 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
131
ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES.
A FAMILIAR BALLAD.
I
“Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:—“Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones,
“I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough,
“To go and court the Widow Jones.
II
“Our master talks of stable-room,“And younger horses on his grounds;
“'Tis easy to foresee thy doom,
“Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds.
132
III
“But could I win the widow's hand,“I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee;
“For thou upon the best of land
“Should'st feed, and live, and die with me.
IV
“And must the pole-axe lay thee low?“And will they pick thy poor old bones?
“No—hang me if it shall be so,—
“If I can win the Widow Jones.”
V
Twirl went his stick; his curly pateA bran-new hat uplifted bore;
And Abner, as he leapt the gate,
Had never look'd so gay before.
133
VI
And every spark of love reviv'dThat had perplex'd him long ago,
When busy folks and fools contriv'd
To make his Mary answer—no.
VII
But whether, freed from recent vows,Her heart had back to Abner flown,
And mark'd him for a second spouse,
In truth is not exactly known.
VIII
Howbeit, as he came in sight,She turn'd her from the garden stile,
And downward look'd with pure delight,
With half a sigh and half a smile.
134
IX
She heard his sounding step behind,The blush of joy crept up her cheek,
As cheerly floated on the wind,
“Hoi! Mary Jones—what won't you speak?”
X
Then, with a look that ne'er deceives,She turn'd, but found her courage fled;
And scolding sparrows from the eaves
Peep'd forth upon the stranger's head.
XI
Down Abner sat, with glowing heart,Resolv'd, whatever might betide,
To speak his mind, no other art
He ever knew, or ever tried.
135
XII
And gently twitching Mary's hand,The bench had ample room for two,
His first word made her understand
The ploughman's errand was to woo.
XIII
“My Mary—may I call thee so?“For many a happy day we've seen,
“And if not mine, aye, years ago,
“Whose was the fault? you might have been
XIV
“All that's gone by: but I've been musing,‘And vow'd, and hope to keep it true,
“That she shall be my own heart's choosing
“Whom I call wife.—Hey, what say you?
136
XV
“And as I drove my plough along,“And felt the strength that's in my arm,
“Ten years, thought I, amidst my song,
“I've been head-man at Harewood farm.
XVI
“And now, my own dear Mary's free,“Whom I have lov'd this many a day,
“Who knows but she may think on me?
“I'll go hear what she has to say.
XVII
“Perhaps that little stock of land“She holds, but knows not how to till,
“Will suffer in the widow's hand,
“And make poor Mary poorer still.
137
XVIII
“That scrap of land, with one like her,“How we might live! and be so blest!
“And who should Mary Jones prefer?
“Why, surely, him who loves her best!
XIX
“Therefore I'm come to-night, sweet wench,“I would not idly thus intrude,”—
Mary look'd downward on the bench,
O'erpower'd by love and gratitude.
XX
And lean'd her head against the vine,With quick'ning sobs of silent bliss,
Till Abner cried, “You must be mine,
“You must,”—and seal'd it with a kiss.
138
XXI
She talk'd of shame, and wip'd her cheek,But what had shame with them to do.
Who nothing meant but truth to speak,
And downright honour to pursue?
XXII
His eloquence improv'd apace,As manly pity fill'd his mind;
“You know poor Bayard; here's the case,—
“He's past his labour, old, and blind:
XXIII
“If you and I should but agree“To settle here for good and all,
“Could you give all your heart to me,
“And grudge that poor old rogue a stall?
139
XXIV
“I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never“Set tooth upon a friend so true;
“He'll not live long, but I for ever
“Shall know I gave the beast his due.
XXV
“'Mongst all I've known of ploughs and carts,“And ever since I learn'd to drive,
“He was not match'd in all these parts;
“There was not such a horse alive!
XXVI
“Ready, as birds to meet the morn,“Were all his efforts at the plough;
“Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn,
“Good creature! how he'd spatter through
140
XXVII
“He was a horse of mighty pow'r,“Compact in frame, and strong of limb;
“Went with a chirp from hour to hour;
“Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him.
XXVIII
“I left him in the shafts behind,“His fellows all unhook'd and gone,
“He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unking,
“Then, starting, drew the load alone!
XXIX
“But I might talk till pitch-dark night,“And then have something left to say;
“But, Mary, am I wrong or right,
“Or, do I throw my words away?
141
XXX
“Leave me, or take me and my horse;“I've told thee truth, and all I know:
“Truth should breed truth; that comes of course;
“If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow.”
XXXI
“Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield,“Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em;
“Though, with a husband in the field,
“Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em.
XXXII
“I've known your generous nature well;“My first denial cost me dear;
“How this may end we cannot tell,
“But, as for Bayard, bring him here.”
142
XXXIII
“Bless thee for that,” the ploughman cried,At once both starting from the seat,
He stood a guardian by her side,
But talk'd of home,—'twas growing late.
XXXIV
Then step for step within his arm,She cheer'd him down the dewy way;
And no two birds upon the farm
E'er parted with more joy than they.
XXXV
What news at home? The smile he woreOne little sentence turn'd to sorrow;
An order met him at the door,
“Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow.”
143
XXXXVI
Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh,Die when he will he's not your debtor:
I must obey, and he must die,—
That's if I can't contrive it better.
XXXVII
He left his Mary late at night,And had succeeded in the main;
No sooner peep'd the morning light
But he was on the road again!
XXXVIII
Suppose she should refuse her hand?Such thoughts will come, I know not why,
Shall I, without a wife or land,
Want an old horse? then wherefore buy?
144
XXXIX
From bush to bush, from stile to stile,Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground,
And told his money all the while,
And weigh'd the matter round and round.
XL
“I'll borrow,” that's the best thought yet;Mary shall save the horse's life.—
Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt
Before I know she'll be my wife?
XLI
These women won't speak plain and free.—Well, well, I'll keep my service still;
She has not said she'd marry me,
But yet I dare to say she will.
145
XLII
But while I take this shay-brain'd course,And like a fool run to and fro,
Master, perhaps, may sell the horse!
Sell him!—this instant home I'll go.
XLIII
The nightly rains had drench'd the grove,He plung'd right on with headlong pace
A man but half as much in love
Perhaps had found a cleaner place.
XLIV
The day rose fair; with team a-field,He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow;
And in a lucky hour reveal'd
His secret at his post, the plough.
146
XLV
And there without a whine began,“Master, you'll give me your advice;
“I'm going to marry—if I can—
“And want old Bayard; what's his price?
XLVI
“For Mary Jones last night agreed,“Or near upon't, to be my wife:
“The horse's value I don't heed,
“I only want to save his life.”
XLVII
“Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I“Have not the thought of gain in view;
“Bayard's best days we've seen go by;
“He shall be cheap enough to you.”
147
XLVIII
The wages paid, the horse brought out,The hour of separation come;
The farmer turn'd his chair about,
“Good fellow, take him, take him home.
XLIX
“You're welcome, Abner, to the beast,“For you've a faithful servant been;
“They'll thrive I doubt not in the least,
“Who know what work and service mean.’
L
The maids at parting, one and all,From different windows different tones;
Bade him farewell with many a bawl,
And sent their love to Mary Jones.
148
LI
He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away,When loud the cry of children rose;
“Abner, good bye!” they stopt their play;
“There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!”
LII
Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride,He now with dainty clover fed him,
Now took a short triumphant ride,
And then again got down and led him.
LIII
And hobbling onward up the hill,The widow's house was full in sight,
He pull'd the bridle harder still,
“Come on, we shan't be there to night.”
149
LIV
She met them with a smile so sweet,The stable-door was open thrown;
The blind horse lifted high his feet,
And loudly snorting, laid him down.
LV
O Victory! from that stock of laurelsYou keep so snug for camps and thrones,
Spare us one twig from all their quarrels,
For Abner and the Widow Jones.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |