 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
1
INTRODUCTORY.
Here are ballads! who will buy?Not on dainty shelves to lie,
But for pockets plain enough,
Honest homespun in the rough;
Fit for lord or labourer's hand,
Up in rocky Cumberland,
Fit for villager and squire,
Down in breezy Lincolnshire;
Food for all who bring a heart
Bent upon the nobler part,
And an eye to which the tear
Springs, while laughter ripples near.
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THE POET'S HOME-GOING.
“I shall soon depart for Venice on my way homeward.”
His heart was where the summer ever shines,
He saw the English swallow eastward come,
And still among the olives and the vines,
Or underneath the dark sun-scented pines
Of Asolo, he hummed his latest lines,
And bade his white-winged songs go flying home.
He saw the English swallow eastward come,
And still among the olives and the vines,
Or underneath the dark sun-scented pines
Of Asolo, he hummed his latest lines,
And bade his white-winged songs go flying home.
Then when the red sails round by Lido came
To rest, and vacant now the gondolier
Beneath the Lion and those masts aflame
Lounged, bickering o'er his boy's piazza-game,
One darker boat came quaywards, called his name,
And straight toward the sunset seemed to steer.
To rest, and vacant now the gondolier
Beneath the Lion and those masts aflame
Lounged, bickering o'er his boy's piazza-game,
One darker boat came quaywards, called his name,
And straight toward the sunset seemed to steer.
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High at the prow a Lion ramped, pure gold;
Pure gold and with the lily in her hand
The Maid, whose virgin arms did once enfold
The world's Salvation, leaned to bless the hold,
And smiled on him whose music had extolled
The Lion and the Lily of the land.
Pure gold and with the lily in her hand
The Maid, whose virgin arms did once enfold
The world's Salvation, leaned to bless the hold,
And smiled on him whose music had extolled
The Lion and the Lily of the land.
His face was pale, but not with fear nor pain,
His hand still held the harp; I heard his voice
Come ringing with a new majestic strain,
Rememberable music: through the rain
Of tears I saw across the water-plain
His eyes were towards the Florence of his choice.
His hand still held the harp; I heard his voice
Come ringing with a new majestic strain,
Rememberable music: through the rain
Of tears I saw across the water-plain
His eyes were towards the Florence of his choice.
And up into the lordly Palace Hall
Those strangers passed who called him to the shore,
And o'er one sleeping did they lay for pall
Italia's love and England's loss, and all
Cried, “He whose spirit the Heaven from Earth doth call,
Freed men, and lo, is freed for evermore.”
Those strangers passed who called him to the shore,
And o'er one sleeping did they lay for pall
Italia's love and England's loss, and all
Cried, “He whose spirit the Heaven from Earth doth call,
Freed men, and lo, is freed for evermore.”
“Free as the stars to rush upon the dark;
Free as the dawn to rise above the sea;
Free as the flood to feel its highest mark
On this Rialto; free from care or cark;
Free as the heart of yonder dwindling bark
To touch all havens where the blest ones be.”
Free as the dawn to rise above the sea;
Free as the flood to feel its highest mark
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Free as the heart of yonder dwindling bark
To touch all havens where the blest ones be.”
“But freed the most to find his being whole,
‘The broken arc, in Heaven a perfect round’;
Free with the freedom of that kindred soul
Whose love and life through all the under-roll
Of sorrowful dark, has kept him to the goal,
And free to utter his full self in sound.”
‘The broken arc, in Heaven a perfect round’;
Free with the freedom of that kindred soul
Whose love and life through all the under-roll
Of sorrowful dark, has kept him to the goal,
And free to utter his full self in sound.”
Then with those strangers silently we went,
Pushed from the steps, left Venice flaming bright
Above her sunset waters; backward bent
Towers shook, so swift astern the waves were sent
Domes danced, and back the harp's accompaniment
Came with his voice to call us toward the night.
Pushed from the steps, left Venice flaming bright
Above her sunset waters; backward bent
Towers shook, so swift astern the waves were sent
Domes danced, and back the harp's accompaniment
Came with his voice to call us toward the night.
