 | John and Dame |  |
1
“O there is none of you so mean and low,
“That hath not noble lustre in his eyes;
“Your England never did (nor never shall)
“Lie at the proud foot of a Conqueror.”
SHAKESPEAR.
“That hath not noble lustre in his eyes;
“Your England never did (nor never shall)
“Lie at the proud foot of a Conqueror.”
SHAKESPEAR.
9
JOHN AND DAME;
OR, THE LOYAL COTTAGERS.
PART I.
Whoe'er has read the Gleaner's page,
Must know and love this gentle pair;
The annals of whose blameless age,
And spotless youth is storied there.
Must know and love this gentle pair;
The annals of whose blameless age,
And spotless youth is storied there.
But since their faithful tale was told,
Full oft has Autumn chang'd the leaf,
And now, for rustic toils too old,
In this small cot they seek relief.
Full oft has Autumn chang'd the leaf,
And now, for rustic toils too old,
In this small cot they seek relief.
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Yet here no woodbine-woven bow'r,
Scatters its perfume round the place;
Nor ivy buds, nor honied flower,
The lattice wreathes with rural grace.
Scatters its perfume round the place;
Nor ivy buds, nor honied flower,
The lattice wreathes with rural grace.
Nor yet within has Fashion placed
Affected ornaments for shew;
And not a vanity has Taste,
Made pure Simplicity to know.
Affected ornaments for shew;
And not a vanity has Taste,
Made pure Simplicity to know.
A cottage true, with casement small,
A decent bed of dark moreen,
And ruddy floors, and whited wall,
And curtains of time-faded green:
A decent bed of dark moreen,
And ruddy floors, and whited wall,
And curtains of time-faded green:
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A pendant glass in old oak set,
And chairs of rush, and cupboard blue,
A goodly table and beaufet,
Are all that deck this cottage true.
And chairs of rush, and cupboard blue,
A goodly table and beaufet,
Are all that deck this cottage true.
Save, that fresh-gather'd boughs you see,
Filling the chimney space so neat,
Tea-chest of fair mahogany,
And mantle-piece with posies sweet.
Filling the chimney space so neat,
Tea-chest of fair mahogany,
And mantle-piece with posies sweet.
But 'tis their own, and 'tis their home,
And all the village cluster there:
To John and Dame the neighbours come,
For all the village is their care.
And all the village cluster there:
To John and Dame the neighbours come,
For all the village is their care.
And 'tis a loyal village too,
As any in King George's land,
For Englishmen and women true,
Distinguish all the rural band.
As any in King George's land,
For Englishmen and women true,
Distinguish all the rural band.
And all are hearts of oak, and brave,
And not an inch of ground will yield,
For, when I spake of Frenchman's slave,
They swore they still would keep the field.
And not an inch of ground will yield,
For, when I spake of Frenchman's slave,
They swore they still would keep the field.
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“The field where we were bred and born,”—
At harvesting I heard them cry,—
“And where we work from night to morn,
“Dear fields! for you, we'll fight and die!”
At harvesting I heard them cry,—
“And where we work from night to morn,
“Dear fields! for you, we'll fight and die!”
And then they trill'd the roundelay,
And shook their reaping-hooks with glee,
And chorus'd bold the loud huzza,
And swore again “they would be free!”
And shook their reaping-hooks with glee,
And chorus'd bold the loud huzza,
And swore again “they would be free!”
Then to the heapy grain they bent,
“Because,” quoth they, “ere Frenchmen come,
“We best can shew them our intent,
“After a jolly harvest home.
“Because,” quoth they, “ere Frenchmen come,
“We best can shew them our intent,
“After a jolly harvest home.
“But when in goodly stacks they're placed,
“And bold and tall they rise to view,
“The deuce an ear shall Frenchman taste,
“Unless for one ear he pays two.”
“And bold and tall they rise to view,
“The deuce an ear shall Frenchman taste,
“Unless for one ear he pays two.”
Then, at the merry jest, a laugh
Goes gaily forth from sheaf to sheaf,
And next, to him a round they quaff,
“Who first shall cashier Gallia's chief!”
Goes gaily forth from sheaf to sheaf,
And next, to him a round they quaff,
“Who first shall cashier Gallia's chief!”
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While blithe the youngling gleaner-bands,—
Ply busily those sheaves between;
And joyful fill their little hands,
And eye the burnish'd heaps unseen.
Ply busily those sheaves between;
And joyful fill their little hands,
And eye the burnish'd heaps unseen.
