Poems (Sherwin)/Collin Ramsey
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"Before we spread a Report we should ascertain its Truth, and reflect well upon the consequences of which it might be productive, lest we should be guilty of the heinous Sin of bearing false witness against our Neighbour."
COLLIN RAMSEY.
Beside a country village green,
A pretty whitewashed cot was seen;
It stood within a little ground,
With close trimmed privet hedge around,
Laid out with taste and and nicely kept,—
The walks each day were cleaned and swept
The walls within were purely white,
The furniture all polished bright,
And the brick floor, half red, half blue,
Would not have soiled a satin shoe.
Throughout there was a peaceful air,
Which told nor wealth nor want were there.
Here Collin Ramsey long had dwelt,
Nor sickness he nor woe had felt.
Young, scarcely past his twentieth year,
With ruddy cheeks, complexion clear;
A countenance frank, honest, free,
Of goodly mein and make was he;
And with his mother dwelt alone,
Her one fond hope—her only son.
Long time her husband had been dead,
And Collin's labour brought them bread.
A woodman he, and with the sun,
Each morn his daily task begun.
Though hard he toiled, and hard he fared,
Contentment with his work he shared,
And happy seemed if he could see
His parent from all sorrow free.
The village maids, as he passed by,
Would greet him with a smiling eye;
But one more favoured than the rest
Had raised a flame in Collin's breast.
A fair-haired damsel, Norah White,
The daughter of a neighbouring wright.
A pretty whitewashed cot was seen;
It stood within a little ground,
With close trimmed privet hedge around,
Laid out with taste and and nicely kept,—
The walks each day were cleaned and swept
The walls within were purely white,
The furniture all polished bright,
And the brick floor, half red, half blue,
Would not have soiled a satin shoe.
Throughout there was a peaceful air,
Which told nor wealth nor want were there.
Here Collin Ramsey long had dwelt,
Nor sickness he nor woe had felt.
Young, scarcely past his twentieth year,
With ruddy cheeks, complexion clear;
A countenance frank, honest, free,
Of goodly mein and make was he;
And with his mother dwelt alone,
Her one fond hope—her only son.
Long time her husband had been dead,
And Collin's labour brought them bread.
A woodman he, and with the sun,
Each morn his daily task begun.
Though hard he toiled, and hard he fared,
Contentment with his work he shared,
And happy seemed if he could see
His parent from all sorrow free.
The village maids, as he passed by,
Would greet him with a smiling eye;
But one more favoured than the rest
Had raised a flame in Collin's breast.
A fair-haired damsel, Norah White,
The daughter of a neighbouring wright.
Oft when the day's harsh toils were o'er,
And Collin homeward crossed the moor,
He'd linger by the shady pool,
Or near the little village school,
The timorous Norah White to greet,
Who wandered there the youth to meet.
And Collin homeward crossed the moor,
He'd linger by the shady pool,
Or near the little village school,
The timorous Norah White to greet,
Who wandered there the youth to meet.
Their's was the bliss, which only love
Joined with pure innocence, can prove;
For neither had a thought of wrong,
And Collin warmly hoped e'er long
To prove the joys of wedded life
By making Norah White his wife.
He thought himself a happy wight
Although he toiled from morn till night.
Quite satisfied, and very meek,—
He earned twelve shillings every week,
And this, he thought, would keep a wife
With all the requisites of life.
Contented soul!* * * *
Joined with pure innocence, can prove;
For neither had a thought of wrong,
And Collin warmly hoped e'er long
To prove the joys of wedded life
By making Norah White his wife.
He thought himself a happy wight
Although he toiled from morn till night.
Quite satisfied, and very meek,—
He earned twelve shillings every week,
And this, he thought, would keep a wife
With all the requisites of life.
Contented soul!* * * *
It happened on an autumn night,
Just at the time of fading light,
Collin his homeward pathway traced,
And o'er the stubble lightly paced.
The lingering twilight just displayed
A something by a hedge-row laid.
He, closely looking, saw a hare
Entangled in a poacher's snare.
