The Last of the Family
_____
James.
What Gregory! you are come I see to
join us
On this sad business!
Gregory.
Aye James! I am come,
But with a heavy heart – God knows
it, man –
Where shall we meet the corpse?
James.
Some hour from hence,
By noon, & near about the elms I
take it.
This is not as it should be
Gregory!
Old men to follow young ones to the
grave! –
This morning when I heard the bell
strike out
I thought that I had never heard it
toll
In dismay before.
Gregory.
Well – well – my friend –
Tis what we all must come to soon or
late.
But when a young man dies, in the
prime of life,
One born so well, who might have
blest us all
Many long years, –
James.
And then the family
Extinguishd in him, & the good
old name
Only to be remembered on a
tombstone!
A name that has gone down from sire
to son
So many generations! – many a
time
Poor Master Edward, who is now a
corpse,
When yet a child would come to me
& lead me
To the great family tree, & beg
of me
To tell him stories of his
ancestors,
Of Eustace he that went to the Holy
Land
With Richard Lionheart, & that
Sir Henry
Who fought at Crecy in K. Edwards
wars.
And then his little eyes would kindle
so
To hear of their brave deeds! – I usd
to think
The bravest of them all would not out
do
My darling boy.
Gregory.
This comes of your great schools
And college breeding! plague upon his
guardians
That would have made him wiser than
his fathers.
James.
If his poor father Gregory! had but
lived
Things would not have been so. he
poor good man
Had little of book learning, but
there lived not
A kinder, nobler hearted
gentleman.
One better to his tenants. when he
died
There was not a dry eye for miles
around.
Gregory I thought that I could never
know
A sadder day than that, – but what
was that
Compared to this days sorrow?
Gregory.
I remember
Eight months ago when the young
Squire began
To alter the old mansion, they
destroyd
The martins nests that had stood
undisturbd
Under that roof, – aye – long before
my memory.
I shook my head at seeing it &
thought
No good could follow.
James.
Poor young man! I loved him
Like my own child, I loved the
family;
Come Candlemas & I have been
their servant
For five & forty years. I lived
with them
When his good father brought my Lady
home,
And when the young Squire was born,
it did me good
To hear the bells so merrily
announce
An heir. this is indeed a heavy blow
–
I feel it Gregory, heavier than the
weight
Of three-score years. he was a noble
lad –
I loved him dearly!
Gregory.
Every body loved him –
Such a fine, generous, open-hearted
youth!
When he came home from school at
holydays
How I rejoiced to see him! he was
sure
To come to
me & to ask of me what birds there
were
About my fields; & when I found a
covey
Theres not a testy Squire preserves
his game
More charily, than I have kept them
safe
For Master Edward. & he lookd so
well
Upon a fine sharp morning after
them,
His brown hair frosted, & his
cheek so flushd,
With such a wholesome ruddiness! ah
James
But he was sadly changed when he came
down
To keep his birth day!
James.
Changd! – why Gregory
Twas like a palsy to me, when he
steppd
Out of the carriage. he was grown so
thin,
His cheek so delicate sallow, &
his eyes
Had such a dim & rakish
hollowness!
And when he came to shake me by the
hand
And spoke as kindly to me as he
used,
I hardly knew the voice!
Gregory.
It struck a damp
On all our merriment. twas a noble
ox
That smoak’d before us, & the old
October
Went merrily in overflowing cans;
But twas a skin-deep merriment, my
heart
Seemd as it took no share. – &
when we drank
His health, the thought came over me
what cause
We had for wishing that, & spoilt
the draught.
Poor Gentleman – to think ten months
ago
He came of age, & now –
James.
I feard it then;
He lookd to me as one that was not
long
For this worlds business.
Gregory.
When the Doctors sent him
Abroad to try the air it made me
certain
That all was over. there’s but little
hope,
Methinks, that foreign parts can help
a man
When his own mother country will not
do.
The last time he came down these
bells rung so
I thought they would have rockd the
old steeple down
And now that dismal toll! I would
have staid
Beyond its reach, but this was a last
duty.
I’m an old tenant of the family,
Born on the estate, & now that
I’ve outlived it,
Why tis but right to see it to the
grave.
Have you heard ought of the new
Squire?
James.
But little
And that not well; but be he what he
may
Matters not much to me. the love I
bore
To the good family will not easily
fix
Upon a stranger; tis too old a
plant
To bear transplanting & its roots
had struck
Too deeply. look – what’s on the
opposite hill?
Is’t not the funeral?
Gregory.
Tis I think some horsemen
James.
And yonder is the herse – between the
trees,
Tis hid behind them now.
Gregory –
Aye – there I see it
And there’s the coaches following, we
shall meet <it>
About the bridge. would that this day
were over
I wonder whose turn’s next?
James
God above knows.
When youth is summond what must age
expect!
God make us ready Gregory when it
comes.
[1]
_______
The last fifteen lines are crude & must be mended.
the “too old a plant &c – is too metaphoric I think.
this however is easily mended, & the Eclogue pleases
me. [2] What follows is the last.
The Ruined Cottage [3]
_____
Aye Charles! I knew that this would
fix thine eye,
This woodbine wreathing round the
broken porch,
Its leaves just withering, yet one
autumn flower
Still fresh & fragrant; & yon
holly hock
That thro the creeping weeds &
nettles tall
Peers taller, & uplifts its
columned stem
Bright with the broad rose blossoms.
