London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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THE HOUSEMAID |
 | London lyrics |  |
104
THE HOUSEMAID
Wistful she stands—and yet resign'd,
She watches by the window-blind
Poor Girl. No doubt
The folk that pass despise thy lot:
Thou canst not stir, because 'tis not
Thy Sunday out.
She watches by the window-blind
Poor Girl. No doubt
The folk that pass despise thy lot:
Thou canst not stir, because 'tis not
Thy Sunday out.
To play a game of hide and seek
With dust and cobweb all the week
Small pleasure yields:
Oh dear, how nice it were to drop
One's pen and ink—one's pail and mop;
And scour the fields.
With dust and cobweb all the week
Small pleasure yields:
Oh dear, how nice it were to drop
One's pen and ink—one's pail and mop;
And scour the fields.
Poor Bodies few such pleasures know;
Seldom they come. How soon they go!
But Souls can roam;
For, lapt in visions airy-sweet,
She sees in this unlovely street
Her far-off home.
Seldom they come. How soon they go!
But Souls can roam;
For, lapt in visions airy-sweet,
She sees in this unlovely street
Her far-off home.
105
The street is now no street! She pranks
A purling brook with thymy banks.
In Fancy's realm
Yon post supports no lamp, aloof
It spreads above her parents' roof,—
A gracious elm.
A purling brook with thymy banks.
In Fancy's realm
Yon post supports no lamp, aloof
It spreads above her parents' roof,—
A gracious elm.
A father's aid, a mother's care,
And life for her was happy there:
But here, in thrall
She waits, and dreams, and fondly dreams,
And fondly smiles on One who seems
More dear than all.
And life for her was happy there:
But here, in thrall
She waits, and dreams, and fondly dreams,
And fondly smiles on One who seems
More dear than all.
Her dwelling-place I can't disclose!
Suppose her fair, her name suppose
Is Car, or Kitty;
She may be Jane—she might be plain—
For must the Subject of my strain
Be always pretty?
Suppose her fair, her name suppose
Is Car, or Kitty;
She may be Jane—she might be plain—
For must the Subject of my strain
Be always pretty?
Oft on a cloudless afternoon
Of budding May and leafy June,
Fit Sunday weather,
I pass thy window by design,
And wish thy Sunday out and mine
Might fall together.
Of budding May and leafy June,
Fit Sunday weather,
106
And wish thy Sunday out and mine
Might fall together.
For sweet it were thy lot to dower
With one brief joy: a white-robed flower
That prude or preacher
Hardly could deem it were unmeet
To lay on thy poor path, thou sweet,
Forlorn young Creature.
With one brief joy: a white-robed flower
That prude or preacher
Hardly could deem it were unmeet
To lay on thy poor path, thou sweet,
Forlorn young Creature.
But if her thought on wooing run
And if her Sunday-Swain is one
Who's fond of strolling,
She'd like my nonsense less than his,
And so it's better as it is—
And that's consoling.
And if her Sunday-Swain is one
Who's fond of strolling,
She'd like my nonsense less than his,
And so it's better as it is—
And that's consoling.
1864.
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