OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade | |
| Of Windsor forest’s deepest glade, | |
| A dying woman lay; | |
| Three little children round her stood, | |
| And there went up from the greenwood | 5 |
| A woful wail that day. | |
| |
| “O mother!” was the mingled cry, | |
| “O mother, mother! do not die, | |
| And leave us all alone.” | |
| “My blessèd babes!” she tried to say, | 10 |
| But the faint accents died away | |
| In a low sobbing moan. | |
| |
| And then, life struggled hard with death, | |
| And fast and strong she drew her breath, | |
| And up she raised her head; | 15 |
| And, peering through the deep wood maze | |
| With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, | |
| “Will she not come?” she said. | |
| |
| Just then, the parting boughs between, | |
| A little maid’s light form was seen, | 20 |
| All breathless with her speed; | |
| And, following close, a man came on | |
| (A portly man to look upon), | |
| Who led a panting steed. | |
| |
| “Mother!” the little maiden cried, | 25 |
| Or e’er she reached the woman’s side, | |
| And kissed her clay-cold cheek,— | |
| “I have not idled in the town, | |
| But long went wandering up and down, | |
| The minister to seek. | 30 |
| |
| “They told me here, they told me there,— | |
| I think they mocked me everywhere; | |
| And when I found his home, | |
| And begged him on my bended knee | |
| To bring his book and come with me, | 35 |
| Mother! he would not come. | |
| |
| “I told him how you dying lay, | |
| And could not go in peace away | |
| Without the minister; | |
| I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, | 40 |
| But O, my heart was fit to break,— | |
| Mother! he would not stir. | |
| |
| “So, though my tears were blinding me, | |
| I ran back, fast as fast could be, | |
| To come again to you; | 45 |
| And here—close by—this squire I met, | |
| Who asked (so mild) what made me fret; | |
| And when I told him true,— | |
| |
| “‘I will go with you, child,’ he said, | |
| ‘God sends me to this dying bed,’— | 50 |
| Mother, he ’s here, hard by.” | |
| While thus the little maiden spoke, | |
| The man, his back against an oak, | |
| Looked on with glistening eye. | |
| |
| The bridle on his neck hung free, | 55 |
| With quivering flank and trembling knee, | |
| Pressed close his bonny bay; | |
| A statelier man, a statelier steed, | |
| Never on greensward paced, I rede, | |
| Than those stood there that day. | 60 |
| |
| So, while the little maiden spoke, | |
| The man, his back against an oak, | |
| Looked on with glistening eye | |
| And folded arms, and in his look | |
| Something that, like a sermon-book, | 65 |
| Preached,—“All is vanity.” | |
| |
| But when the dying woman’s face | |
| Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, | |
| He stepped to where she lay; | |
| And, kneeling down, bent over her, | 70 |
| Saying, “I am a minister, | |
| My sister! let us pray!” | |
| |
| And well, withouten book or stole, | |
| (God’s words were printed on his soul!) | |
| Into the dying ear | 75 |
| He breathed, as ’t were an angel’s strain, | |
| The things that unto life pertain, | |
| And death’s dark shadows clear. | |
| |
| He spoke of sinners’ lost estate, | |
| In Christ renewed, regenerate,— | 80 |
| Of God’s most blest decree, | |
| That not single soul should die | |
| Who turns repentant, with the cry | |
| “Be merciful to me.” | |
| |
| He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, | 85 |
| Endured but for a little while | |
| In patience, faith, and love,— | |
| Sure, in God’s own good time, to be | |
| Exchanged for an eternity | |
| Of happiness above. | 90 |
| |
| Then, as the spirit ebbed away, | |
| He raised his hands and eyes to pray | |
| That peaceful it might pass; | |
| And then—the orphans’ sobs alone | |
| Were heard, and they knelt, every one, | 95 |
| Close round on the green grass. | |
| |
| Such was the sight their wandering eyes | |
| Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, | |
| Who reined their coursers back, | |
| Just as they found the long astray, | 100 |
| Who, in the heat of chase that day, | |
| Had wandered from their track. | |
| |
| But each man reined his pawing steed, | |
| And lighted down, as if agreed, | |
| In silence at his side; | 105 |
| And there, uncovered all, they stood,— | |
| It was a wholesome sight and good | |
| That day for mortal pride. | |
| |
| For of the noblest of the land | |
| Was that deep-hushed, bareheaded band; | 110 |
| And, central in the ring, | |
| By that dead pauper on the ground, | |
| Her ragged orphans clinging round, | |
| Knelt their anointed king. | |
| |
