The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/Aline

Aline
How very beautiful The creatures of this earth can sometimes be! Aline was one of such; the summer rose Hath not a petal fairer than her cheek, Nor hath the light of the out-breaking sun More radiant gladness than her beaming smile. Her heart was full of gushing happiness.

The common air—the unfolding of a flower— The voice of streams—the music of a bird Was joy to her; and her glad spirit breathed Its light o'er all around: Yet her soft eye Was readier than a child's to fill with tears For human sorrow; and her heart pour'd out Its large affections over all that lived. There was no selfishness in its young pulse; Its thoughts were full of God, and all He made To breathe upon the earth shared in her love, And the upswelling of her sympathies.

Again, In after years I look'd upon Aline. Her face was lovely yet, but wore not all The bloom of its young freshness; and the light, That made its glance a gladness, was not there. A childish group was round, filling the room With their sweet laughter; and a bright-eyed girl, Who look'd Aline restored to youth again, Held to his mother's check the baby lips Of a young brother, crowing in his joy, As she laugh'd back to him.

Aline went forth Amidst her servants; and her voice arose Shrilly and harsh, and they shrunk back in dread From her stern eye. The keen and cruel scourge Was busy at her bidding; and the limbs Of woman bled before her, and the shriek Of childhood rose unheeded.

Then came one, Whose traffic was in human forms; whose wealth Was gather'd from the blood of breaking hearts, And the stern rending of the holiest ties That bless man's nature. For a price of gold, Her husband sold to him the only son Of a fond mother's love, and from the arms Of conjugal affection, a sad wife, With all her weeping babes—and she stood by— That once compassionate girl—without a tear; Seeing their misery, yet speaking not One word to save them. She who once, But at the thought of such iniquity, And so much wretchedness, had shuddering wept, Beheld it now without a passing pang; And careless went to her own babes again— So much had the best feelings of her heart Been sear'd by dwelling ‘midst a land of slaves.