And other voices called, for other prows
Pushed after, gorgeous, sweet for myrtle flowers,
With long-robed men therein, upon whose brows
Were caps of honour such as he who knows
Bellini's Doge can tell of, men of vows
By their tight lips, the men who built the towers.
Pushed after, gorgeous, sweet for myrtle flowers,
With long-robed men therein, upon whose brows
Were caps of honour such as he who knows
Bellini's Doge can tell of, men of vows
By their tight lips, the men who built the towers.
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And strange-clad legates, cardinals of Rome,
Painters, and music-makers of old time,
Not great in fame, but greater to have come
To life through struggle; and with these were some
Ladies with lustrous hair above the dome
Of perfect foreheads, moulders of men's rhyme.
Painters, and music-makers of old time,
Not great in fame, but greater to have come
To life through struggle; and with these were some
Ladies with lustrous hair above the dome
Of perfect foreheads, moulders of men's rhyme.
These wept; those cried, “To what far island steers
The boat that bears our poet-soul away?
We built the city, but his glory rears
Anew the walls, eternal as the years;
We took the sea to marriage, but he wears
The ring that weds our Venice. Let him stay!”
The boat that bears our poet-soul away?
We built the city, but his glory rears
Anew the walls, eternal as the years;
We took the sea to marriage, but he wears
The ring that weds our Venice. Let him stay!”
The voices failed, night fell, the harp was still,
A new star rose to shine upon our way;
We scarce could hear that far-off planet's thrill,
Yet the bright jewel burned, and burned to fill
The dusk with music. “Death can no more kill,”
The constellation seemed in song to say.
A new star rose to shine upon our way;
We scarce could hear that far-off planet's thrill,
Yet the bright jewel burned, and burned to fill
The dusk with music. “Death can no more kill,”
The constellation seemed in song to say.
Then the stars paled, yet paled not that bright star,
But grew: the grey sea heaved from dusk to gold,
And sailing we were ware of hills afar—
The amethystine hills where angels are—
That rose from burnished calm no tempests mar
To skies of peace that never can grow old.
But grew: the grey sea heaved from dusk to gold,
And sailing we were ware of hills afar—
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That rose from burnished calm no tempests mar
To skies of peace that never can grow old.
The earth seemed fairer than the fairest day
Seen by a bridegroom on his marriage morn,
For love and life did haunt those hills alway,
And aspiration that would still essay
Climbed up those heights by God's directest way
To find One seated there of woman born.
Seen by a bridegroom on his marriage morn,
For love and life did haunt those hills alway,
And aspiration that would still essay
Climbed up those heights by God's directest way
To find One seated there of woman born.
These were the hills we knew,” the pilot said,
“Yet shoreward now no angry breakers roll;
The bay is more magnificently spread,
To rosier height rears up yon mountain head,
Such hills as in the ‘Heavenly Song’ are read,
The gardens of the glory of the soul.”
“Yet shoreward now no angry breakers roll;
The bay is more magnificently spread,
To rosier height rears up yon mountain head,
Such hills as in the ‘Heavenly Song’ are read,
The gardens of the glory of the soul.”
We neared the land, and multitudes foreknew
His coming, waved a forestry of palm.
The Singer's face most like an angel grew,
Far off we saw what fires rekindled flew
Forth from his eyes, as near the vessel drew,
And o'er the waves to meet us came a Psalm—
His coming, waved a forestry of palm.
The Singer's face most like an angel grew,
Far off we saw what fires rekindled flew
Forth from his eyes, as near the vessel drew,
And o'er the waves to meet us came a Psalm—
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“O girder of Truth's sword upon men's thigh,
And looser of men's fear for mortal harm,
If but they leave their castles to the sky,
And go forth dauntless when the foe draws nigh,
Thine was the clarion call to victory
Against the world's inevitable swarm!”
And looser of men's fear for mortal harm,
If but they leave their castles to the sky,
And go forth dauntless when the foe draws nigh,
Thine was the clarion call to victory
Against the world's inevitable swarm!”
They clanged the harps, the Singer stepped ashore:
“For you, for you,” they cried, “we waited long!”
One brought a golden orb, another bore
The crown that cannot wither; one before
Went with a trumpet, saying, “Evermore
Shall this our brother gladden us with song!”
“For you, for you,” they cried, “we waited long!”
One brought a golden orb, another bore
The crown that cannot wither; one before
Went with a trumpet, saying, “Evermore
Shall this our brother gladden us with song!”
Then as the Singer's forehead felt the crown,
Thoughts that had long time struggled into birth
Took form melodious, wonderful, full-grown,
And many souls came near to him half-known,
Souls strong through loss and loving like his own,
Friends of his mind and making upon earth.
Thoughts that had long time struggled into birth
Took form melodious, wonderful, full-grown,
And many souls came near to him half-known,
Souls strong through loss and loving like his own,
Friends of his mind and making upon earth.
On either side to let him forward move
The gracious congregation did divide;
But those clear eyes that flashed for joy to prove
The bliss of recognition, seemed to rove,
As looking for fulfilment of all love,
As yearning still, and still unsatisfied.
The gracious congregation did divide;
But those clear eyes that flashed for joy to prove
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As looking for fulfilment of all love,
As yearning still, and still unsatisfied.
There might I see how many a great one came
And asked of Venice. Blithe Carpaccio
The laugher; he who left undying name
High on Euganean hills; that queenly Dame
On whom the Doges wrought their deed of shame,
Dethroned in Cyprus, throned in Asolo.
And asked of Venice. Blithe Carpaccio
The laugher; he who left undying name
High on Euganean hills; that queenly Dame
On whom the Doges wrought their deed of shame,
Dethroned in Cyprus, throned in Asolo.
And there young Shelley, spoken with at last,
Moved towards him; fiery, tender Tintoret,
With strong Bellini: there no more downcast
Nor exiled, Dante; and great Goethe passed
To welcome, with that bard from England last,
His dark hair with the dews of Isis wet.
Moved towards him; fiery, tender Tintoret,
With strong Bellini: there no more downcast
Nor exiled, Dante; and great Goethe passed
To welcome, with that bard from England last,
His dark hair with the dews of Isis wet.
With these was one, the Grecian, he whose song
Rang round the quarry walls of Syracuse
And gave the slave his freedom from the thong
And chain and noon-tide prison-toil among
Hot cliffs; and fair Colonna joined the throng,
With her, made pure of heart, the Lesbian Muse.
Rang round the quarry walls of Syracuse
And gave the slave his freedom from the thong
And chain and noon-tide prison-toil among
Hot cliffs; and fair Colonna joined the throng,
With her, made pure of heart, the Lesbian Muse.
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And towards him, bowing low, Cellini led
Brave Palissy the Potter; 'neath his bar
Of brow stared Angelo, the whiles he read
The comer; looked Galuppi, he who wed
The viol; Galileo bent his head,
And Newton with the secret of a star.
Brave Palissy the Potter; 'neath his bar
Of brow stared Angelo, the whiles he read
The comer; looked Galuppi, he who wed
The viol; Galileo bent his head,
And Newton with the secret of a star.
And Burns was there; and Keats who spake of Rome;
And Byron, half ashamed for thoughts to rise
Of Venice; Coleridge, but how changed, had come
And Southey, glad for his regathered home,
And full of blossomed knowledge, from his dome
Of curls looked close with penetrative eyes.
And Byron, half ashamed for thoughts to rise
Of Venice; Coleridge, but how changed, had come
And Southey, glad for his regathered home,
And full of blossomed knowledge, from his dome
Of curls looked close with penetrative eyes.
And Milton did no sightless eyeball raise,
Familiar with Heaven's light above his peers;
Therewith walked one who strove not for the bays,
Nor felt the inalienable lust of praise,
Contented with one measure all his days,
Loved of our Laureate, prince of sonneteers.
Familiar with Heaven's light above his peers;
Therewith walked one who strove not for the bays,
Nor felt the inalienable lust of praise,
Contented with one measure all his days,
Loved of our Laureate, prince of sonneteers.
Two stood with stars about them—men who sang
Of that far home of freedom in the West;
And one who asked of France—how lilies sprang?
How olives flourished? then I heard a clang
Of Tuscan lutes, and from the midst there rang
Rossetti's voice in welcome to the guest.
Of that far home of freedom in the West;
And one who asked of France—how lilies sprang?
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Of Tuscan lutes, and from the midst there rang
Rossetti's voice in welcome to the guest.
But most the Singer seemed with awe to scan
One with a forehead god-like, whom they call,
Yea even in Heaven the chief, our “Avon swan”—
He gazed. Gazed Lionardo, and the man
Who felt Ferrara's bonds, and Titian,
Held with large eyes the new-come guest in thrall.
One with a forehead god-like, whom they call,
Yea even in Heaven the chief, our “Avon swan”—
He gazed. Gazed Lionardo, and the man
Who felt Ferrara's bonds, and Titian,
Held with large eyes the new-come guest in thrall.
And Chaucer, fresh as an eternal spring,
Came through the crowd to claim him of his band;
And Wordsworth, head and shoulders as a king
Above the souls who found life—Heaven's great thing
To be Earth's greatest, gave him welcoming,
And towards the throne went forward hand in hand.
Came through the crowd to claim him of his band;
And Wordsworth, head and shoulders as a king
Above the souls who found life—Heaven's great thing
To be Earth's greatest, gave him welcoming,
And towards the throne went forward hand in hand.
So up and on to perfect happiness,
With perfect power, toward the fountains clear
Of thought and hope, and love and faithfulness,
That pour in music through the clouds to bless
Our labouring planet, did these spirits press
Harmonious, saying things that angels hear.
With perfect power, toward the fountains clear
Of thought and hope, and love and faithfulness,
That pour in music through the clouds to bless
Our labouring planet, did these spirits press
Harmonious, saying things that angels hear.
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And glad to go, to stay half resolute
For loveliness, they led him. Roses chief
With lilies lit the way; like flames did shoot
Gold cypress trees; there grew the mandrake root
To harmless blossom; thistles bare sweet fruit,
And spiny thorns had burgeoned into leaf.
For loveliness, they led him. Roses chief
With lilies lit the way; like flames did shoot
Gold cypress trees; there grew the mandrake root
To harmless blossom; thistles bare sweet fruit,
And spiny thorns had burgeoned into leaf.
There most was perfect the fulfilled desire
Of all they are, who in pure love find all.
But still the Singer cried, “Our souls aspire,
And bright before us burns th' unquenched fire,
And up on eagles' wings that cannot tire
We go to greet the highest that doth call.”
Of all they are, who in pure love find all.
But still the Singer cried, “Our souls aspire,
And bright before us burns th' unquenched fire,
And up on eagles' wings that cannot tire
We go to greet the highest that doth call.”
“And I, even here, one angel voice would find,
Not changed in tone, yet fuller than of yore.
Oh, could mine eyes behold her, she whose mind
Was mirror of God's being to me blind
Who smote my harp in darkness, she who twined
The cords of loss that brought me to this shore!”
Not changed in tone, yet fuller than of yore.
Oh, could mine eyes behold her, she whose mind
Was mirror of God's being to me blind
Who smote my harp in darkness, she who twined
The cords of loss that brought me to this shore!”
E'en as he spake, with amaranth on her brow,
And all the long upgathered love of years,
Came one whose eyes from distance seemed to know
Her bliss his perfect glory; with such glow
Souls met and mingled, the sad Earth below
Felt the far joy in Heaven, and ceased from tears.
And all the long upgathered love of years,
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Her bliss his perfect glory; with such glow
Souls met and mingled, the sad Earth below
Felt the far joy in Heaven, and ceased from tears.
Extract from a letter of Browning's to a friend written from Asolo a few weeks before his death.—Cf. The Athenæum, Jan. 4th,
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GRAND-DAD'S ANNIE, DEAD.
Heavy strooäk of th' Lord, wur that when Annie wur toök!
I'd amoäst a mind to quar'l and speäk reight oop to His faäce;
Sich a luvvable creater, sich a hand at her boök,
So gev' hoaver to meä, and grawing at sich a paäce!
I'd amoäst a mind to quar'l and speäk reight oop to His faäce;
Sich a luvvable creater, sich a hand at her boök,
So gev' hoaver to meä, and grawing at sich a paäce!
And fur all I wur Clerk in th' Choorch, at the sarvice theer i' “the yard,”
When we coomed to hap her oop, where the graäves loöks hoaver the Fen,
Tho' I nivver gev' waäy i' my life at funeral times, 'twas hard,
And loomps got stuck i' my throät and I muddled and messed “Amen.”
