The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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 | III. |
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THE GRANNY GREY. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
183
THE GRANNY GREY.
Dame Dowson, was a granny grey,
Who, three-score years and ten,
Had pass'd her busy hours away,
In talking of the men!
They were her theme, at home, abroad,
At wake, and by the winter fire;
Whether it froze, or blew, or thaw'd,
In sunshine or in shade, her ire
Was never calm'd; for still she made
Scandal her pleasure—and her trade!
Who, three-score years and ten,
Had pass'd her busy hours away,
In talking of the men!
They were her theme, at home, abroad,
At wake, and by the winter fire;
Whether it froze, or blew, or thaw'd,
In sunshine or in shade, her ire
Was never calm'd; for still she made
Scandal her pleasure—and her trade!
A grand-daughter Dame Dowson had—
As fair, as fair could be!
Lovely enough to make men mad;
For on her cheek's soft downy rose
Love seem'd in dimples to repose;
Her clear blue eyes look'd mildly bright,
Like ether drops of liquid light,
Or sapphire gems,—which Venus bore,
When, for the silver-sanded shore,
She left her native sea!
As fair, as fair could be!
Lovely enough to make men mad;
For on her cheek's soft downy rose
Love seem'd in dimples to repose;
Her clear blue eyes look'd mildly bright,
Like ether drops of liquid light,
Or sapphire gems,—which Venus bore,
When, for the silver-sanded shore,
She left her native sea!
184
Annetta was the damsel's name;
A pretty, soft, romantic sound,
Such as a lover's heart may wound,
And set his fancy in a flame:
For had the maid been christen'd Joan,
Or Deborah, or Hester,—
The little God had coldly prest her,
Or let her quite alone!
For magic is the silver sound—
Which, often, in a name is found!
A pretty, soft, romantic sound,
Such as a lover's heart may wound,
And set his fancy in a flame:
For had the maid been christen'd Joan,
Or Deborah, or Hester,—
The little God had coldly prest her,
Or let her quite alone!
For magic is the silver sound—
Which, often, in a name is found!
Annetta was belov'd; and she
To William gave her vows;
For William was as brave a youth
As ever claim'd the meed of truth;
And, to reward such constancy,
Nature that meed allows.
But old Dame Dowson could not bear
A youth so brave—a maid so fair.
To William gave her vows;
For William was as brave a youth
As ever claim'd the meed of truth;
And, to reward such constancy,
Nature that meed allows.
But old Dame Dowson could not bear
A youth so brave—a maid so fair.
The Granny Grey, with maxims grave,
Oft to Annetta lessons gave:
And still the burthen of the tale
Was, “Keep the wicked men away,
“For should their wily arts prevail,
“You'll surely rue the day!”
And credit was to Granny due,
The truth she, by experience, knew!
Oft to Annetta lessons gave:
And still the burthen of the tale
Was, “Keep the wicked men away,
“For should their wily arts prevail,
“You'll surely rue the day!”
And credit was to Granny due,
The truth she, by experience, knew!
185
Annetta blush'd, and promis'd she
Obedient to her will would be.
But love, with cunning all his own,
Would never let the maid alone:
And tho' she dar'd not see her lover,
Lest granny should the deed discover,
She, for a woman's weapon still,
From Cupid's pinion pluck'd a quill;
And, with it, prov'd that human art
Cannot confine the female heart.
Obedient to her will would be.
But love, with cunning all his own,
Would never let the maid alone:
And tho' she dar'd not see her lover,
Lest granny should the deed discover,
She, for a woman's weapon still,
From Cupid's pinion pluck'd a quill;
And, with it, prov'd that human art
Cannot confine the female heart.
At length, an assignation she
With William slily made;
It was beneath an old oak tree,
Whose widely spreading shade
The moon's soft beams contriv'd to break
For many a village lover's sake.
But envy has a lynx's eye;
And Granny Dowson cautious went
Before, to spoil their merriment,
Thinking no creature nigh.
With William slily made;
It was beneath an old oak tree,
Whose widely spreading shade
The moon's soft beams contriv'd to break
For many a village lover's sake.
But envy has a lynx's eye;
And Granny Dowson cautious went
Before, to spoil their merriment,
Thinking no creature nigh.
Young William came; but at the tree
The watchful grandam found!
