THE WIDOW'S LAMENT.
Reading edition
This ballad is founded on an event which took place in the latter part of the year 1848. A gamekeeper of the earl of Ripon went out one night about his usual business, and was found next morning, near one of the plantations on Hutton Moor, shot dead. A notorious poacher, who was seen in the neighbourhood on the day of the murder, was apprehended and tried at York assizes, but acquitted for want of evidence; he subsequently emigrated to America, where he died, and is said to have confessed that he was the murderer.
The cheerless day is closing fast, The angry night-wind howls around, And hurried by the sweeping blast, Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground. Nought pleasing can the scene impart, Far as the weary eye can scan; But colder far the widow's heart,— The widow of the murdered man. The scene is o'er—the grave has closed Above the form she loved the best; The heart where all her trust reposed Was driven to untimely rest. Amid her children weeping round, She stands an image of despair, Clasping her arms her infant round,— Yet from her eye there falls no tear; Hers is a keener, deeper woe, A more intense and heavy grief, Than those whence tears in torrents flow, And give the burdened heart relief. "Well may ye weep," at length she cried, "Poor orphans to a father's care, By villain's shot your father died, And left us hopeless, friendless here. "Why on my heart such sudden fear Came icy cold I cannot tell; When loud the shot pealed on mine ear, I thought by it my husband fell. "He was I fear too rashly brave! His heart was bold tho' warm and kind, But now it moulders in the grave, And we are helpless left behind. "In health and hope he left his home, And promised early to return, For him I spread my choicest store, And brighter made the fire to burn. "For him, alas! I looked in vain, The night closed in dark, drear, and wild, I sigh'd and wept, then looked again, Then looked upon my sleeping child. "And oh! that night of dreadful grief, Of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow, What could I think? where seek relief? I hoped—yet feared the coming morrow. "I thought that night would ne'er be done, Each minute seemed a dreary day; My heart before was ne'er cast down, As then it drooped at his delay. "Each sound I heard I thought him come, And eager looked—but looked in vain; That dreary night he was from home, And there he never came again. "The morning told the fatal truth, My hapless heart presaged my lot, The loved companion of my youth, Was murdered by a villain's shot. "Oh! murderous man, what hast thou done? Reflect upon thy awful crime! What peace of mind to thee can come, Oh wretch repent while thou hast time! "Oh! I could curse thee in my grief! Thou murderer of my peace and joy; But I will not—'twere small relief, Tho' justice should thy life destroy. "'Twould not recall to life again The man I loved in early youth: Ah me! ah me! now all in vain His kindness, my confiding truth. "In thy dark cell alone to pine From every consolation free; I'd rather bear my lot than thine, I'd rather be myself than thee! "Will not before thy startled eye Thy murdered victim ever seem? Canst thou in slumber think to lie, And not behold him in thy dream? "For me, alas! what shall I do? My children soon must cry for bread, And he, the husband, father true, Who was our all, is murdered. "Deep in his grave, oh! I could rest, There would my cares and sorrows cease; With him I should—I should be blest! O with him I should be at peace! "Come death relieve me of my woe! Come bid my sleepless eyelids close! O gladly to his grave I'd go, And share with him his cold repose! "Why dost thou smile? my darling child! Thy heavy loss thou dost not know! Thy mother's grief is frantic, wild, For oh thy father moulders low! "No more will he with kindly care, Caress thee fondly in his arms; His loving kiss thou canst not share, Nor lisp to him thy vain alarms. "Forgive me, God! I wished to die, When thou my babe so sweetly smiled;— For thee to live in hope I'll try, My comfort left, my darling child!" As conscious of its parent's woe, The artless innocent upsprung, Its arms around her neck to throw, While to her lips its kisses clung. Then love dissolved the mother's grief, What mother can desert her child? A flood of tears now brought relief, And hope again (though faintly) smiled.