When we coomed to hap her oop, where the graäves loöks hoaver the Fen,
Tho' I nivver gev' waäy i' my life at funeral times, 'twas hard,
And loomps got stuck i' my throät and I muddled and messed “Amen.”
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Yon's her graäve i' the middle, I've setten it round wi' traäys;
“Man cometh up like a flower,” that's nivver noä reason why
“The beasts of the forest” should ramp o'er the mounds fur theer meät and graäze
Theer, wheer the flowers of men, God's tenderest gresses lie.
“Man cometh up like a flower,” that's nivver noä reason why
“The beasts of the forest” should ramp o'er the mounds fur theer meät and graäze
Theer, wheer the flowers of men, God's tenderest gresses lie.
And reg'lar as Saturday night brings Sunday near, i' th' laäne
The children gether th' flowers howr Annie luvved best of all,
And dress her owt nïsht fur the Sunday, wi' a daïsybuttercup chaäin,
And talk at the graäve, and tell her they've browt her a cowslip ball.
The children gether th' flowers howr Annie luvved best of all,
And dress her owt nïsht fur the Sunday, wi' a daïsybuttercup chaäin,
And talk at the graäve, and tell her they've browt her a cowslip ball.
Fur Annie was noorse you might call her to ivvery bairn i' th' school,
Not very sizeable neäther to hug 'em abowt as she did.
She'd help 'em all round wi' their reädin' and 'rithmetic summing rule,
And doctor theer cloäs in th' plaäy-time an' all with her neeädle and thrid.
Not very sizeable neäther to hug 'em abowt as she did.
She'd help 'em all round wi' their reädin' and 'rithmetic summing rule,
And doctor theer cloäs in th' plaäy-time an' all with her neeädle and thrid.
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Aw sich a gell at her thimble, we've got the last frock as she had,
She'd beän at hivvery hinch of the Winsey-Kersey-mere,
Lappeted threeä times thruff, and darned was it nivver so bad,
Fur Annie, she couldn't abide the deariest bit of a teär.
She'd beän at hivvery hinch of the Winsey-Kersey-mere,
Lappeted threeä times thruff, and darned was it nivver so bad,
Fur Annie, she couldn't abide the deariest bit of a teär.
Theer's howr Luce, bad lass, as seems quoite t'other waäy bred,
Rags to her back, and rags to her skirts, and rags to her feeät;
And Annie last daäy as she sat i' her reight mind oop in her bed,
She tailored awaäy at Luce tomaäke her respectable neät.
Rags to her back, and rags to her skirts, and rags to her feeät;
And Annie last daäy as she sat i' her reight mind oop in her bed,
She tailored awaäy at Luce tomaäke her respectable neät.
Well she was took quoite sudden, “confixion” theer in the braäin;
Squoire's oän son died on it; it's quoite a quolity ill,
I fun it owt i' a boök as maäkes things sensible plaäin,
It's humours as rises oop fro' the body, and sewer to kill.
Squoire's oän son died on it; it's quoite a quolity ill,
I fun it owt i' a boök as maäkes things sensible plaäin,
It's humours as rises oop fro' the body, and sewer to kill.
Toök upo' Monday morn and died Good Friday at seven.
I'm glad she went that daäy, it's a great daäy still wi' the Lord,
It's a daäy when I think He must leän and look fro' the gaäte of Heaven,
To welcome the least as 'ull coom wi' a child's oän trust on His word.
I'm glad she went that daäy, it's a great daäy still wi' the Lord,
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To welcome the least as 'ull coom wi' a child's oän trust on His word.
Well, howivver, she coömed fro' school, at teä she was hoff of her feeäd,
But down i' the floor she went ascrubbin' awaäy like owt;
And we sed, “She's lit i' her stummick on summat as hesn't agreeäd”;
“If the lass nobbut keeäps of her legs she'll be better to-morrow,” we thowt.
But down i' the floor she went ascrubbin' awaäy like owt;
And we sed, “She's lit i' her stummick on summat as hesn't agreeäd”;
“If the lass nobbut keeäps of her legs she'll be better to-morrow,” we thowt.
