Nay! start not at that Figure--there! Him who is rooted to his Chair! Look at him, look again; for He Hath long been of thy Family. With legs that move not, if they can, And useless arms, a Trunk of Man, He sits, and with a vacant eye; A Sight to make a Stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, such is now his doom; His world is in that single room-- Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here? The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate; He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp, He is as mute as Jedborough Tower, She jocund as it was of yore With all its bravery on, in times When all alive with merry chimes Upon a sun-bright morn of May It roused the Vale to holiday. I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise and true. With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent; This do I see, and something more, A strength unthought of heretofore. Delighted am I for thy sake, And yet a higher joy partake: Our human nature throws away Its second twilight, and looks gay, A Land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide. Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself as seems, composed; To fear of loss and hope of gain, The strife of happiness and pain-- Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of little Infants when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, quick or slow. Her buoyant spirits can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail. She strikes upon him with the heat Of July suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight, though dim! 'Tis all that now remains for him! I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er, And, looking, wondered more and more: When suddenly I seem'd to espy A trouble in her strong black eye, A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright! Not long this mystery did detain My thoughts. She told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body, and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. So be it!--but let praise ascend To Him who is our Lord and Friend! Who from disease and suffering As bad almost as Life can bring, Hath call'd for thee a second Spring; Repaid thee for that sore distress By no untimely joyousness; Which makes of thine a blissful state; And cheers thy melancholy Mate!