But early taught, by matron Dame,
The moral of each proverb old,—
That he who steals will come to shame,
While honesty with bags of gold
The moral of each proverb old,—
That he who steals will come to shame,
While honesty with bags of gold
Uncounted, may alone be left,
And true to trust in rags remain,
And should those sheaves e'er tempt to theft,
Will scorn to filch a single grain.
And true to trust in rags remain,
And should those sheaves e'er tempt to theft,
Will scorn to filch a single grain.
For sweeter far the coarsest cake,
Of barley-bread, or darker rye,
Than whitest wheat-flower guilt can bake,
Or all that sinful arts supply.
Of barley-bread, or darker rye,
Than whitest wheat-flower guilt can bake,
Or all that sinful arts supply.
And thus they toil, while thus they play;
At length the shades of night advance,
When homeward, as they wind their way,
They talk of fighting, and of France.
At length the shades of night advance,
When homeward, as they wind their way,
They talk of fighting, and of France.
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PART II.
BUT now the hamlet we regain,
And at John's ever-open door,
Awhile to gossip pause the train,
And thus their harmless day is o'er.
And at John's ever-open door,
Awhile to gossip pause the train,
And thus their harmless day is o'er.
Then, morning comes, and, e'er the skies
Have gladsome hail'd the orient sun,
From their short rest, the groups arise
Refresh'd—the self-same course to run.
Have gladsome hail'd the orient sun,
From their short rest, the groups arise
Refresh'd—the self-same course to run.
Then, too, the Gleaner early takes
His walk, where all these objects blend:
Explores the thickets, streams, and brakes,
Or chats, in cool cot, with his friend.
His walk, where all these objects blend:
Explores the thickets, streams, and brakes,
Or chats, in cool cot, with his friend.
And, in that cool cot, fair and true,
Full oft an image fond and dear
Rises at every glance to view,
And claims the sigh, and calls the tear.
Full oft an image fond and dear
Rises at every glance to view,
And claims the sigh, and calls the tear.
15
Scant though the window, through its panes,
The church-yard neighbourhood you spy;
Yon white stone marks the Youth's remains,
And close beside the Maiden's lie.
The church-yard neighbourhood you spy;
Yon white stone marks the Youth's remains,
And close beside the Maiden's lie.
An aged ash its grey branch flings,
And like the mourning willow waves;
And from yon cloud the moon-beam springs,
And softly gilds the lovers graves.
And like the mourning willow waves;
And from yon cloud the moon-beam springs,
And softly gilds the lovers graves.
Then, lighten'd by the broader ray
Of full orb'd Cynthia, as she shines,
The glistening dew-drops seem to lay
Fresh insence at the lovers shrines.
Of full orb'd Cynthia, as she shines,
The glistening dew-drops seem to lay
Fresh insence at the lovers shrines.
And clear as noon-tide now appears
The path-way to the House of God,
Which many a hundred rolling years
The rustics have each sabbath trod.
The path-way to the House of God,
Which many a hundred rolling years
The rustics have each sabbath trod.
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Yet not a yew or cypress shade,
Within the sacred round is seen,
To grace the spot where love is laid,
Or guard the briar-bound hillocks green.
Within the sacred round is seen,
To grace the spot where love is laid,
Or guard the briar-bound hillocks green.
And when to-morrow's sun shall rise,
Still shall the prospect gloom the same;
But what so sweet beneath the skies,
To sighing John and sorrowing Dame?
Still shall the prospect gloom the same;
But what so sweet beneath the skies,
To sighing John and sorrowing Dame?
“Methought, at first, our hearts would break,”
Quoth John, “to live those children near,
“But now we seem to hear them speak,
“And angel voices strike the ear.”
Quoth John, “to live those children near,
“But now we seem to hear them speak,
“And angel voices strike the ear.”
“And what!” exclaims the tender wife,
“Are other prospects now to me?
“Bereaved of thee—my pride of life,
“How dear the turf that covers thee!
“Are other prospects now to me?
“Bereaved of thee—my pride of life,
“How dear the turf that covers thee!
“And oft at early morn, and eve,
“As a fond look I cast around,
“Though that white stone still makes me grieve,
“How sweet to see the holy ground!
“As a fond look I cast around,
“Though that white stone still makes me grieve,
“How sweet to see the holy ground!
17
“Yon Lordship-house,
where shone the great,
“However rich, however fine,
“I'd leave, with all its rooms of state,
“To live near that dear grave of thine!
“However rich, however fine,
“I'd leave, with all its rooms of state,
“To live near that dear grave of thine!
“And should the threatening Frenchman come,
“And ruthless seize our cottage true,
“Old John and I shall die at home,
“And meet the blow that grave in view.
“And ruthless seize our cottage true,
“Old John and I shall die at home,
“And meet the blow that grave in view.
“Then would it open to receive
“The murder'd parents of my boy,
“Our hearts would then no longer grieve,
“Our spirits meet in endless joy!”
“The murder'd parents of my boy,
“Our hearts would then no longer grieve,
“Our spirits meet in endless joy!”
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PART III.
THUS genuine people tell their pain,
In words from genuine nature caught,
And thus the Gleaner joins the strain,
The same his prospects and his thought.
In words from genuine nature caught,
And thus the Gleaner joins the strain,
The same his prospects and his thought.
For, to this cottage true, he wends,
At length, his solitary way,
And here awhile, with lowly friends,
He hails declining summer's day.
At length, his solitary way,
And here awhile, with lowly friends,
He hails declining summer's day.
And forth he goes, midst native grounds,
To clasp a hundred rustic hands;
Then fondly strays o'er well-known bounds,
And mixes in the harvest bands.
To clasp a hundred rustic hands;
Then fondly strays o'er well-known bounds,
And mixes in the harvest bands.
And as he sees the youngling trains,
O'er fragrant fields assiduous roam,
He listens to their artless strains,
Till twilight guides them gently home.
O'er fragrant fields assiduous roam,
He listens to their artless strains,
Till twilight guides them gently home.
19
And when their sounds are heard no more,
And nought but light winds whisper round,
When toil and pastime both are o'er,
And weary groups repose profound:
And nought but light winds whisper round,
When toil and pastime both are o'er,
And weary groups repose profound:
O then how soft alone to sit,
Pensive within this cottage true,
E'er yet the Bat has ceased to twit,
E'er yet the moon retires from view.
Pensive within this cottage true,
E'er yet the Bat has ceased to twit,
E'er yet the moon retires from view.
And, O how sweet, at midnight hour,
To breathe a prayer for suffering friend,
And supplicate the healing power
Some pitying balm from heaven to send.
To breathe a prayer for suffering friend,
And supplicate the healing power
Some pitying balm from heaven to send.
And softer still, to hear him sleep,
Each pain and sorrow lull'd the while;
And when again the morn doth peep,
Bid him good morrow with a smile.
Each pain and sorrow lull'd the while;
And when again the morn doth peep,
Bid him good morrow with a smile.
But, lo! how pale that moon-ray peers
On yonder figure, poor and old,
'Tis Anna, of a hundred years,
Who descants still on times of old.
On yonder figure, poor and old,
'Tis Anna, of a hundred years,
Who descants still on times of old.
20
Still vaunts of gay victorious days,
When she and our First George did reign;
The monarch he of lofty lays,
And she the queen of humbler strain.
When she and our First George did reign;
The monarch he of lofty lays,
And she the queen of humbler strain.
And now, though sceptr'd beauty's o'er,
And all her lovers in the grave,
The rustics, as they pass her door,
“Swear—Anna from the foe to save.”
And all her lovers in the grave,
The rustics, as they pass her door,
“Swear—Anna from the foe to save.”
She hears the oath, and, with a sigh,
Thankful extends her wither'd arm,
“The burial place,” quoth she, “so nigh
“'Twere hard, the foe, these bones should harm.”
Thankful extends her wither'd arm,
“The burial place,” quoth she, “so nigh
“'Twere hard, the foe, these bones should harm.”
And as the youngling gleaner-band,
On the small head their gatherings bear,
They, too, at Anna's door-way stand,
And leave a generous handful there.
On the small head their gatherings bear,
They, too, at Anna's door-way stand,
And leave a generous handful there.
And for th'Invader—when the corn
Is safely stor'd, the infant throng
Again can muster, eve and morn,
Their volunteers, full twenty strong!
Is safely stor'd, the infant throng
Again can muster, eve and morn,
Their volunteers, full twenty strong!
21
The reeds,
cockade and plume supply,
Th'inverted kettle forms a drum,
The slight lath arms each little thigh,
“And now let Bonaparte come!”
Th'inverted kettle forms a drum,
The slight lath arms each little thigh,
“And now let Bonaparte come!”
Then stoutly forth they march with glee,
An urchin troop, with spirits wild,
Vow,—like their sires, they will be free!—
Thus springs the hero from the child.
An urchin troop, with spirits wild,
Vow,—like their sires, they will be free!—
Thus springs the hero from the child.
Yet while for war they seem to glow,
The tiny soldiers, free from guile,
Forget the world contains a foe,
And sink in slumber with a smile.
The tiny soldiers, free from guile,
Forget the world contains a foe,
And sink in slumber with a smile.
