Original Poetry THE “LADY IN BLACK” 1867.

There seemed to be a lot of news about “Ladies in black” around the time of the case of 1866, I even found one in Ireland that was quite mad, they reported even at the same time Australia was reporting on dubious little ladies dressed in black.

This is an original poem I found I don’t know if it's about her I don’t think so, but I enjoyed reading it.

The McIvor Times and Rodney Advertiser. Heathcote, Vic.

8 March 1867

Original Poetry

THE “LADY IN BLACK”

Aye ; that form I well remember,

And that face bedaubed with rouge;

But tinsel, paint, and faded flow'rs

Were only a subterfuge.

Hiding many a deep-set furrow,

Hiding features wan and pale,

And the cankering stabs of sorrow,

'Neath adornment's flimsey veil.

Once that brow was bright and beauteous,

Smiles lit up those deep sunk eyes;

Lillies strove the rose to rival,

On cheeks that needed no disguise.

Loving friends around her gathered,

Suitors knelt on bended knee;

Earnest vows of truth were faltered,

'Neath the Hawthorn trysting tree.

No pang of grief rent her bosom;

No imprint then of chill despair;

But as fragrant summer blossom,

She dwelt amid the meadows fair:

Wealth, its dower of blessing gave her,

And with flowers her pathway strewed;

Hope, poor mortal’s kind enslaver,

Her future painted rainbow hued.

But, as somber night clouds gather,

And obscure the face of day;

So comes all the host of sorrows,

To banish pleasure, joy away;

Drive on the scud, as pioneers

So whispers oftentimes exprest,

Fill loving hearts with gloomy fears.

A brother, high in place of trust,

Led by midnight ghouls astray;

Bowed down and offered sacrifice,

To that dread demon, known as “Play,"

On the brink of guilt he lingered,

One moment more-the chasm wide,

Closed its jaws--he sank for ever;

Enough-her brother sinned and died

Died, the death of malefactor,

In that place where Pluto reigns;

Whilst death, morality's exactor,

Sent horror thrilling through the veins:

Of friends, companions, kith and kin;

Of her, to whom the brother stood,

Untainted by e'en venial sin;

But still with virtues great endued.

The shock though fatal to her mind,

Yet bore with it a grain of balm,

As if th' ALL SEEING ONE design'd,

Tumults undeserved, to calm;

Though to the world, the criminal

Had paid his debt and was forgot;

He still could hear her loving call,

And yet existed-Dead-was not.

But was immured by angry foes,

In hidden solitary cell,

Where only to stone walls, his woes,

The captive, innocent, could tell;

To seek him out; to clear his fame,

She laboured with intense devotion,

And hard hearts touched by pity's flame,

Throbbed high, once more, with emotion.

For years she made her pilgrimage,

To where the city magnates met,

Whilst they rolled by in chariot-stage,

She toiled footsore, through cold and wet,

To Mammon's shrine they each were bound,

Would for his smile with dangers cope;

But all the solace she e'er found,

Was some dim ray shot forth from Hope.

Few hearts but pitying did regard

The loving deeds of this woman;

They knew she toiled without reward,

Teaching something more than human:

Proud men who moved in pomp and state,

And met obedience everywhere;

In patience heard her tale of Fate,

They recognised God's finger there.

"Hear me," good sir, "I sup to-night,

With an Archbishop and a Lord;

But how can I, in tattered plight,

Sit at the Nobles' festive board?

How can I from some stately dame,

Accept the offered fragrant cup?

I must perforce from very shame,

Decline with them to sit and sup."

And if I do, the missing link,

I seek to prove his innocence;

Will ne'er be found, and I shall lose

“Their sympathy and influence;'

Thus, day by day, and year by year,

The loving sister urged her suit;

But when she the goal was near,

She clutched, but disappointments fruit.

Not one amidst the eager throng,

That hurried onwards in the morn;

But stayed his joyous laugh and song,

As she passed by, so sad, forlorn:

In silence through the surging crowd,

She seemed a phantom moving there;

If struggling thoughts found vent aloud,

It was to Heav'n a muttered prayer.

Till from the radiant firmament,

There came an Angel's voice of love;

“Hither! Where joys are permanent,

Thy brother dwells in bright alcove:'

She died one cold and wintry morn,

Is shielded now from grief's attack;

And bright hued garments now adorn

The Woman always clad in Black.

S. J. G.