[Thomas
Lovell Beddoes, in
his dedication to The
Brides' Tragedy, claims
that "[
t]he
following scenes were
. . . founded
upon facts, which
occurred at Oxford,
and are well detailed
and illustrated by
an interesting ballad
in a little volume
of Poems, lately published
at Oxford, entitled
the Midland Minstrel,
by Mr. Gillet." It
is odd however
that in citing "Lucy"
as
the source of his
play, his summary
of
the poem includes
details about Lucy's
father that are
not
a part of the poem
but which are a
part
of the story in The
Oxford University
and City Herald for
March 24, 1821,
from
which "Lucy" finds
its source. The
interesting
coincidence is
that
the announcement
of the publication
of Beddoes's
first
volume is also
in that day's
paper,
so it seems likely
that Beddoes
has
in mind
the newspaper
story as much
as he does Gillet's
poem.]
Where
Oxford rears in classic
pride
Her ample domes and
stately towers,
'Mid
vales where Cherwell pours
his tide
Through emerald
meads and purple bowers;
There
dwelt a maid—O
deem not thou
Her
form was cast in common
mould;
Honour
was seated on her brow,
Love
laugh'd within her locks
of gold.
The
orient beam illum'd her
eye,
Her
cheek had stol'n the blush
of morn;
Her
lip display'd the ruby's
dye,
Her neck surpass'd the
blossom'd thorn.
Go
search thou east—go
search thou west,
Search
from the pole to southern
line,
Yet
never shall thy fond eye
rest
Upon a figure so divine!
'Twas
not a stately solemn gait,
'Twas
not a form in silk attir'd,
That
made all eyes upon her
wait,
And every heart with
love inspir'd.
No—'twas
a modest, nameless charm,
The
constant inmate of her
breast,
Which
shew'd a heart with feeling
warm,
And all her purity
express'd.
Yet
was this maid of low
degree—
Her
sire nor wealth nor titles
own'd;
But
honour and integrity
Were
in his generous soul enthron'd:
And
he on Lucy had bestow'd
All,
all that could adorn her
mind;
And soon her ductile
spirit shew'd
'Twas
well receiv'd as well design'd.
And
she was good as she was
fair,
With
every milder virtue blest;
The
seeds kind nature planted
there
Had ripen'd in her
youthful breast.
A
son of Alma Mater saw,
He
saw and much the maid admir'd;
His
spirit own'd great nature's
law,
And love his youthful
breast inspir'd.
O
Lucy then was all his thought;
For
Lucy, Lucy, still he sigh'd;
For
her the humble dwelling
sought
Her jealous father
occupied.
Then
many a specious scheme
was laid
To 'scape
the parent's watchful eye;
And
oft he met his lovely maid
In
silence and in secrecy.
His
youthful heart with passion
burnd,
He
press'd his suit—'twas
not declin'd;
The
artless nymph his love return'd,
And
soon the priest their hands
combin'd.
But
secret was the solemn rite,
'Twas
not as solemn rite should
be;
For
well they knew the worldling's
spite,
The diff'rence in
their pedigree;
And
deem'd it better to conceal
Their
blissful union for awhile,
Till
prudence might the fact
reveal,
Secure of fortune's
favouring smile.
Vacation
came—the
youth went hence,
And
left his bride of beauty
rare;
Then
what her care could recompence?
She
droop'd in loneness and
despair.
He
trod his father's courts
again,
And
join'd the train of revelry;
Her
image faded from his brain,
And
other forms engag'd his
eye.
A
noble bade him grace his
hall,
And
join the high-born festive
throng;
He
smil'd the gayest at the
ball,
And led the brightest
fair along.
The
youth was by attention
cheer'd,
Ambition
all his breast inspir'd;
He
saw his road to honour
clear'd,
And to the lofty
seat aspir'd.
The
noble's daughter on him
smil'd,
His
fickle heart the nymph had
won;
His
merit had her parents guil'd,
They
long'd to hail and call
him son.
Distinction
now was all his aim,
Renown
at distance he foresaw.
The
noble's child's—a wedded
Dame!
And
he—a Culprit
to the Law!
To
hide his crime what must
be done?—
The
youth is fled without his
train;
And
no one knows where he
is gone—
He'll
soon rejoin his bride again.
But
why beside that rural WALK
That
boasts the name DIVINITY,
Does
yon disguised figure stalk
Beneath
the pale moon's glimmering
eye?
And
why is that lone grave
prepar'd,
Prepar'd
in such unhallow'd place?
Nought
in its womb can e'er be
laid,
Save the dull brute
of vilest race.
But
soft—two
figures tread the waIk,
And
steal like spectres light
along,
Deeply
engag'd in whisper'd talk,
As
life and death were on
each tongue.
Why
do they stop?—and
why embrace
Beside
that pit so deep
and bare?—
By
the pale moon I see a face
Brighter
than beauty's daughters
wear.
The
shade prevails—hark!—rings
a blow!
'Tis
follow'd by a piercing
tone!
That
shriek bespeaks the depth
of woe!
There's death, in
that heart-rending groan!
The
beam returns—'tis
still and clear!
Scarce
does the light-hung foliage
wave!
The
landscape glows!—there's
no one there!
But green turf
clothes the recent grave!
O
God! O God! can turf or
gloom
Hide
the foul deed of death from
thee?
Can the arch traitor 'scape
his doom?
The murderer from
thy presence flee?
No!—Dawn
awakes, and Lucy's sire
Commands
her from her chamber down;
Why
comes she not?—away—inquire:
Ah!
Lucy from her chamber's
flown!
He
searches high, he searches
low,
For
her the pain of travel bears;
Meanwhile
his eyes with tears o'erflow,
His
heart is rent with
bitter
cares.—
'Tis
morn—the
bridegroom's with the
bride!
He
prompt and ably pleads
excuse;
She
cannot long her rover chide,
But
bids him not her love abuse.
"Come,
come!" she
cries, "thy
fault's forgiven—
"Its
purpose
candidly
avow;"
He
turns his tranced eyes
to heaven,
Dark horrors gather
o'er his brow.
"What!
it offends thee?—let's
immerse
"Its
memory
in
forgetfulness;
"With
all
that
may
that
bosom
pierce,
"And
chill
thy
love
or
mar
thy
peace."
But
ah!—the
scenes of that sad night
Would
never from his mind decay;
They
rose to blast his mental
sight
In deepest gloom and
brightest day.
And
though his active, high
career,
Was
crown'd with honour's fairest
wreath;
Yet
was he doom'd remorse to
bear,
And fiends exulted
at his death.
And
where poor Lucy's corse
was laid,
'Tis said
a ghost is known to stalk;
Till
college beau and city maid
Have
flown their wonted favourite
walk.
