 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE OLD WIFE'S TALE.
A terrible wind, sir! Through the vale
And down the road it sweeps,
Hurrying fast, and whirling past
With the maddest bounds and leaps:
It strips the crown of the hill of snow
And gathers the spoil in heaps,
And it blows, blows, and goes, goes,
Till the flesh on a body creeps.
And down the road it sweeps,
Hurrying fast, and whirling past
With the maddest bounds and leaps:
It strips the crown of the hill of snow
And gathers the spoil in heaps,
And it blows, blows, and goes, goes,
Till the flesh on a body creeps.
When the storm outside is doing its worst,
You'd best in shelter stay,
And while a tight roof covers your head
Remain there while you may;
But, if you'll not, when John comes home
He'll show you on your way,
For every road around to him
Is clear by night or day.
You'd best in shelter stay,
And while a tight roof covers your head
Remain there while you may;
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He'll show you on your way,
For every road around to him
Is clear by night or day.
O yes, sir! John's my only boy,
Though really not my son;
And if I be no mother of his,
A mother he has none;
But he is near and dear to me,
As though I had been one.
Now twenty years since first he came
Their changing course have run.
Though really not my son;
And if I be no mother of his,
A mother he has none;
But he is near and dear to me,
As though I had been one.
Now twenty years since first he came
Their changing course have run.
A stormy night like this, when I
The fire sat bending o'er,
There came a fierce and sudden rap
Upon our cottage door;
But I scarcely heeded it at first
Amid the shock and roar
Of the tempest wild that shook the house,
And swept from sea to shore.
The fire sat bending o'er,
There came a fierce and sudden rap
Upon our cottage door;
But I scarcely heeded it at first
Amid the shock and roar
Of the tempest wild that shook the house,
And swept from sea to shore.
But presently came a fainter rap
In the lull of the wind-storm's spite,
And with it was a muffled cry
That thrilled my heart with fright.
I opened the door. A sudden blast
Of wind blew out the light,
And some one staggered wearily in
From out the gloomy night.
In the lull of the wind-storm's spite,
And with it was a muffled cry
That thrilled my heart with fright.
I opened the door. A sudden blast
Of wind blew out the light,
And some one staggered wearily in
From out the gloomy night.
At first, if this were woman or man
Was quite beyond my ken;
But I shut the door and bolted it,
And lit the light again,
And roused from bed my good man Dick;
And I remember then
The whirring bell of our eight-day clock
Rang out the hour of ten.
Was quite beyond my ken;
But I shut the door and bolted it,
And lit the light again,
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And I remember then
The whirring bell of our eight-day clock
Rang out the hour of ten.
A woman it proved, with babe in arms
Well wrapped in cloth and fur;
But, think of it! out on such a night—
Not fit for a worthless cur!
I called on Dick to freshen the fire,
And took the child from her,
While she on yonder settle fell,
And did not move or stir.
Well wrapped in cloth and fur;
But, think of it! out on such a night—
Not fit for a worthless cur!
I called on Dick to freshen the fire,
And took the child from her,
While she on yonder settle fell,
And did not move or stir.
I held the baby in my arms—
It was a lovely child—
And the little darling looked at me,
And crowed and crowed and smiled;
And when it calmly sank to sleep,
While howled the tempest wild,
I thought of the babe of Bethlehem,
The Saviour meek and mild.
It was a lovely child—
And the little darling looked at me,
And crowed and crowed and smiled;
And when it calmly sank to sleep,
While howled the tempest wild,
I thought of the babe of Bethlehem,
The Saviour meek and mild.
Dick growled a little—'twas his way—
At being roused from bed;
And turned and sharply questioned her,
But not a word she said.
Face downward, motionless she lay,
Her hands clasped o'er her head;
There were four of us that stormy night,
And one of the four was dead.
At being roused from bed;
And turned and sharply questioned her,
But not a word she said.
Face downward, motionless she lay,
Her hands clasped o'er her head;
There were four of us that stormy night,
And one of the four was dead.
From whence she came, or why she came,
Through storm-winds driving free,
Wet, cold, forlorn, with babe in arms,
Was mystery to me;
For the baby's furs, her linen and lace,
Her silks, a sight to see,
Those hands and feet—a lady born
If ever were one, was she.
Through storm-winds driving free,
Wet, cold, forlorn, with babe in arms,
Was mystery to me;
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Her silks, a sight to see,
Those hands and feet—a lady born
If ever were one, was she.
It was her heart, the doctor said,
When he and the coroner came,
And, by her golden wedding-ring,
She was a married dame.
And when we knew the orphan boy
Was not a child of shame,
We craved to keep him for our own—
O yes! we found her name.
When he and the coroner came,
And, by her golden wedding-ring,
She was a married dame.
And when we knew the orphan boy
Was not a child of shame,
We craved to keep him for our own—
O yes! we found her name.
“Grace Oswald” on her handkerchief;
Her linen marked “G. O.”;
“John Oswald” on the baby's clothes—
Dear me! how pale you grow!
The town-clerk has the things she left,
And that is all I know—
But are you ill? Your eyes are wild;
What makes you tremble so?
Her linen marked “G. O.”;
“John Oswald” on the baby's clothes—
Dear me! how pale you grow!
The town-clerk has the things she left,
And that is all I know—
But are you ill? Your eyes are wild;
What makes you tremble so?
Ah, John, you're back. This stranger stopped
A guide to town to seek;
He seemed a stout old man enough
Though now so faint and weak.
And see! he stretches his hand to you,
While tears roll down each cheek—
How like their faces! Father and son,
If features truth can speak.
A guide to town to seek;
He seemed a stout old man enough
Though now so faint and weak.
And see! he stretches his hand to you,
While tears roll down each cheek—
How like their faces! Father and son,
If features truth can speak.
He must not stir from here to-night,
No matter who he be;
For the tempest, with a mighty voice,
Cries over land and sea.
I hear the breakers on the beach
As they surge there drearily;
And it blows, blows, as it did the night
When John was brought to me.
No matter who he be;
For the tempest, with a mighty voice,
Cries over land and sea.
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As they surge there drearily;
And it blows, blows, as it did the night
When John was brought to me.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |