In sunny Scotland, near the ocean wild, Lived Jasper Merton with his wife and child, A sweeter spot one need not hope to find. Beauties of earth and sea alike combined To charm the heart and please the loving eye, While Nature's lavish gifts their wants supply. Their darling Hilda was their pet and pride, Dearer to them than all the world beside. Fair as a flower, her sweet and tender face Told of a gentle spirit's winning grace And childlike trust. She never could disguise The grief or gladness speaking in her eyes. She loved the beauties of her sunny land, But most of all the ocean, wild and grand. In awe and wonder, oft alone she stood And reveled in its wildest mood, Answering back with gleeful song, Which echoed far the crags among, The joyous music of the waves Through rocky reefs and sounding caves. A rhythmic melody they sang to her, Their reverent, loving worshiper. She watched the seabirds sporting there Till the waters sparkled with jewels rare; Each one, to her laughing eye, a gem In Neptune's wonderful diadem. She seemed so much the spirit of the place, The bounding billows well might love her face.
Rachel, the mother, idolized her child, And her pure heart with pleasant fancies filled. She sat with her beneath the forest trees, And bade her listen to the tuneful breeze; Taught her these monarchs of the woodland green, Standing so proudly in their velvet sheen, Were guardian spirits watching o'er their weal, From whom, their sorrows they could not conceal. If trouble came, they found sweet sympathy In every humble flower and forest tree: Believing this, their simple hearts drank in The purest pleasures, free from guile or sin. Thus Hilda, child of this secluded spot, By Nature's sweetest voices had been taught, Till her glad heart exulted in its store Of hidden meanings and unwritten lore. Living a life of such simplicity, To her unknown were sin or treachery.
Ere long, a band of emigrants besought The family to leave this much-loved spot; And joining them, at length, they leave behind Their fatherland, another home to find In broad America,—our pride, our boast,— A refuge for the eager, restless host Who seek a better, happier home to gain, Finding, alas! so much of homesick pain. The tedious voyage soon was safely o'er, And they were landed on this looked-for shore. Here, everything to them was strange and new. They knew not where to go, or what to do. People who all their trials understood, The homeless throng with friendly pity viewed.
A smiling emissary from Brigham Young, Finding the Mertons friendless and alone, (To them his dark designs were all unknown) He pictured Utah as the brightest spot In which a stranger here had ever sought To find a home. With seeming friendly care, He kindly offered to escort them there. They, unsuspicious of his crafty wiles, Saw not beneath the glamour of his smiles, So glad were they, so grateful here to find A friend who seemed so pious, good and kind. Like birds attracted in their flight By some alluring beacon light, They blindly walked into his artful snare, The foul, false prophet, came the crowd among. And journeyed west, with others, in his care. Near Salt Lake City locating, ere long, They found themselves amid a motley throng Whose customs most repulsive seemed to them While their religion they could but condemn. They felt like exiles, friendless and bereft, And mourned for the dear home in Scotia left. But why review the dark and sorrowful years Of Rachel's life, or Hilda's boding fears? Grieving for their loved cottage by the sea, And the old life, so joyous, glad and free.
Though Jasper mingled with the wily "saints," He long withstood their subtle arguments. His innate love of truth and right was strong. His soul revolted at the thought of wrong. Yet, in an evil and unguarded hour, He yielded to their strange, seductive power. On Hilda, too, a "saint" had cast his eyes, Urging, with all his pious sophistries, Her duties to the church; but yestermorn She had refused his suit with deepest scorn. She sat in silent grief and sadness now, Her hands pressed tightly on her throbbing brow; The girlish face, so innocent and fair, The saddest picture of untold despair: A fearful sense of their impending doom Filling her heart with bitterness and gloom. Hushed was her merry laugh, her joyous song, In the dark shadow of this cruel wrong. Despite their pleading words and piteous tears, The worst -had come, the climax of their fears,— Another wife was brought their home to share. Poor Rachel, broken-hearted, met them there. She stood a moment dumb; then, with a cry Wrung from her breaking heart's deep agony, While clasping in her arms her sobbing child, She to her husband spoke, with anguish wild:
"O Jasper! Jasper! can it really be That you have brought such cruel grief to me? How have I lived through all this dread suspense? A wife no longer, in the holiest sense! God knows I loved my husband, kind and true; But now I loathe and scorn to live with you. This vile iniquity I will not brook! Never again mock me with word or look! You are dead and buried evermore to me, Now that your love is changed to mockery. 'Prayers cannot help, else would I ever pray; Nor tears, else would I weep the livelong day.' Now we must leave this desecrated home, Wherein we never, never more may come— My home, once dear and sweet as home could be! How many tokens of our bliss I see, Ere this delusive, mocking madness came, Clothing such sin in pure Religion's name! O, vile Poligamy! Thou pestilence! Who shall stay thy hand or drive thee hence? Leading to crime by thy seductive arts— Thou spoiler of our homes! Shall breaking hearts Plead vainly? Slumbers a nation's power While gathering tempests darkly lower Over her head? Oh, must this dreadful blot Rest on her name? and will she heed it not? Once was her life-blood spilled, to free from chains The suffering millions in her fair domains: How will her hand wipe out this fouler stain, And make her borders pure and clean again?
"My child! my child! you must not, shall not know This keenest acme of a woman's woe! One door is open—God forgive the thought! For grief has my poor soul to frenzy wrought. I cannot, will not live! One boon I crave: O, let us find sweet solace in the grave!" As from a home where death each tie doth sever, Mother and child went out therefrom forever. From bitterest sorrows which have no redress, Together now they seek forgetfulness. With arms entwined, in the soft light they walk, And long and lovingly together talk; Then, kneeling, pray with tearful earnestness: O Father! pity us in our distress! With broken hearts, from sorrows dark we flee. Now, O our Father, let us come to Thee! Driven from home, we can no longer live,— If it be sinful, O our God, forgive!"
This prayer alone their trembling lips could speak: Death's sweet release the only boon they seek. Saw they the gates of the eternal City? Saw they, with looks and words of tenderest pity, The throng of angels o'er them lowly bending, Their helping hands so eagerly extending? One moment on the river's brink they stand; One look toward heaven; then, hand in hand They spring far out into the crystal tide, Whose limpid waters all their sorrows hide, Over them closing in a last embrace, Giving to them a welcome resting-place,— The loving mother, sorrow-stricken wife, The fair young maiden in her beauty rife, Who choose, alas! together there to die, Thus from their joyless, hopeless life to fly.