And could'st thou, man of blood! behold
The villagers and village true,
And John and Dame in love grown old,
And not be melted at the view?
The villagers and village true,
And John and Dame in love grown old,
And not be melted at the view?
22
And not suspend thy gory spear,
Nor feel the touch of nature rise;
Nor at yon white stone drop a tear,
Near which the youth and maiden lies!
Nor feel the touch of nature rise;
Nor at yon white stone drop a tear,
Near which the youth and maiden lies!
Ah, no! thy tiger rage could speed,
To seize upon this cottage true,
Commit each foul and felon deed,
And with its dead the church-yard strew;
To seize upon this cottage true,
Commit each foul and felon deed,
And with its dead the church-yard strew;
And yon white stone in ruins lay,
On which the sweet moon now doth shine,
And make the hallow'd bones thy prey,
And mock at love and pity's shrine!
On which the sweet moon now doth shine,
And make the hallow'd bones thy prey,
And mock at love and pity's shrine!
Yes, ruthless Thou! untaught to spare,
Can'st rob the chambers of the grave,
The meek babe from the bosom tear,
Nor mother, nor her infant save.
Can'st rob the chambers of the grave,
The meek babe from the bosom tear,
Nor mother, nor her infant save.
To thy destroying arm must yield,
The useful ox, the generous steed,
And all the treasures of the field,
And man and beast promiscuous bleed!
The useful ox, the generous steed,
And all the treasures of the field,
And man and beast promiscuous bleed!
23
With stony heart, and weepless eye,
Thou tak'st thy sacrilegious round,
Stabbing the labourers as they lie,
In toil's sweet slumber wrapt profound.
Thou tak'st thy sacrilegious round,
Stabbing the labourers as they lie,
In toil's sweet slumber wrapt profound.
Nor cradled infancy, nor age
Bed-rid, or crutch'd, nor orphans moan,
Can 'scape thy all-devouring rage,
Nor matron's shriek, nor father's groan!
Bed-rid, or crutch'd, nor orphans moan,
Can 'scape thy all-devouring rage,
Nor matron's shriek, nor father's groan!
O then by all that crowns your lives,
By friendships true, and loves sincere,
By spotless daughters, blameless wives,
Kinsfolk and King, and Country dear:
By friendships true, and loves sincere,
By spotless daughters, blameless wives,
Kinsfolk and King, and Country dear:
Rise, rise ye husbandmen and swains;
Arm, arm ye rich, and arm ye poor;
Defenders of your native plains,
Spurn the invader from your door:
Arm, arm ye rich, and arm ye poor;
Defenders of your native plains,
Spurn the invader from your door:
Or should he to your isle advance,
O let your scythes to sabres turn,
Convert the sickle to the lance,
Till e'en the crook shall laurels earn.
O let your scythes to sabres turn,
Convert the sickle to the lance,
Till e'en the crook shall laurels earn.
24
So shall the loud and jovial laugh,
Still gaily spread from sheaf to sheaf,
And PEACE return, as proud you quaff,
The downfall of the Gallic chief!
Still gaily spread from sheaf to sheaf,
And PEACE return, as proud you quaff,
The downfall of the Gallic chief!
So shall your villages and plains,
Your farms and cots be still your thrones,
So thrive your damsels, dames, and swains,
And quiet rest poor Anna's bones.
Your farms and cots be still your thrones,
So thrive your damsels, dames, and swains,
And quiet rest poor Anna's bones.
Then rise! ye husbandmen and swains;
Arm, arm ye rich, and arm ye poor;
Defend your dear and native plains,
And spurn th'Invader from your door.
Arm, arm ye rich, and arm ye poor;
Defend your dear and native plains,
And spurn th'Invader from your door.
THE END.
As we crossed over the way, my friend pointed to a neat but unfinished cottage, immediately opposite the church.
“I built this partly with my own hands, and my poor boy's, that are now all dust,” sighed John, sorrowfully, “on purpose for my dame and myself, had my son and Sally lived to marry and taken the farm; but, as God took them, I let it go without thinking of, or touching it, and kept doing a little to it, from time to time, but often broke away, not being able to stand and work so near the poor Lovers graves!”
GLEANINGS IN ENG. V. II. P. 619.This worthy young man and woman were betrothed to each other, but fell early victims to the same disorder—a rapid consumption.
Ann Earl, who resides in a cottage immediately opposite to that of John Hills, bordering on the church-yard. In her youth, she is said to have been extremely beautiful. The author remembers her in the same house upwards of forty years; and, in a recent conversation with her, finds she has a memory to all which then passed.
| John and Dame | |