But nivver noä sleep that night: wi' her sum, and her pencil and slaäte,
As busy as beas she wur, and her head rampageously wild;
And now she would be fur mendin' of Luce or Lizzy or Kaäte,
And setten 'em off fur school like a muther, the poor little child.
As busy as beas she wur, and her head rampageously wild;
And now she would be fur mendin' of Luce or Lizzy or Kaäte,
And setten 'em off fur school like a muther, the poor little child.
But before the birds was awaäke she crep to question the clock,
And down at her time she went, fur Grand-dad's toäst an' his teä;
And oop she coomed for to put the frill to her Eäster frock,
Poor bairn, fur an Eäster mornin' she nivver should live to seeä.
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And oop she coomed for to put the frill to her Eäster frock,
Poor bairn, fur an Eäster mornin' she nivver should live to seeä.
But we coäxed her into her bed, and she coäxed hersén oop as fast,
She would hev' the clogs she 'ed bowt, setten close to her heäd i' the chair;
And she shaäked all the pence fro' the box she 'ed saäved the six months past,
Fur to git howr Luce, ageän Eäster, just sich another pair.
She would hev' the clogs she 'ed bowt, setten close to her heäd i' the chair;
And she shaäked all the pence fro' the box she 'ed saäved the six months past,
Fur to git howr Luce, ageän Eäster, just sich another pair.
She was quoite disturbed i' her mind fur meä. “Next Sunday at Choorch
It's Eäster Sunday, Grand-dad, thou must hev' summat new on, tha knoäs;
Fur the rooks upon Eäster Sunday 'ull be watchin' whoäle waäy to the poorch,
And if ivver they seeä “Rag-Jack” they maäke sad work of his cloas.”
It's Eäster Sunday, Grand-dad, thou must hev' summat new on, tha knoäs;
Fur the rooks upon Eäster Sunday 'ull be watchin' whoäle waäy to the poorch,
And if ivver they seeä “Rag-Jack” they maäke sad work of his cloas.”
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And I sed, “Well bairn, work's bad, and I can't go gentle-man-fine,
But I'll promise I'll wear summat new, and that thou'lt nivver guess:
It's a pair of Tar-marl garters—tar-marl, you may call it twine,”
And she laughed, did Annie, right owt to think of my Eäster dress.
But I'll promise I'll wear summat new, and that thou'lt nivver guess:
It's a pair of Tar-marl garters—tar-marl, you may call it twine,”
And she laughed, did Annie, right owt to think of my Eäster dress.
But she laäy till Thursday mornin', agrawin' from wuss to wuss,
And we went fur the doctor twice, he wur busy, he cudn't coam;
And parson's wife stepped in, and she sent a widder to nuss,
And doctor he popped in laäte, and he sez, “She's agooin' hoam.”
And we went fur the doctor twice, he wur busy, he cudn't coam;
And parson's wife stepped in, and she sent a widder to nuss,
And doctor he popped in laäte, and he sez, “She's agooin' hoam.”
I went cleän bet to my work, I broäk my favourite plaäne,
I mashed my fingers to bits wi' missin' the naäils I druvv:
Fur I didn't expec' to seeä owr Annie alive agaäin,
And a Gran'-dad's heart may be owd, but a Gran'-dad's heart can luvv.
I mashed my fingers to bits wi' missin' the naäils I druvv:
Fur I didn't expec' to seeä owr Annie alive agaäin,
And a Gran'-dad's heart may be owd, but a Gran'-dad's heart can luvv.
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And she slep, and slep, and slep, and her faäce like an aängel shone;
But wonce, upo' Friday mornin', she called fur a neeädle and threäd,
Stitched awaäy till the work as the Lord had gi'en 'er wur done,
And then laäy back wi' a smile, and grand-dad's Annie wur deäd.
But wonce, upo' Friday mornin', she called fur a neeädle and threäd,
Stitched awaäy till the work as the Lord had gi'en 'er wur done,
And then laäy back wi' a smile, and grand-dad's Annie wur deäd.
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A WELCOME TO STANLEY.
How shall we bring the weary traveller home?
