 | The coming of love |  |
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XII
LOVE'S CALENTURE
(Percy on hoard “The Petrel” in a tropic calm.)
I hear our blackbirds singing in our grove,
And now I see—I smell—the eglantine—
The meadow-sweet where rivulets laugh and shine
To English clouds that laugh and shine above;
I feel a stream of maiden-music move,
Pouring through all my frame a life divine
From Rhona's throbbing bosom claspt to mine—
From that dear harp, her heart, whose chords are love!
Vanished!—
O God! a blazing world of sea—
A blistered deck—an engine's grinding jar—
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And, in the offing up yon fiery lee,
One spot in the air no bigger than a bee—
A frigate-bird that sails alone afar!
(He takes from his pocket and reads a letter from Rhona which reached him in Australia.)
THE LETTER
On Christmas-eve I seed in dreams the day
When Herne the Scollard comed and said to me,
Hes off, that rye o yourn, gone clean away
Till swallow-time; hes left this letter: see!
In dreams I heerd the bee and grasshopper,
Like on that mornin, buz in Rington Hollow,
Shell live till swallow-time and then shell mer,
For never will a rye come back to her
Wot leaves her till the comin o the swallow.
All night I heerd them bees and grasshoppers;
All night I smelt the breath o grass and may,
Mixed sweet wi smells o honey from the furze,
Like on that mornin when you went away;
All night I heerd in dreams my daddy sal,
Sayin, De blessed chi ud give de chollo
O Bozzles breed—tans, vardey, greis, and all—
To see dat tarno rye o hern palall
Wots left her till the comin o the swallow.
When Herne the Scollard comed and said to me,
Hes off, that rye o yourn, gone clean away
Till swallow-time; hes left this letter: see!
In dreams I heerd the bee and grasshopper,
Like on that mornin, buz in Rington Hollow,
Shell live till swallow-time and then shell mer,
For never will a rye come back to her
Wot leaves her till the comin o the swallow.
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All night I smelt the breath o grass and may,
Mixed sweet wi smells o honey from the furze,
Like on that mornin when you went away;
All night I heerd in dreams my daddy sal,
Sayin, De blessed chi ud give de chollo
O Bozzles breed—tans, vardey, greis, and all—
To see dat tarno rye o hern palall
Wots left her till the comin o the swallow.
I woke and went a-walkin on the ice
All white with snow-dust, just like sparklin loon,
And soon beneath the stars I heerd a vice,
A vice I knowed and often, often shoon ;
And then I seed a shape as thin as tuv ;
I knowed it wur my blessed mammys mollo .
Rhona, she sez, that tarno rye you love,
Hes thinkin on you; dont you go and rove
;
Youll see him at the comin o the swallow.
Sez she, For you it seemed to kill the grass
When he wur gone, and freeze the brooklets ghyllies ;
There wornt no smell, dear, in the sweetest kas ,
And when the summer brought the waterlilies,
And when the sweet winds waved the golden giv ,
The skies above em seemed as bleak and kollo
As now, when all the world seems frozen yiv .
The months are long, but mammy sez youll live
By thinkin o the comin o the swallow.
She sez, The whinchat soon wi silver throat
Will meet the stonechat in the buddin whin,
And soon the blackcaps airliest ghyllie ull float
From light-green boughs through leaves a-peepin thin;
The wheat-ear soon ull bring the willow-wren,
And then the fust fond nightingale ull follow,
A-callin Come, dear, to his laggin hen
Still out at sea, the spring is in our glen;
Come darlin, wi the comin o the swallow.
All white with snow-dust, just like sparklin loon,
And soon beneath the stars I heerd a vice,
A vice I knowed and often, often shoon ;
And then I seed a shape as thin as tuv ;
I knowed it wur my blessed mammys mollo .
Rhona, she sez, that tarno rye you love,
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Youll see him at the comin o the swallow.
Sez she, For you it seemed to kill the grass
When he wur gone, and freeze the brooklets ghyllies ;
There wornt no smell, dear, in the sweetest kas ,
And when the summer brought the waterlilies,
And when the sweet winds waved the golden giv ,
The skies above em seemed as bleak and kollo
As now, when all the world seems frozen yiv .