Straight to the village hasten'd he,
And summoning his neighbours round,
The hedgerow's tangled bows among,
Conceal'd the list'ning wond'ring throng.
He told them, that for many a night
An old grey owl was heard;
A fierce, ill-omen'd, crabbed bird—
Who fill'd the village with affright.
He swore this bird was large and keen,
With claws of fire, and eye-balls green;
That nothing rested where she came;
That many pranks the monster play'd,
And many a timid trembling maid
She brought to shame,
For negligence that was her own:
Turning the milk to water clear,
And spilling from the cask small-beer;
Pinching, like fairies, harmless lasses,
And shewing imps in looking-glasses;
Or, with heart-piercing groan,
Along the church-yard path swift gliding,
Or, on a broomstick, witch-like, riding.
All listen'd trembling; for the tale
Made cheeks of ochre chalky pale;
The young a valiant doubt pretended;
The old believ'd, and all attended.
The watchful grandam found!
Straight to the village hasten'd he,
And summoning his neighbours round,
The hedgerow's tangled bows among,
Conceal'd the list'ning wond'ring throng.
186
An old grey owl was heard;
A fierce, ill-omen'd, crabbed bird—
Who fill'd the village with affright.
He swore this bird was large and keen,
With claws of fire, and eye-balls green;
That nothing rested where she came;
That many pranks the monster play'd,
And many a timid trembling maid
She brought to shame,
For negligence that was her own:
Turning the milk to water clear,
And spilling from the cask small-beer;
Pinching, like fairies, harmless lasses,
And shewing imps in looking-glasses;
Or, with heart-piercing groan,
Along the church-yard path swift gliding,
Or, on a broomstick, witch-like, riding.
All listen'd trembling; for the tale
Made cheeks of ochre chalky pale;
The young a valiant doubt pretended;
The old believ'd, and all attended.
Now to Dame Dowson he repairs,
And in his arms enfolds the granny:
Kneels at her feet, and fondly swears
He will be true as any!
Caresses her with well-feign'd bliss,
And, fearfully, implores a kiss;—
On the green turf distracted lying,
He wastes his ardent breath in sighing.
The dame was silent; for the lover
Would, when she spoke,
She fear'd, discover
Her envious joke:
And she was too much charm'd to be
In haste,—to end the comedy!
And in his arms enfolds the granny:
Kneels at her feet, and fondly swears
He will be true as any!
187
And, fearfully, implores a kiss;—
On the green turf distracted lying,
He wastes his ardent breath in sighing.
The dame was silent; for the lover
Would, when she spoke,
She fear'd, discover
Her envious joke:
And she was too much charm'd to be
In haste,—to end the comedy!
Now William, weary of such wooing,
Began, with all his might, hollooing:—
When suddenly from ev'ry bush
The eager throngs impatient rush;
With shouting, and with boist'rous glee,
Dame Dowson they pursue,
And from the broad oak's canopy,
O'er moonlight fields of sparkling dew,
They bear in triumph the old dame,
Bawling, with loud huzzas, her name:
“A witch, a witch!” the people cry,
“A witch!” the echoing hills reply:
Till to her home the granny came,
Where, to confirm the tale of shame,
Each rising day they went, in throngs,
With ribald jests, and sportive songs:
Till granny of her spleen repented;
And to young William's ardent pray'r,
To take for life Annetta fair,—
At last—consented.
Began, with all his might, hollooing:—
When suddenly from ev'ry bush
The eager throngs impatient rush;
With shouting, and with boist'rous glee,
Dame Dowson they pursue,
And from the broad oak's canopy,
O'er moonlight fields of sparkling dew,
They bear in triumph the old dame,
Bawling, with loud huzzas, her name:
“A witch, a witch!” the people cry,
“A witch!” the echoing hills reply:
Till to her home the granny came,
Where, to confirm the tale of shame,
Each rising day they went, in throngs,
With ribald jests, and sportive songs:
Till granny of her spleen repented;
And to young William's ardent pray'r,
188
At last—consented.
And should this tale fall in the way
Of lovers cross'd, or grannies grey,—
Let them confess, 'tis made to prove—
The wisest heads—too weak for love!
Of lovers cross'd, or grannies grey,—
Let them confess, 'tis made to prove—
The wisest heads—too weak for love!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |