[196] The proper title of this picture was, no doubt, “The birth of our Saviour.”
Jane now began (as Arnold wish’d) to arrange Her little wardrobe, for th’ approaching change. From humble life she soon was to withdraw To Rollingate,—there learn the “genteel law,” ’Midst scenes of gaiety; (but yet aloof;)— To learn in private, ’neath the mansion roof, The necessary etiquette—for she The future hope of Arnold was to be. Tears flow’d, and oft, as day and night flew past; More often still at every eve-repast: The cottage-home serenity had fled; And George look’d forward with an earthly dread To that sad day; his very heart recoil’d— To think of parting with his only child! But Hollybrand, though passionately fond, Had giv’n his word, and hence fulfill’d his bond.
At length the month, the week, the day had flown, And high in heav’n revolved the silent moon,— The night had come; and (save the poor girl’s heart, Which now began to fail and dread to part) All’s ready: but the evening’s pensive shade Unmann’d the heart, o’er forty years had made: Poor George felt sad—indeed, well, well he might— Whilst pondering o’er the last long-dreaded night; He knew too well that when the morning came To him his child would only be a name. Thus then to pray’rs:—Upon their bended knee They sent their orisons forth unto God, that He Would grant to them (especially to her) His favoring spirit, and His bounteous care. And from its bounds the briny-liquid lept, For Hollybrand could not refrain, and wept: The last “good night,” with intermissive sighs, Fell from their lips; while ’kerchiefs to their eyes Detain’d their tears: Such was the dreary eve Of that lone day when “Jenny” took her leave.
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!