I have seen
Many an old convent reverend in
decay,
And many a time have trod the castle
courts
And grass-green halls, yet never did
they strike
Home to the heart such melancholy
thoughts
As this poor cottage. look – its
little hatch
Fleeced with that grey & wintry
moss; the roof
Part mouldered in, the rest oergrown
with weeds,
House leek & long thin grass,
& greener moss –
So Nature wars with all the works of
man,
And like himself reduces back to
earth
His perishable piles.
I led thee here
Charles! not without design; for this
hath been
My favourite walk even since I was a
boy;
And I remember Charles the ruin
here
The neatest comfortable dwelling
place!
That when I read in those dear books
that first
Woke in my heart the love of
poesy,
How with the villagers Erminia
dwelt,
And Calidore for a fair
shepherdess
Forgot his quest to learn the
shepherds lore,
My fancy drew from this the little
hut
Where that poor princess wept her
hopeless love
Or when the gentle Calidore at
eve
Led Pastorella home. there was not
then
A weed where all these nettles
overtop
The garden wall, but sweet brier,
scenting sweet
The morning air, rosemary &
marjoram,
All wholesome herbs, & then that
woodbine wreathd
So lavishly around the pillard
porch
Its fragrant flowers, that when I
past this way
After a truant absence hastening
home,
I could not chuse but pass with
slackened speed
By that delightful fragrance. sadly
changed
Is this poor cottage, & its
dwellers. Charles!
Theirs is a simple melancholy
tale;
Theres scarce a village but can
fellow it,
And yet methinks it will not weary
thee
And should not be untold.
A widow woman
Dwelt with her daughter here; just
above want
She lived on some small pittance that
sufficed,
In better times, the needful calls of
life,
Not without comfort. I remember
her
Sitting at evening in that open
door-way
And spinning in the sun; – methinks I
see her
Raising her eyes & dark-rimmd
spectacles
To see the passer-by, yet ceasing
not
To twirl her lengthening thread: or
in the garden
On some dry summer evening walking
round
To view her flowers, & pointing
as she leand
Upon the ivory handle of her
stick,
To some carnation whose oerheavy
head
Needed support, while with the
watering pot
Joanna followed & refreshed &
trimmd
The drooping plant, Joanna her dear
child,
As lovely & as happy then as
youth
And innocence could make her.
Charles – it seems
As tho I were a boy again, &
all
The mediate years with their
vicissitudes
A half-forgotten dream. I see the
Maid
So comely in her Sunday dress! her
hair,
Her bright brown hair, wreathd in
contracting curls,
And then her cheek – it was a red
& white
That made the delicate hues of art
look loathsome.
The countrymen who on their way to
church
Were leaning oer the bridge,
loitering to hear
The bells last summons, & in
idleness
Watching the steam below, would all
look up
When she past by. & her old
mother – Charles!
When I have heard some erring
infidel
Speak of our faith as of a gloomy
creed
Inspiring fear & boding
wretchedness,
Her figure has recurrd; for she did
love
The sabbath day, & many a time
has crossd
These fields in rain & thro the
winter snows,
When I, a graceless boy, wishing
myself
By the fire side, have wondered why
she came
Who might have sate at home.
One only care
Hung on her aged spirits. for herself
The path was plain before her, &
the close
Of her long journey near. but then
her child
Soon to be left along in this bad
world.!
That was a thought that many a winter
night
Had kept her sleepless; & when
prudent love
In something better than a servants
state
Had placed her well at last, it was a
pang –
Like parting life, to part from her
dear girl.
One Summer Charles, when at the
holydays
Returnd from school, I visited
again
My old accustomed walks, & found
in them
A joy almost like meeting an old
friend,
I saw the cottage empty, & the
weeds
Already crowding the neglected
flowers.
Joannas by a villains wiles
seduced
Had playd the wanton, & that blow
had reachd
Her mothers heart. she did not suffer
long,
Her age was feeble, & the heavy
blow
Brought her grey hairs with sorrow to
the grave
I passd this ruined dwelling
oftentimes [MS torn]
And think of other days. it wakes in
[MS torn]
A transient sadness, but therefore
linger Char[MS torn]
That ever with these recollections
rise –
I trust in God they will pass
away.
[4]
_______
What you said respecting the foreign Almanacks of the
Muses [5] has served me as a hint, & I think
of speedily editing such a volume. for this I have more
motives than one, among others, that there are some half a
hundred pieces of my own, too good to perish with the
newspapers in which they are printed. I have also among my
more intimate friends many
some who will willingly contribute; & if I should find
all my stores deficient by a sheet or two for the due size
of a volume – why it is but turning to, & filling it
myself. Can you assist me with a title? Pratt has
damned the word Gleanings, [6] which I thought of. & will you assist
me with any thing else? I have some tolerable balladlings,
& some tolerable stories for more.
I have had a singular book to review — the
Memoires Historiques de Stephanie Louise de Bourbon
Conti. [7]
Have you seen it? it is a lamentable tale of wickedness
under the old regime, & injustice in the new.
God bless you.
Robert Southey.
Dec. 30. 1798
