Ballads and Other Poems By Mary Howitt |
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A FOREST SCENE,
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 | Ballads and Other Poems |  |
173
A FOREST SCENE,
IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFFE.
A little child, she read a book
Beside an open door;
And, as she read page after page,
She wondered more and more.
Beside an open door;
And, as she read page after page,
She wondered more and more.
Her little finger carefully
Went pointing out the place;
Her golden locks hung drooping down,
And shadowed half her face.
Went pointing out the place;
Her golden locks hung drooping down,
And shadowed half her face.
The open book lay on her knee,
Her eyes on it were bent;
And, as she read page after page,
Her colour came and went.
Her eyes on it were bent;
And, as she read page after page,
Her colour came and went.
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She sate upon a mossy stone,
An open door beside;
And round for miles on every hand
Stretched out a forest wide.
An open door beside;
And round for miles on every hand
Stretched out a forest wide.
The summer sun shone on the trees,
The deer lay in the shade;
And overhead the singing birds
Their pleasant clamour made.
The deer lay in the shade;
And overhead the singing birds
Their pleasant clamour made.
There was no garden round the house,
And it was low and small;
The forest sward grew to the door,
And lichens on the wall.
And it was low and small;
The forest sward grew to the door,
And lichens on the wall.
There was no garden round about,
Yet flowers were growing free,
The cowslip and the daffodil,
Upon the forest-lea.
Yet flowers were growing free,
The cowslip and the daffodil,
Upon the forest-lea.
The butterfly went flitting by,
The bees were in the flowers;
But the little child sate steadfastly,
As she had sate for hours.
The bees were in the flowers;
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As she had sate for hours.
“Why sit you here, my little maid?”
An aged pilgrim spake;
The child looked upward from her book,
Like one but just awake.
An aged pilgrim spake;
The child looked upward from her book,
Like one but just awake.
Back fell her locks of golden hair,
And solemn was her look,
As thus she answered witlessly,
“Oh! sir, I read this book.”
And solemn was her look,
As thus she answered witlessly,
“Oh! sir, I read this book.”
“And what is there within that book
To win a child like thee?
Up! join thy mates, the merry birds,
And frolic with the bee.”
To win a child like thee?
Up! join thy mates, the merry birds,
And frolic with the bee.”
“Nay, sir, I cannot leave this book,
I love it more than play;
I have read all legends, but this one
Ne'er saw I till this day.
I love it more than play;
I have read all legends, but this one
Ne'er saw I till this day.
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“And there is something in this book
That makes all care be gone;
And yet I weep, I know not why,
As I go reading on.”
That makes all care be gone;
And yet I weep, I know not why,
As I go reading on.”
“Who art thou, child, that thou shouldst con
A book with mickle heed?
Books are for clerks; the king himself
Hath much ado to read.”
A book with mickle heed?
Books are for clerks; the king himself
Hath much ado to read.”
“My father is a forester,
A bowman keen and good;
He keeps the deer within their bound,
And worketh in the wood.
A bowman keen and good;
He keeps the deer within their bound,
And worketh in the wood.
“My mother died at Candlemas:
The flowers are all in blow
Upon her grave at Allonby,
Down in the dale below.”
The flowers are all in blow
Upon her grave at Allonby,
Down in the dale below.”
This said, unto her book she turned,
As steadfast as before;
“Nay,” said the pilgrim, “nay not yet;
And you must tell me more.
As steadfast as before;
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And you must tell me more.
“Who was it taught you thus to read?”
“Ah! sir, it was my mother:
She taught me both to read and spell,
And so she taught my brother.
“Ah! sir, it was my mother:
She taught me both to read and spell,
And so she taught my brother.
“My brother dwells at Allonby
With the good monks alway;
And this new book he brought to me,—
But only for one day.
With the good monks alway;
And this new book he brought to me,—
But only for one day.
“Oh! sir, it is a wondrous book,
Better than Charlemagne;
And, be you pleased to leave me now,
I'll read in it again.”
Better than Charlemagne;
And, be you pleased to leave me now,
I'll read in it again.”
“Nay, read to me,” the pilgrim said;
And the little child went on
To read of Christ, as was set forth
In the Gospel of St. John.
And the little child went on
To read of Christ, as was set forth
In the Gospel of St. John.
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On, on she read, and gentle tears
Adown her cheeks did slide;
The pilgrim sate, with bended head,
And he wept at her side.
Adown her cheeks did slide;
The pilgrim sate, with bended head,
And he wept at her side.
“I've heard,” said he, “the archbishop,
I've heard the pope at Rome;
But never did their spoken words
Thus to my spirit come.
I've heard the pope at Rome;
But never did their spoken words
Thus to my spirit come.
“The book it is a blessed book;
Its name, what may it be?”
Said she, “They are the words of Christ
That I have read to thee,
Now done into the English tongue
For folk unlearned as we.”
Its name, what may it be?”
Said she, “They are the words of Christ
That I have read to thee,
Now done into the English tongue
For folk unlearned as we.”
“Sancta Maria!” said the man,
“Our canons have decreed
That this is an unholy book
For simple folk to read!
“Our canons have decreed
That this is an unholy book
For simple folk to read!
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“Sancta Maria! blessed be God!
Had this good book been mine,
I need not have gone on pilgrimage
To holy Palestine.
Had this good book been mine,
I need not have gone on pilgrimage
To holy Palestine.
“Give me the book, and let me read;
My soul is strangely stirred;
They are such words of love and truth
As ne'er before I heard.”
My soul is strangely stirred;
They are such words of love and truth
As ne'er before I heard.”
The little girl gave up the book;
And the pilgrim, old and brown,
With reverent lips did kiss the page,
Then on the stone sate down.
And the pilgrim, old and brown,
With reverent lips did kiss the page,
Then on the stone sate down.
And on he read, page after page;
Page after page he turned;
And, as he read their blessed words,
His heart within him burned.
Page after page he turned;
And, as he read their blessed words,
His heart within him burned.
Still, still the book the old man read,
As he would ne'er have done;
From the hour of noon he read the book
Unto the set of sun.
As he would ne'er have done;
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Unto the set of sun.
The little child she brought him out
A cake of wheaten bread,
But it lay unbroke at eventide;
Nor did he raise his head,
Until he every written page
Within the book had read.
A cake of wheaten bread,
But it lay unbroke at eventide;
Nor did he raise his head,
Until he every written page
Within the book had read.
Then came the sturdy forester
Along the homeward track;
Whistling aloud a hunting tune,
With a slain deer on his back.
Along the homeward track;
Whistling aloud a hunting tune,
With a slain deer on his back.
Loud greeting gave the forester
Unto the pilgrim poor;
The old man rose, with thoughtful brow,
And entered at the door.
Unto the pilgrim poor;
The old man rose, with thoughtful brow,
And entered at the door.
The two they sate them down to meat;
And the pilgrim 'gan to tell
How he had eaten on Olivet,
And drunk at Jacob's well.
And the pilgrim 'gan to tell
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And drunk at Jacob's well.
And then he told how he had knelt
Where'er our Lord had prayed;
How he had in the garden been,
And the tomb where he was laid:
Where'er our Lord had prayed;
How he had in the garden been,
And the tomb where he was laid:
And then he turned unto the book,
And read, in English plain,
How Christ had died on Calvary,
How he had risen again;
And read, in English plain,
How Christ had died on Calvary,
How he had risen again;
And all his comfortable words,
His deeds of mercy all,
He read; and of the widow's mite,
And the poor prodigal.
His deeds of mercy all,
He read; and of the widow's mite,
And the poor prodigal.
As water to the parched soil,
As to the hungry, bread,
So fell upon the woodman's soul
Each word the pilgrim read.
As to the hungry, bread,
So fell upon the woodman's soul
Each word the pilgrim read.
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Thus, through the midnight, did they read
Until the dawn of day;
And then came in the woodman's son
To fetch the book away.
Until the dawn of day;
And then came in the woodman's son
To fetch the book away.
All quick and troubled was his speech,
His face was pale with dread;
“For the king,” he said, “had made a law
That the book must not be read;
It was such fearful heresy,
The holy abbot said.”
His face was pale with dread;
“For the king,” he said, “had made a law
That the book must not be read;
It was such fearful heresy,
The holy abbot said.”
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