Still whistling as before, he thought,
"Since this wild animal is caught,
"I can commit no serious sin
"If I release it from the gin!"
Just at the time of fading light,
Collin his homeward pathway traced,
And o'er the stubble lightly paced.
The lingering twilight just displayed
A something by a hedge-row laid.
He, closely looking, saw a hare
Entangled in a poacher's snare.
Still whistling as before, he thought,
"Since this wild animal is caught,
"I can commit no serious sin
"If I release it from the gin!"
No farther reasoned he, but straight
Slipped back the wire, and took the bait.
The bait, I say, for in the field
Two gamekeepers lay close concealed,
And rushing forth with seeming joy,
They roughly seized the unthinking boy.
"Stay, youngster, stay: not quite so fast,
"The game is o'er,—you're caught at last
"'Tis you who lay these nightly snares,
"And rob our master of his hares.
"Now come with us, and we will see
"What sort of game your next will be."
Slipped back the wire, and took the bait.
The bait, I say, for in the field
Two gamekeepers lay close concealed,
And rushing forth with seeming joy,
They roughly seized the unthinking boy.
"Stay, youngster, stay: not quite so fast,
"The game is o'er,—you're caught at last
"'Tis you who lay these nightly snares,
"And rob our master of his hares.
"Now come with us, and we will see
"What sort of game your next will be."
"Indeed I did not set the snare,"
Said he, "nor mean to take the hare:
"'Twas but this moment that I found
"The creature dead upon the ground."
Said he, "nor mean to take the hare:
"'Twas but this moment that I found
"The creature dead upon the ground."
"That's mighty fine, my lad, indeed,
"And what you poachers always plead;
"But we're too old,—its all no use,
"We'll take no such false weak excuse."
"And what you poachers always plead;
"But we're too old,—its all no use,
"We'll take no such false weak excuse."
No more they said, but forced him down
The sloping fields, and to the town.
Stunned with surprise—no more he tried
To free himself, but walked beside.
And many bitter thoughts then stole
Across his erst untroubled soul.
Ideas in confusion piled,
A chaosed heap—dark, deep and wild.
He nothing either saw or heard,
Nor seemed to think—nor spoke a word.
Till in a dark cold cell he lay,
Awaiting the return of day.
Then came the thought of Norah White—
His home—his mother; and the night
Seemed ten-fold long. For them he fears—
Presses his scorched brow, and bursts in tears.
The sloping fields, and to the town.
Stunned with surprise—no more he tried
To free himself, but walked beside.
And many bitter thoughts then stole
Across his erst untroubled soul.
Ideas in confusion piled,
A chaosed heap—dark, deep and wild.
He nothing either saw or heard,
Nor seemed to think—nor spoke a word.
Till in a dark cold cell he lay,
Awaiting the return of day.
Then came the thought of Norah White—
His home—his mother; and the night
Seemed ten-fold long. For them he fears—
Presses his scorched brow, and bursts in tears.
'Twas midnight!—just the hour of one!
And Collin's mother sat alone.
Oft looked she forth with anxious eye;
'Twas useless,—Collin came not nigh.
When morning's beams around her crept,
She still her lonely vigil kept.
The mother's heart was wrung with fears
She had not felt before for years,
Till trembling—fearful—forth she went,
And learned full soon the sad event.
"Impossible!" she cried, " my son!—
"My innocent—my only one."
But soon too true she found the tale:
Collin indeed was sent to jail.
All words were vain and useless. None
Believed him innocent—not one.
Poor helpless woman! Whose kind care
Shall now thy daily bread prepare?
None will. Woe, want and sad disgrace
All stare thee rudely in the face.
Joy will no more to thee return;
Mourn, thou hast ample cause to mourn.
And Collin's mother sat alone.
Oft looked she forth with anxious eye;
'Twas useless,—Collin came not nigh.
When morning's beams around her crept,
She still her lonely vigil kept.
The mother's heart was wrung with fears
She had not felt before for years,
Till trembling—fearful—forth she went,
And learned full soon the sad event.
"Impossible!" she cried, " my son!—
"My innocent—my only one."
