The Two Peacocks Of Bedfont.

I.     Alas! That breathing Vanity should go     Where Pride is buried, - like its very ghost,     Uprisen from the naked bones below,     In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast     Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro,     Shedding its chilling superstition most     On young and ignorant natures - as it wont     To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont! II.     Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer,     Behold two maidens, up the quiet green     Shining, far distant, in the summer air     That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between     Their downy plumes, - sailing as if they were     Two far-off ships, - until they brush between     The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait     On either side of the wide open'd gate, III.     And there they stand - with haughty necks before     God's holy house, that points towards the skies -     Frowning reluctant duty from the poor,     And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes:     And Youth looks lingering from the temple door,     Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs,     With pouting lips, - forgetful of the grace,     Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face; - IV.     Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside,     May wear the happiness of rich attire;     And those two sisters, in their silly pride,     May change the soul's warm glances for the fire     Of lifeless diamonds; - and for health denied, -     With art, that blushes at itself, inspire     Their languid cheeks - and flourish in a glory     That has no life in life, nor after-story. V.     The aged priest goes shaking his gray hair     In meekest censuring, and turns his eye     Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r,     And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by,     Good-hearted man! what sullen soul would wear     Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly     Put on thy censure, that might win the praise     Of one so gray in goodness and in days? VI.     Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame     Of this ungodly shine of human pride,     And sadly blends his reverence and blame     In one grave bow, and passes with a stride     Impatient: - many a red-hooded dame     Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside     From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again,     That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain. VII.     "I have a lily in the bloom at home,"     Quoth one, "and by the blessed Sabbath day     I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come     And read a lesson upon vain array; -     And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some     Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say -     Making my reverence, - 'Ladies, an you please,     King Solomon's not half so fine as these,'" VIII.     Then her meek partner, who has nearly run     His earthly course, - "Nay, Goody, let your text     Grow in the garden. - We have only one -     Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next?     Summer will come again, and summer sun,     And lilies too, - but I were sorely vext     To mar my garden, and cut short the blow     Of the last lily I may live to grow," IX.     "The last!" quoth she, "and though the last it were -     Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so proud     With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair,     And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd     And curtsey'd to! - last Sabbath after pray'r,     I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud     If they were angels - but I made him know     God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow!" X.     So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk     That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng,     Hand-coupled urchins in restraind talk,     And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong,     And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk,     And gold-bedizen'd beadle flames along,     And gentle peasant clad in buff and green,     Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene; XI.     And blushing maiden - modestly array'd     In spotless white, - still conscious of the glass;     And she, the lonely widow, that hath made     A sable covenant with grief, - alas!     She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade,     While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass,     Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress     Her boy, - so rosy! - and so fatherless! XII.     Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near     The fair white temple, to the timely call     Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. -     Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl     Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere     Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all,      - Saying those two, that turn aside and pass,     In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. XIII.     Ah me! to see their silken manors trail'd     In purple luxuries - with restless gold, -     Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd     In blotted black, - over the heapy mould     Panting wave-wantonly! They never quail'd     How the warm vanity abused the cold;     Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone     Sadly uplooking through transparent stone: XIV.     But swept their dwellings with unquiet light,     Shocking the awful presence of the dead;     Where gracious natures would their eyes benight,     Nor wear their being with a lip too red,     Nor move too rudely in the summer bright     Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread,     Meting it into steps, with inward breath,     In very pity to bereaved death. XV.     Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign     To solemn pray'r, and the loud chaunted hymn, -     With glowing picturings of joys divine     Painting the mist-light where the roof is dim;     But youth looks upward to the window shine,     Warming with rose and purple and the swim     Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains     Of gorgeous light through many-color'd panes; XVI.     Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath     Enrobed his angels, - and with absent eyes     Hearing of Heav'n, and its directed path,     Thoughtful of slippers - and the glorious skies     Clouding with satin, - till the preacher's wrath     Consumes his pity, and he glows and cries     With a deep voice that trembles in its might,     And earnest eyes grow eloquent in light: XVII.     "Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look     On very beauty, and the heart embrace     True loveliness, and from this holy book     Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace     Of love indeed! Oh, that the young soul took     Its virgin passion from the glorious face     Of fair religion, and address'd its strife,     To win the riches of eternal life!" XVIII.     "Doth the vain heart love glory that is none,     And the poor excellence of vain attire?     Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun,     The visible ruler of the starry quire,     Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run,     Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire;     And the faint soul down-darkens into night,     And dies a burning martyrdom to light." XIX.     Oh go, and gaze, - when the low winds of ev'n     Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod     Their gold-crown'd heads; and the rich blooms of heav'n     Sun-ripen'd give their blushes up to God;     And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n     By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod     Of heavenly Moses, - that your thirsty sense     May quench its longings of magnificence! XX.     "Yet suns shall perish - stars shall fade away -     Day into darkness - darkness into death -     Death into silence; the warm light of day,     The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath     Of even - all shall wither and decay,     Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath     The touch of morn - or bubbles of rich dyes     That break and vanish in the aching eyes." XXI.     They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed     Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour     Their sin to earth, - and with low drooping head     Receive the solemn blessing, and implore     Its grace - then soberly with chasten'd tread,     They meekly press towards the gusty door     With humbled eyes that go to graze upon     The lowly grass - like him of Babylon. XXII.     The lowly grass! - O water-constant mind!     Fast-ebbing holiness! - soon-fading grace     Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind     Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face     For ever! - How they lift their eyes to find     Old vanities! - Pride wins the very place     Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now     With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow! XXIII.     And lo! with eager looks they seek the way     Of old temptation at the lowly gate;     To feast on feathers, and on vain array,     And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state     Of jewel-sprinkled locks, - But where are they,     The graceless haughty ones that used to wait     With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen'd eye? -     None challenge the old homage bending by. XXIV.     In vain they look for the ungracious bloom     Of rich apparel where it glow'd before, -     For Vanity has faded all to gloom,     And lofty Pride has stiffen'd to the core,     For impious Life to tremble at its doom, -     Set for a warning token evermore,     Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise     Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes. XXV.     The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn,     But shakes not sorrow under his gray hair;     The solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn     Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair; -     And ancient lips that pucker'd up in scorn,     Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray'r;     And in the garden-plot, from day to day,     The lily blooms its long white life away. XXVI.     And where two haughty maidens used to be,     In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod,     Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly,     Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod;     There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see     Two sombre Peacocks.     Age, with sapient nod     Marking the spot, still tarries to declare     How they once lived, and wherefore they are there.