 | Dorothy |  |
'Twas on that very same night, in the smoking-room at the Castle,
After the ladies had gone, sorely fatigued, to their rest—
For they had suffer'd a ball, poor things, and an archery meeting,
Also a ride in the park, all within twenty-four hours—
'Twas on the very same night; and our great Parliamentary Colonel
Sat with his nephew, alone, over a final cigar.
Even their host had retired; Sir Harry, the pink of politeness,
Left his dear cousins, and left brandy and soda and all;
He, with appropriate words, with courtesies apologetic,
Hoped they'd forgive him, for once: ‘Damnable headache, you know!’
Thus they were seated alone; and the talk was of racing and hunting,
Gossip, and girls, and game—all that Society loves.
Suddenly, Frank broke out—‘I say though, talking of shooting,
‘Do you remember that girl out in the open, at plough?
‘Well, I have seen her again.’ ‘What of that?’ quoth the excellent Colonel;
‘You are too wise, I presume, twice to commit yourself there!’
‘Oh yes! But I was obliged, as luck would have it, to meet her;
‘For she was driving her cows up to the gate where I was.
‘So, I just ask'd how she did; said a few sage words on the weather;
‘Nothing that could do her harm—Virtue, and you, were my guard!
‘True, I was somewhat impress'd by her beautiful eyes, and her features:
‘Brown as she is, there's finesse—yes, there's real beauty, in them.
‘But there's an antidote near; her hands are so painfully horny,
‘Eros himself wouldn't dare lay his soft finger on hers!’—
‘Well then—et puis? What's the point of this very remarkable story?’—
‘Ah, you may laugh—but I'm sure something uncommon there is!
‘How should a peasant like her, so coarse and repulsive in some things,
‘Have such a highbred face; gentle, serene, and refined?
‘Uncle, why even your Bill to Regulate Female Employment
‘Doesn't explain such a thing: trust me, it doesn't indeed!’
‘You can explain it, then, eh?’ ‘Why, yes, if you'll only have patience:
‘She is a charity child, born on the farm where she lives;
‘And, although she doesn't know, I'm sure her anonymous father
‘Must have been some one of rank: some one superior, at least.’—
‘What a romance! And where is your hard-handed heroine's dwelling?
‘Where does she slumber at eve, after her feats at the plough?
‘Has she a highsounding name, à propos to her lofty condition?’—
‘Dorothy Crump is her name—that is plebeian enough!
‘White Rose Farm is the house; that pretty old house by the river—
‘Don't you remember the cliff, just at the turn of the road?
‘Dorothy Crump is her name: I ask'd, and she artlessly told me:
‘But, 'tis her mother's, of course; that is no clue to her birth.’—
‘White Rose Farm, did you say?’ said the languid Colonel, arising;
Shaken, it seem'd, for a time out of his evening repose:
‘Well, 'tis a charming name! And the story is just as you put it—
‘Folly has father'd her face: labour accounts for her hands.
‘But, it is late; Cousin Hal is sleeping the sleep of the blessed:
‘Bedtime, my boy!’ And they went each to his bachelor room.
After the ladies had gone, sorely fatigued, to their rest—
For they had suffer'd a ball, poor things, and an archery meeting,
Also a ride in the park, all within twenty-four hours—
'Twas on the very same night; and our great Parliamentary Colonel
Sat with his nephew, alone, over a final cigar.
Even their host had retired; Sir Harry, the pink of politeness,
Left his dear cousins, and left brandy and soda and all;
He, with appropriate words, with courtesies apologetic,
Hoped they'd forgive him, for once: ‘Damnable headache, you know!’
Thus they were seated alone; and the talk was of racing and hunting,
Gossip, and girls, and game—all that Society loves.
Suddenly, Frank broke out—‘I say though, talking of shooting,
‘Do you remember that girl out in the open, at plough?
‘Well, I have seen her again.’ ‘What of that?’ quoth the excellent Colonel;
‘You are too wise, I presume, twice to commit yourself there!’
‘Oh yes! But I was obliged, as luck would have it, to meet her;
‘For she was driving her cows up to the gate where I was.
‘So, I just ask'd how she did; said a few sage words on the weather;
‘Nothing that could do her harm—Virtue, and you, were my guard!
‘True, I was somewhat impress'd by her beautiful eyes, and her features:
‘Brown as she is, there's finesse—yes, there's real beauty, in them.
57
‘Eros himself wouldn't dare lay his soft finger on hers!’—
‘Well then—et puis? What's the point of this very remarkable story?’—
‘Ah, you may laugh—but I'm sure something uncommon there is!
‘How should a peasant like her, so coarse and repulsive in some things,
‘Have such a highbred face; gentle, serene, and refined?
‘Uncle, why even your Bill to Regulate Female Employment
‘Doesn't explain such a thing: trust me, it doesn't indeed!’
‘You can explain it, then, eh?’ ‘Why, yes, if you'll only have patience:
‘She is a charity child, born on the farm where she lives;
‘And, although she doesn't know, I'm sure her anonymous father
‘Must have been some one of rank: some one superior, at least.’—
‘What a romance! And where is your hard-handed heroine's dwelling?
‘Where does she slumber at eve, after her feats at the plough?
‘Has she a highsounding name, à propos to her lofty condition?’—
‘Dorothy Crump is her name—that is plebeian enough!
‘White Rose Farm is the house; that pretty old house by the river—
‘Don't you remember the cliff, just at the turn of the road?
‘Dorothy Crump is her name: I ask'd, and she artlessly told me:
‘But, 'tis her mother's, of course; that is no clue to her birth.’—
‘White Rose Farm, did you say?’ said the languid Colonel, arising;
Shaken, it seem'd, for a time out of his evening repose:
‘Well, 'tis a charming name! And the story is just as you put it—
‘Folly has father'd her face: labour accounts for her hands.
‘But, it is late; Cousin Hal is sleeping the sleep of the blessed:
‘Bedtime, my boy!’ And they went each to his bachelor room.
| Dorothy | |