help I ask,
-
And thou shalt see’t—a trifling task
-
Just to remove, I know not what,
-
A stone, it may be, from the spot.
-
Come, come, thy hand.” They gain the door,
-
When, turning, Kate asks, “Are you sure?”
-
“Sure? yes,” vociferates her spouse.
-
This said, they issue from the house—
-
“I’m certain, as to all I’ve told,
-
As if e’en now I touch’d the gold:
-
Sure as that I no more will bear
-
This russet doublet now to wear:—
-
That I no more will condescend
-
To own Ralph Roughspeech for my friend,
-
Nor tolerate the pert monition
-
Of neighbours, in my chang’d condition:
-
Sure—but, ye Powers! what do I see?—
-
The mill! the mill!—Oh! woe is me!
-
My only stay, my certain aid,
-
All level with the earth is laid!——
[25] -
Presumptuous! I have scorn’d my fate,
-
And wrought this mischief: all too late
-
The error of my life I see,
-
And misery my portion be.
-
Time, that no more I may recal,
-
By wise men priz’d, and dear to all,
-
How have I squander’d! how abus’d!
-
My friends, my neighbours, basely us’d!
-
How shall I bear, acquaintance meeting,
-
Scorn to behold where once was greeting?
-
Now comes their turn to treat the fool
-
With jeers, contempt, and ridicule.
-
Laugh’d at on all sides—and to know
-
And feel I have deserv’d the blow!
-
Undone by mine own discontent!—
-
But ah! too late I do repent.
-
Forc’d now in poverty to roam,
-
I soon must quit this quiet home;
-
And where with thee, poor Kate! to fly?—
-
Oh! I could lay me down and die!
[26] -
Wretch that I am! Kate, Kate, forgive!”
-
“My pardon, dearest Whang, receive:
-
But ’twas not I who gave thee health,
-
Strength, talent to improve thy wealth;
-
Who cast thy lot in such fair land,
-
Or bless’d thee with such liberal hand.
-
O! turn to Him with thankful prayer
-
Who deigns e’en yet thy life to spare;
-
Implore His pardon—kneel with me;
-
This ruin might have cover’d thee.
-
But thou art spar’d, and yet remain
-
The means our livelihood to gain:
-
A heartfelt willing perseverance
-
Will mend our lot before a year hence.
-
Thou knowest well that neighbour Ralph
-
Each morn will spare an hour or half
-
To help us to repair the mill.”
-
“Doest think,” Whang blushing ask’d, “he will?”
-
“Yes, yes, I do believe so too,
-
He was a neighbour kind and true;
[27] -
And if his counsels gave offence,
-
The fault was in my want of sense.
-
Yet, ideot! I”—“Enough!” cried Kate,
-
Exulting in her alter’d mate;
-
“To see our faults in their just light,
-
Is next akin to acting right.
-
But time no longer let us waste;
-
I’ll to friend Roughspeech quickly haste:
-
Own thou, meanwhile,” she smiling cried,
-
“To have a help-mate in thy bride
-
Is treasure perhaps of equal worth
-
With aught conceal’d beneath the earth.”
-
With look of conscious proud delight,
-
She caught the sound of, “Kate, thou’rt right;”
-
While a “small voice” responsive join’d
-
Applausive music in her mind.
-
-
-
Then turn’d she from the yawning ground,
-
And, eying Whang with thought profound,
[28] -
Saw in his look, on her that bent,
-
A meaning most intelligent.
-
A wish defin’d she saw, and knelt;
-
Beside her soon his form she felt:
-
Then, with join’d hands uplift in air,
-
Burst from their lips the ardent prayer.
-
With brighter hopes from earth they rose,
-
Nor long (—for so the story goes)
-
In idle wailings spent the day:
-
Just then a neighbour pass’d that way.—
-
Whang turn’d his head; a crimson streak
-
Rush’d hastily across his cheek,
-
And Cath’rine’s palpitating breast
-
A momentary shame confess’d:
-
For well they knew, Old Robin’s tale
-
Soon through the village would prevail,
-
And bring a host about their ears,
-
With pity some, and some with jeers.
-
But guilt and folly must endure
-
The caustics that effect a cure.
[29] -
Whang therefore strove, with patient heart,
-
To bear th’ anticipated smart;
-
Nor vainly strove: the threaten’d ill
-
Fell, he with patience met it still.
-
Few in the morning of his grief
-
Or gave, or proffer’d him relief.
-
Those who had counsell’d heretofore,
-
Excus’d themselves from doing more,
-
“Presuming nothing they could offer
-
Would meet acceptance from the scoffer.”
-
Others, meanwhile, of nature good,
-
Assisted, comforted, withstood
-
With honest scorn the worldling’s cant,
-
Nor shunn’d a neighbour, though in want.
-
To all, Whang bore an humble mien,
-
By all, his contrite spirit’s seen;
-
Till even they who smil’d at first,
-
When o’er his head the tempest burst,
-
Were forc’d, in justice, to declare
-
His penitence appear’d sincere.
[30] -
“They trusted, nay, almost believ’d
-
His loss of character retriev’d:”
-
And, soften’d by his chang’d address,
-
“Good fortune wish’d, and happiness.”
-
-
-
And he was happy—“he was bless’d
-
Beyond desert,” he oft confessed,
-
By friends, by all the good caress’d.
-
A smiling garden, rescu’d mill,
-
His dear old cottage on the hill,
-
A faithful wife, a conscience clear,
-
Shed brightness on each coming year.
-
-
-
The church-yard stone, that bears his name,
-
Records his failing and his fame;
-
And, in his life and death, conveys
-
A moral truth to future days.
-
-
-
- -

FINIS.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
Burst from their lips the ardent prayer.
-
-
- -

Page 28.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
’Tis lucky that I have my health.
-
Since this poor mill is all my wealth:
-
-
- -

Page 12.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
At eve before the cottage-door.
-
They talk’d the wondrous story o’er;
-
-
- -

Page 14.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
My pretty window! that commands
-
Those meadows green and wooded lands.
-
-
- -

Page 19.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
One foot a little in advance.
-
With nose and lip contemptuous curl’d.
-
That said, “A fig for all the world!”
-
-
- -

Page 22.

- -
- -
- - - -
-
-
——ye Powers! what do I see?——
-
-
- -

Page 24.

- -
- -

 

-

 

-
-

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