Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Once on a time (no matter when or where)
There liv'd in Britain's Isle a youthful pair;
In boyish days no pleasure Edward knew,
Unless the sport was shared by Ellen too;
Her chosen games he always would prefer,
And learnt those lessons best—he learnt with her;
Fair Ellen, too, her early playmate loved,
And often wore the sash that he approved,—
Pursued her evening walk with feigned alarm,
To gain the fond protection of his arm;
His gifts and tokens she preserved with care,
And wore a ring composed of Edward's hair.
But girls will grow, and as their years increase,
The world decrees these gay delights should cease.

Ellen was just eighteen: that happy time,
When youth's gay spirit revels in its prime;
When love's first tremor to the bosom steals,
And woman wonders at the glow she feels;
In form and manners changed, she now appears
In all the loveliness of riper years;
And Edward, too, was changed, for he began
To be not quite a boy, nor quite a man;
But, from his looks and manners you might deem
He was not boyish in his own esteem.

His neckcloth now in graceful folds was placed,
And gave a sample of the wearer's taste:
And, every inch a beau, he stoutly said
That none henceforth should call him Master Ned.
But, though the charms of bats and balls were fled,
And other sports engross'd him in their stead;

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Though taw and tennis not a thought could claim,
And nobler billiards was his only game;
Though gay and unconfined he loved to range
For new delights;—his heart had known no change;
And though transformed with fashionable skill,
His youth's companion was remembered still.

Returned from school, with wonder and delight
He saw the change in Ellen's form and height;
And scarcely could he believe the blooming belle
Was she whose hoyden tricks he loved so well.
They were at first reserved, and knew not how
To get beyond a curtsey and a bow:
Each suffered a restraint unfelt before.
Little was said—but then they thought the more;
And soon their tell-tale eyes revealed to each
Much more than could be told by parts of speech:
Their silence quickly ceased—reserve was lost.
And both seemed striving which could talk the most.

Daily they met—and failed not to produce,
For meetings yet to come, some new excuse;
They both found out that early rising serves
To give elastic vigour to the nerves;
Discovered next the needful good that lies
In morning air and constant exercise.
And Ellen often ventured out, by stealth,
To walk with Edward, and improve her health;
And then, whatever walk she chose to name,
He always chanced to fix upon the same;
And morning, noon, or night, where'er they went,
The couple always met—by accident.

A sudden love of reading offered next
For frequent interviews a good pretext;
But Edward's eye oft wandered from his books,
To read expressive things in Ellen's looks;
And long she listened—for the voice she heard
Imparted melody to every word:
Reading has charms—and they perceived the charm
Was much increased by reading arm in arm;

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And found their scientific walk so sweet,
The more they met, the more they wish'd to meet.

Their love of learning none could disapprove,
Until, by some mischance, they learnt to love!
Then mothers went into fits, and fathers swore,
And all declared that they should meet no more;
Said days of joy would end in years of pain,
And talk'd of prudent schemes—but talk'd in vain:
They argued well that Cupid is averse
To scanty larders, and an empty purse;
That wedded paupers often mourn their lot,
And find affection will not boil the pot;
And said (whatever boys and girls may think)
Lovers, though vastly warm, must eat and drink.

But all their arguments had little force,
For Edward only thought them words of course.
“Shall we,” he said, “who love as much—or more
Than ever two young people loved before,
Shall we be pent in lucre's paltry bounds,
And part because our shillings are not pounds?
Shall I look out for wealth, and strive to catch
Some advantageous mercenary match?
No! to my charming Ellen still I turn:
Love's rosy links are easy to be borne;
Let sordid souls repent, and mourn in vain
The heavy splendour of their golden chain.”

“Although we boast no riches,” Ellen cried,
“What can I want with Edward at my side?
Without wax lights our cot shall ne'er be dim,
For even tallow must burn bright with him:
Love and a Cottage is the lot I prize,
And lucre, filthy lucre, I despise.”

The day was fix'd, and Edward flew to buy
A charming cottage just two stories high;
And one was found which, though extremely small,
Was large enough to hold their little all.

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Some months the bride, with fortitude unshaken,
Endured the dull routine of beans and bacon;
Preserved each precious morsel on the shelf,
And eat the puddings that she made herself;
By daily repetition well she knew
How to provide but just enough for two;
Learnt to economise in every way,
And hash the mutton of a former day.
Before her spouse she laboured to conceal
Her secret horror of the vulgar meal;
Boldly contended with domestic ills,
And studied the amount of baker's bills.

Her bridal garments soil'd, with wondrous skill,
She turn'd, and wash'd, and made them useful still;
Corrected and revised her old array,
And neatly darn'd each symptom of decay;
Contrived to make the last year's bonnet do,
And said it look'd almost as good as new;
Dyed her old gown, its splendour to recall;
And sigh'd in secret—if she sigh'd at all.

The bridegroom gazed upon his lovely wife,
Talk'd of domestic joys, and rural life;
Genteelly acquiesced in all she said,
And drank her currant wine both white and red.

So far 'twas well—but ere two years were past,
Their matrimonial sky was overcast;
And Ellen then, in tone not very sweet,
Complain'd their mansion was not quite complete.
“'Tis such a bore,” said she, “in rainy weather,
In this small room to sit all day together,
Which serves for drawing-room and parlour too:
And there's no study set apart for you;
You're never out of hearing—and it feels
So strange to have you always at my heels;
We're very loving—but it is too much
To sit so close—our elbows almost touch.

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And then our maid (alas! we have but one)
Does only half of all that should be done,
For Nelly acts as cook and butler both,
And she who scrubs the kitchen lays the cloth;
With arms all crimson, and a flaming face,
She bustles on, sole handmaid of the place;
And frequent must my occupations be,
Since all she fails to do—is done by me:
Oft am I plagued with closet, drawer and shelf—
In fact, I'm maid of all work to myself.
My dear, before I married you, I vow
I wish I'd been as wise as I am now.”

These Edward heard, and he at times gave vent
To equal murmurings and discontent.
“What you assert, my love,” he cried, “is true,
I think our cottage quite as small as you;
But then, my charmer, what can you expect,
Your portion brought me nothing, recollect;
‘Nothing can come of nothing,’ pounds and pence
In calculations make a difference,
I hate our paltry dinners, where the meat
Is only just as much as we can eat;
If sick of mutton roasted, we arrange
To have it boil'd next day, by way of change;
And boil'd or roasted, it might do, I own,
Had I some good old port to wash it down;
But as for currant wine, say what you will,
That home-made stuff is apt to make one ill.
In tedious tête-à-tête our time is past—
Each day a repetition of the last;
And in this nutshell, as we sit alone,
I hear no human voice except your own.
We used to read—but who can pass his life
In reading doleful ditties to his wife?”

This was his constant theme: thus months were spent
In bitter matrimonial argument.

“Love and a Cottage” was their former boast—
The Cottage still remains, but Love is lost;

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And when for man and wife it proved too small,
No wonder Love could find no room at all.
Thus wise at length—though haply wise too late,
By mutual consent they separate:
And by a written paper we are told—
“This Cottage either to be let or sold.”