The months are long, but mammy sez youll live
By thinkin o the comin o the swallow.
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Will meet the stonechat in the buddin whin,
And soon the blackcaps airliest ghyllie ull float
From light-green boughs through leaves a-peepin thin;
The wheat-ear soon ull bring the willow-wren,
And then the fust fond nightingale ull follow,
A-callin Come, dear, to his laggin hen
Still out at sea, the spring is in our glen;
Come darlin, wi the comin o the swallow.
And she wur gone! And then I read the words
In mornin twilight wot you rote to me;
They made the Christmas sing with summer birds,
And spring-leaves shine on every frozen tree;
And when the dawnin
kindled Rington spire,
And curdlin winter-clouds burnt gold and lollo
Round the dear sun, wot seemed a yolk o fire,
Another night, I sez, has brought him nigher;
Hes comin wi the comin o the swallow.
In mornin twilight wot you rote to me;
They made the Christmas sing with summer birds,
And spring-leaves shine on every frozen tree;
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And curdlin winter-clouds burnt gold and lollo
Round the dear sun, wot seemed a yolk o fire,
Another night, I sez, has brought him nigher;
Hes comin wi the comin o the swallow.
And soon the bull-pups found me on the Pool—
You know the way they barks to see me slide—
But when the skatin bors o Rington scool
Comed on, it turned my head to see em glide.
I seemed to see you twirlin on your skates,
And somethin made me clap my hans and hollo;
Its him, I sez, a-chinnin o them eights.
But when I woke-like—Im the gal wot waits
Alone, I sez, the comin o the swallow.
Comin seemed ringin in the Christmas-chime;
Comin seemed rit on everything I seed,
In beads o frost along the nets o rime,
Sparklin on every frozen rush and reed;
And when the pups began to bark and play,
And frisk and scrabble and bite my frock and wallow
Among the snow and fling it up like spray,
I sez to them, you know who rote to say
Hes comin wi the comin o the swallow.
You know the way they barks to see me slide—
But when the skatin bors o Rington scool
Comed on, it turned my head to see em glide.
I seemed to see you twirlin on your skates,
And somethin made me clap my hans and hollo;
Its him, I sez, a-chinnin o them eights.
But when I woke-like—Im the gal wot waits
Alone, I sez, the comin o the swallow.
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Comin seemed rit on everything I seed,
In beads o frost along the nets o rime,
Sparklin on every frozen rush and reed;
And when the pups began to bark and play,
And frisk and scrabble and bite my frock and wallow
Among the snow and fling it up like spray,
I sez to them, you know who rote to say
Hes comin wi the comin o the swallow.
The thought ont makes the snow-drifts o December
Shine gold, I sez, like daffodils o spring
Wot wait beneath: hes comin, pups, remember;
If not—for me no singin birds ull sing:
No chorin chiriklo ull hold the gale
Wi Cuckoo, cuckoo,
over hill and hollow:
Therell be no crakin o the meadow-rail,
Therell be no jug-jug o the nightingale,
For her wot waits the comin o the swallow.
Shine gold, I sez, like daffodils o spring
Wot wait beneath: hes comin, pups, remember;
If not—for me no singin birds ull sing:
No chorin chiriklo ull hold the gale
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Therell be no crakin o the meadow-rail,
Therell be no jug-jug o the nightingale,
For her wot waits the comin o the swallow.
Come back, minaw
, and you may kiss your han
To that fine rawni rowin on the river;
Ill never call that lady a chovihan ,
Nor yit a mumply gorgie —Ill forgive her.
Come back, minaw: I wur to be your wife.
Come back—or, say the word, and I will follow
Your footfalls round the world: Ill leave this life
(Ive flung away a-ready that ere knife)—
Im dyin for the comin o the swallow.
To that fine rawni rowin on the river;
Ill never call that lady a chovihan ,
Nor yit a mumply gorgie —Ill forgive her.
Come back, minaw: I wur to be your wife.
Come back—or, say the word, and I will follow
Your footfalls round the world: Ill leave this life
(Ive flung away a-ready that ere knife)—
Im dyin for the comin o the swallow.
| The coming of love | |