Poem by Eliza Cook to Charlotte Cushman

Credit

Library of Congress, Charlotte Cushman Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

[2976]

An Old Tune
To C. Cushman
Dost thou remember when we
roved in summer's glowing prime
While Friendship's sacred bells sung
out a soft and merry chime? —
Dost thou remember where we stood
beneath the old elm boughs
With laughing speech upon our lips
and mirth upon our brows?
Dost thou remember singing there,
in wild and fitful tone
A melody of by-gone days — one of
sweet nature's own?
Dost thou remember, Lady, when
the topmost leaf was green
Hushing the sing-dove overhead with
Jack o'Hazeldean?
Oh little didst thou know the spell
that old tune had for me,
A mist came o'er the broad blue
air, a dimness round the tree,
I knew the branch was still as bright,
I knew the sky was clear,
But I was breathing through a sigh
and gazing through a tear

[2976 reverse]

That old time brought a busy crow
of shadows to my slide,
It flung a narrow flood gate back
that Iet in memory's tide.
quick visions came upon my
heart of all that once had been,
When other lips enchained my
ear with "Jack o'Hazeldean"
I knew Affection's lonely dove still
dwelt within my breast,
and deemed  that it had ceased
to miss the one that cheered and
blest.
I knew its mourneful note full
long had been acutely deep
But thought the dark grey wing of
time had nested it to sleep;
Not so, not so; that old tune bore
my spirit on its breath
Back to the days when Hope and Joy
made Life a wild flower wreath
It bore me to the rude porch [...]
behind the woodbine screen
Where many a summer night's
heard sweet "Jock o'Hazeldean".
It call'd up kind and gentle eyes
whose glances fell on mine.

[2977]

Like the soft moon that looketh
down to bid the dew gems shine
It raised again the homaged
form, it brought the placid smile
Till the electric flash of Pain laid
waste my fairy pile.
Lady! I know thou lovest me— but
scarcely can'st thou tell
How bitterly this brain can throb,
how fast these heartstrings swell;
As blight winds wither up the
flower yet do their work unseen
so did'st then smile my glowing
soul with "Jock o'Hazeldean"
That old tune taught me still
to feel how weak and wild a thing
This bosom is in face of all that
season's aid can bring;
and had I lingered by thy side,
perchance thou mighst have smiled
To find me as a harp untuned,
and weeping like a child
Lady, I know, thou lovest me — let
others chaunt the strain,
But do not thou e'er sing to me that
ballad
lay again;

[2977 reverse]

There's something in the earnest tone
probing where bitter wounds have been
Reminding of a mother's voice in Jock o'Hazeldean
Eliza Cooke.