But soon too true she found the tale:
Collin indeed was sent to jail.
All words were vain and useless. None
Believed him innocent—not one.
Poor helpless woman! Whose kind care
Shall now thy daily bread prepare?
None will. Woe, want and sad disgrace
All stare thee rudely in the face.
Joy will no more to thee return;
Mourn, thou hast ample cause to mourn.
;Within a dark, damp noisome cell,
Five weeks was Collin made to dwell.
At first, o'erwhelm'd with bitter grief,
Tears came to bring him some relief,
Till calm reflection came, at length,
And seemed to give his reason strength.
His untaught mind, by nature strong,
Writhed 'neath oppression, baseness, wrong.
Deep feelings woke—dark thoughts arose,—
He deemed mankind were all his foes.
And felt, with scorn, revenge and shame,
He now must bear a felon's name.
One hope, though distant, gleamed around,
Still innocent he might be found.
A trial yet a chance would give,
And still in honour he may live.
In that one dreary hope alone,
He seemed to breathe and still live on.
Five weeks was Collin made to dwell.
At first, o'erwhelm'd with bitter grief,
Tears came to bring him some relief,
Till calm reflection came, at length,
And seemed to give his reason strength.
His untaught mind, by nature strong,
Writhed 'neath oppression, baseness, wrong.
Deep feelings woke—dark thoughts arose,—
He deemed mankind were all his foes.
And felt, with scorn, revenge and shame,
He now must bear a felon's name.
One hope, though distant, gleamed around,
Still innocent he might be found.
A trial yet a chance would give,
And still in honour he may live.
In that one dreary hope alone,
He seemed to breathe and still live on.
The day arrived,—a crowd was there;
Collin a prisoner at the bar,
Before the motley group was placed—
He felt degraded—sunk—disgraced!
He nothing saw, and nothing heard—
But seemed to wait one only word
That should restore his innocence—
Or doom him, though without offence—
To degradation worse than death.
He trembled—scarcely drew his breath.
Collin a prisoner at the bar,
Before the motley group was placed—
He felt degraded—sunk—disgraced!
He nothing saw, and nothing heard—
But seemed to wait one only word
That should restore his innocence—
Or doom him, though without offence—
To degradation worse than death.
He trembled—scarcely drew his breath.
The dread suspense was quickly o'er;
The keepers came, and each one swore
How he observed him at the snare—
Surprised and took him with the hare.
His guilt was plain, the counsel said,—
The judge looked grave and shook his head-
His wise head—full of England's laws,—
Yet friendly to the poor man's cause.
The keepers came, and each one swore
How he observed him at the snare—
Surprised and took him with the hare.
His guilt was plain, the counsel said,—
The judge looked grave and shook his head-
His wise head—full of England's laws,—
Yet friendly to the poor man's cause.
At length the dreaded verdict came;—
'Twas Guilty!—Collin reeled,—a flame
Seemed in his heart, and round his head;
His glazed eye closed—he sunk as dead.
Back to his cell they bore him now,
He felt not,—saw not,—cared not how.
'Twas Guilty!—Collin reeled,—a flame
Seemed in his heart, and round his head;
His glazed eye closed—he sunk as dead.
Back to his cell they bore him now,
He felt not,—saw not,—cared not how.
Within that crowded court was heard
One heavy groan;—but not a word
Betrayed the anguish of the heart.
'Twas but one groan—and then a start.
A fragile form—a hueless face,
Unseen, unnoticed, left the place.
A mother's eye had witnessed all
Her nourished hopes decay and fall.
But little now remains untold;
The world unfeeling all, and cold—
Thought Collin's punishment was light
And deemed his sentence just and right.
Imprisonment. The months roll'd on,
Behold him from his prison gone,
A lonely—wretched—altered one.
The bitterest thoughts had filled his breast,
Chang'd his ideas,—stolen his rest.
Like Cain, a mark was on his brow,
All—all despised and shunn'd him now.
One heavy groan;—but not a word
Betrayed the anguish of the heart.
