Red ’rose the sun, and flush’d the fleecy sky;
His ’fulgent rays foretold the hour was nigh
When soon the cottagers would ope their eye,
For chanticleer had loos’d his horny bill,
And sent abroad his unmistaken thrill.
That honor’d oak bore up a motley throng
Of feathery warblers, lively with their song;
Beneath the tree the chickens ’wait the hour,
Then rush like steeple-chasers to the door:
And, helter-skelter, forth the bristled beast
With usual manners begg’d their usual feast:
(Could they have known their mistress sigh’d and cried,
No doubt the cloven group would have denied
Themselves one meal at least; and would have mourn’d
With Hollybrand, his loss; for Jane adorn’d
That little cot so long, ’twas sure unkind
To leave it now, and everything behind:)
But Jane came not, as usual, forth to feed
The drowsy grunters; so, to lull their greed,
George did for once (but not without much pain)
Strew out, among them all, the crumbs and grain,
And fill’d the trough. ’Twas now the hour of eight,
When lo! they heard a noise,—the birds took flight,—
’Twas like the sound of carriages afar:
At length they see the fastly-driven car.
Jane then, ’mid hopes and fears, tripp’d ’cross the floor
And saw the coach advancing to the door!
Another moment, whilst, embracing her,
Lord Arnold’s kisses stayed the falling tear.
His mode of greeting, and his gentle grace,
Implanted joy-looks on poor George’s face;—
For Arnold’s winning manners never fail’d
To cheer the hearts of those whom grief assail’d:
They all sit down (the morning meal is spread),
But George, at times, seem’d sad and sore afraid;
At intervals he scarcely could restrain
From weeping: Arnold now announc’d to Jane
The time was fast approaching when, in fact,
Her luggage in the carriage should be pack’d:
Then she, in answer, to her room repairs
And, more serene, her humble self prepares;
Return’d, and what? a picture to behold,—
Her eyes like diamonds unadorn’d with gold:
With hasty steps she gain’d her father’s side;
Her lifted hands a screen became, to hide
Once more her sad and saturated cheek:
In tones subdued, unnerv’d, she tries to speak,
(Her words were ’sunder’d with repeated sighs,)
And then a pause; and then again she tries,
Say’ng—“Father, father, oh! ’tis sad to part;
But, father, trust in God, and cheer your heart.”
These were the words, the parting words of those
Whose cottage sanctity was just about to close.
One moment more must bring that last “farewell,”—
Whose import—none but George and Jane could tell;
And Hollybrand, now left alone to dwell!