Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/358

342 LEWIS J. CIST. [1840-50. THE BEATEN PATH. That Beaten Path ! — that Beaten Path ! It goeth by the door ; And many a tale to tell it hath Of the days that are no more ! For o'er that path, in weal or woe, Earth's weary ones have trod ; And many a hurried step, or slow. Hath pressed its time-worn sod. There childhood's mirth, and youth's glad shout Have each a merry peal rung out ; Of gentle woman's graceful tread, In fairy motion o'er it sped ; While manhood's care-surcharged breast A weightier step hath on it pressed ; And age's palsied footsteps slow, There last, perchance, abroad Have feebly tottered forth to show Threescore-and-ten prepared to go — Life's journey trodden here below, To stay its steps with God ! See'st thou yonder smiling boy. Just escaped his mother's arms ? With what eager, gushing joy — Heedless of her fond alarms. Out upon that path he springs, Liofht as a bird with feathered wino;3 Running now a frolic i-ace. Walking then with sober pace ; And, anon, with childish grace. Casting down his weai-y form, With unused exertion warm, On the grassy margin green, Of the pathway he is in ; Of that path, which thus, a child, Treads he first, with spirits wild, — Of that path which he shall tread, Oft in manhood's darker day — Wlien his weary, aching head Gladly would he seek to lay With the care-forgetting dead, 'Neath its grassy turf for aye ! Ring out ! ring out! a joyous shout. For the fair and gentle bride ! Make room ! make room ! for the gallant groom, In his dashing and manly pride ! For his bridal's done — he hath wooed and won The flower of the countiy rare ; And worthy he of his lady — she The fairest of England's fair ! Ring out ! ring out ! a pealing shout I Let vassal to vassal call, Each servant gay, in his best array. Attend in the ancient hall ; For the bridal train rideth on amain, And the lord of that hall doth come ; By that path where, a boy, he wandered in joy, He bringreth his fair bride home ! A toll ! a sad and a muffled toll Of a deep church-bell, for a parted soul ! The child, that in glee o'er that pathway sped — The youth, that in beauty and manhood wed — The aged lord of the castle is dead ! Hath rested the body in solemn state. And now 'tis borne from the castle gate ; Sad its retainers, as, mournfully slow. Over that Beaten Path they go — That path through which, when a child he sped ; That path by which his fair bride he led ; That path o'er which they now bear him —dead ! Pause they now at yon church-yard's door. And now — 'tis entered — the pathway o'er ; That Beaten Path will he pass no more !