'Twas but one groan—and then a start.
A fragile form—a hueless face,
Unseen, unnoticed, left the place.
A mother's eye had witnessed all
Her nourished hopes decay and fall.
But little now remains untold;
The world unfeeling all, and cold—
Thought Collin's punishment was light
And deemed his sentence just and right.
Imprisonment. The months roll'd on,
Behold him from his prison gone,
A lonely—wretched—altered one.
The bitterest thoughts had filled his breast,
Chang'd his ideas,—stolen his rest.
Like Cain, a mark was on his brow,
All—all despised and shunn'd him now.
He crossed the heath—he sought the moor,
Where oft his steps had trod before.
None now came forth the youth to meet,
No friendly face turned round to greet,—
And even Norah pass'd him by,
With alter'd look, and head awry;
This seemed the last he e'er could feel,
His blood froze up, his heart turned steel.
With madden'd thoughts he sought his home,
One being still he knew would come
To welcome him with heart and soul,
And to the door he softly stole.
He listened, but could hear no sound,
A deathlike stillness hover'd round:
He shudder'd, and unlatched the door,
When, stretched upon the cold brick floor,
His mother lay!—her only bed
A heap of straw. No taper shed
Its rays around the darken'd room,
And all was deep and sullen gloom.
Where oft his steps had trod before.
None now came forth the youth to meet,
No friendly face turned round to greet,—
And even Norah pass'd him by,
With alter'd look, and head awry;
This seemed the last he e'er could feel,
His blood froze up, his heart turned steel.
With madden'd thoughts he sought his home,
One being still he knew would come
To welcome him with heart and soul,
And to the door he softly stole.
He listened, but could hear no sound,
A deathlike stillness hover'd round:
He shudder'd, and unlatched the door,
When, stretched upon the cold brick floor,
His mother lay!—her only bed
A heap of straw. No taper shed
Its rays around the darken'd room,
And all was deep and sullen gloom.
No word escaped his parching tongue,
No tear upon his eyelids hung,—
Wildly he pressed his burning head,
And gazed in silence on the dead;
For all that now remained on earth
Of her who nursed and gave him birth,
On the cold ground before him lay,
A livid, wither' d, lump of clay;
And as he gazed, o'er his dark soul
A new and strange sensation stole,
'Twas madness!—"Here's no peace," he said,
"But there is peace among the dead,
"And thou my mother now art free,
"I'll hasten then and come to thee."
No tear upon his eyelids hung,—
Wildly he pressed his burning head,
And gazed in silence on the dead;
For all that now remained on earth
Of her who nursed and gave him birth,
On the cold ground before him lay,
A livid, wither' d, lump of clay;
And as he gazed, o'er his dark soul
A new and strange sensation stole,
'Twas madness!—"Here's no peace," he said,
"But there is peace among the dead,
"And thou my mother now art free,
"I'll hasten then and come to thee."
No further spoke the sad lost man,
But forth with eager haste he ran,
Nor stopped his burning brow to cool,
Until he stood beside the pool.
A leap,—a plunge,—and all was o'er,
He struggling sunk to rise no more!
But forth with eager haste he ran,
Nor stopped his burning brow to cool,
Until he stood beside the pool.
A leap,—a plunge,—and all was o'er,
He struggling sunk to rise no more!
And who, how wise soe'er, can know
What future waits this child of woe?
Ours is a dark mysterious state;
None can unclose the book of fate.
The good in this misjudging world
Are often to distraction hurl'd,
Whilst those with thousand crimes oppress'd
Appear to be supremely blest.
What future waits this child of woe?
Ours is a dark mysterious state;
None can unclose the book of fate.
The good in this misjudging world
Are often to distraction hurl'd,
Whilst those with thousand crimes oppress'd
Appear to be supremely blest.
Then, let us trust that woe to man is given,
For some wise purpose by all-seeing heaven;
And meekly kiss the salutary rod,
With hope, and trust, and confidence in God.
For some wise purpose by all-seeing heaven;
And meekly kiss the salutary rod,
With hope, and trust, and confidence in God.