The poetical works of Leigh Hunt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ah! dream Sir William what he might,
Little he dreamt the truth that night.
Could but some friend have told him all,
How had he spurred from Hendon Hall,
And dash'd among the doting set,
Who bore away that soft cheek wet!

How had the hills by which they go,
Reëcho'd to his dire “Hallo!”
Startling the waking farmers' ears
With thoughts of thieves and murderers,
And scattering wide those owlish men,
While close he clasp'd his dove again.
But where I left them, safe go they,
Their drowsy noses droop'd alway
To meet the beard's attractive nest,
Push'd upwards from the muffled breast.
Drowsy they nod, and safe they go;
Sir Grey's good steeds the country know,
And lead the rest full soft and well,
Till snore on snore begins to swell,
Warm as owl-plumage, toned as bell;
True snores, composed of spices fine,
Supper, fresh air, and old mull'd wine.
At first they wake with start and fright,
And sniff and stare with all their might,
And sit, one moment, bolt upright:
But soon reverts each nodding crown:
It droops, it yields, it settles down;
Till in one snore, sincere and deep,
The whole grave train are fast asleep.
Sir Grey, the youngest, yields the last:
Besides he held two bridles fast,
The lady's palfrey having shown
Much wish to turn up lanes unknown.
Even sweet Anne can war not long
With sleep, the gentle and the strong;
And as the fingers of Sir Grey
By fine degrees give dulcet way,
And leave the happy beast his will,
The only creatures waking still
And free to go where fancy leads,
Are the twice eight bit-mumbling steeds.
Some few accordingly turn round,
Their happy memories homeward bound,
And soon awake their jolted lords,
Who bless themselves from bandit hordes,

And thinking they have only lagg'd,
Are willingly half jelly-bagg'd.
The rest,—the palfrey meek as any,—
Jog still onward with the many;
Passing now by Kilburn rill,
And now by Hampstead's leaf-stirr'd hill,
Which lulls them still as they descend
The sylvan trough of sweet North-end.
And till they reach thy plot serene
And bowery granges, Golders-green.

Now Golders-green had then a road
(The same as that just re-bestow'd)
Which cross'd the main road, and went straight
To Finchley, and Sir Grey's own gate;
And thither (every sleeper still
Depending on his horse's will,)
Thither, like sheep, turns every head
That follows where the sagest led,—
All but the palfrey's. He, good beast,
From his new master's clutch releas'd,
And longing much his old to see,
His stalls, and all his bounty free
(For poor Sir William's household ways
Were nobler than the rich Sir Grey's,)
Goes neither to the right nor left,
But straight as honesty from theft,
Straight as the dainty to the tooth,
Straight as his lady's love and truth,
Straight for the point, the best of all,
Sir William's arms and Hendon Hall.

Not far from where we left them all,
Those steeds and sires, was Hendon Hall,
Some twice four hundred yards or so;
And steeds to stables quickly go.
The lady wakes with the first start;
She cries aloud; she cowers at heart;
And looks around her in affright
On the wide, lonely, homeless night;

Then checks, as sharply as she may
(Not yet aware how blest his way,)
Her eager friend; and nighly faints,
And calls on fifty gentle saints,
And, if she could, would close her eyes,
For fear of thieves and sorceries,
Of men all beard and blood, and calls
Over lone fields, and lighted palls,
And elves that ever, as you go,
Skip at your side with mop and mow,
With gibbering becks and moony stares,
Forcing your eyes to look on theirs.
And see! the moon forsakes the road;
She lifts her light to whence it flow'd:
Has she a good or ill bestow'd,
That thus her light forsakes the road?
The owls they hoot with gloomier cry;
They seem to see a murder nigh:
And how the palfrey snorts and pulls!
Now Mary help poor wandering fools!
The palfrey pulls, and he must go;
The lady's hand may not say No,
And go he does; the palfrey goes;
He carrieth now no longer woes;
For she, e'en she, now thinks she knows—
Sweet Anne begins to think she knows
Those gathering huts, those poplar rows,
That water, falling as it flows,
This bridge o'er which the palfrey goes,
This gate, at which he stops, and shows
His love to it with greeting nose.
Ah! surely recollects she well
All she has heard her lover tell
Of this same gate, and that same bell:
And she it was, you guess full well,
That pull'd and pull'd again that bell;
And down her love has come pell-mell
With page, and squire, and all who ran,
And was the first to find his Anne,—
Was a most mad and blissful man,
Clasping his fainting, faithful Anne.