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war, but worn with care;
He went not forth to conquer but to save;
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave:
Wherefore let England now go forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because the heart is full and tears are by.
So let our England greet him,
And bring the long lost weary wanderer home.
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war, but worn with care;
He went not forth to conquer but to save;
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave:
Wherefore let England now go forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because the heart is full and tears are by.
So let our England greet him,
And bring the long lost weary wanderer home.
But let the harp in tender accent ring!
For he was nursed among the woods and vales
That never have forgot the bardic days,
Since Kentigern, the exile, to God's praise
Poured out the psalm upon the hills of Wales.
And haply he, the little shepherd, strolled
By Elgy's stream that nourished Asa's care—
His hall of learning and his home of prayer.
Who knows how much of those stout hearts of old
Breathed from the ground, and made the child the man
Fearless, unflinching, feeling Heaven could bend
Its purpose to th' inalienable end
Of resolution's plan.
Wherefore the harp in tender tone shall ring.
For he was nursed among the woods and vales
21
Since Kentigern, the exile, to God's praise
Poured out the psalm upon the hills of Wales.
And haply he, the little shepherd, strolled
By Elgy's stream that nourished Asa's care—
His hall of learning and his home of prayer.
Who knows how much of those stout hearts of old
Breathed from the ground, and made the child the man
Fearless, unflinching, feeling Heaven could bend
Its purpose to th' inalienable end
Of resolution's plan.
Wherefore the harp in tender tone shall ring.
Bid East and West go meet him at the shore!
Morn, noon, or night! for he hath mighty friends!
The sun his mate in tropic lands was made,
And for the woe of that weird forest's shade
On him the daystar lovingly attends.
Or, if he come at midnight's silver noon,
His hair as white as Dian's, she will throw
Upon his head the glory of her snow,
The magic of the mountains of the moon.
But should he homeward steer when for his rest
The dark falls down above the sunset bars,
Behold, for him wide Heaven shall light her stars,
A welcome from the West.
So let the nations meet him at the shore.
Morn, noon, or night! for he hath mighty friends!
The sun his mate in tropic lands was made,
And for the woe of that weird forest's shade
On him the daystar lovingly attends.
Or, if he come at midnight's silver noon,
His hair as white as Dian's, she will throw
Upon his head the glory of her snow,
22
But should he homeward steer when for his rest
The dark falls down above the sunset bars,
Behold, for him wide Heaven shall light her stars,
A welcome from the West.
So let the nations meet him at the shore.
Lo, spirit guests the wanderer homeward bring
Unnumbered, known and visible to God,
Friends dark of skin with large pathetic eyes
And faith to follow still to paradise,
Who died but never disobeyed his nod.
He too, the daring soldier left alone
To eat his heart out in enforced delay
Till the Manyuema's hand was stretched to slay,
And his adventurous spirit journeyed on:
Nor least the gentle Exile pale with pain,
For whom Abdullah's son the Mahdi yearned,
Led by a daughter's hand and safe returned:
These come across the Main,
The hero home with gratitude to bring.
Unnumbered, known and visible to God,
Friends dark of skin with large pathetic eyes
And faith to follow still to paradise,
Who died but never disobeyed his nod.
He too, the daring soldier left alone
To eat his heart out in enforced delay
Till the Manyuema's hand was stretched to slay,
And his adventurous spirit journeyed on:
Nor least the gentle Exile pale with pain,
For whom Abdullah's son the Mahdi yearned,
Led by a daughter's hand and safe returned:
These come across the Main,
The hero home with gratitude to bring.
And with them stand the mighty travellers dead,
Whether with hope undaunted they set forth
O'er pathless seas or roamed a trackless shore,
Faced the Equator, heard the icebergs roar
And plunge in the inhospitable North:
With high congratulation lo they move
And meet him; they who reached a brother's hand
To those who wandered lost by sea or land,
And brought them solace of their nation's love.
There too, with Afric writ upon his heart,
The breaker of the yoke from off the slave
Comes from long rest in yonder Abbey nave
To bear a welcoming part,
And stands, great ghost, among the mighty dead.
Whether with hope undaunted they set forth
23
Faced the Equator, heard the icebergs roar
And plunge in the inhospitable North:
With high congratulation lo they move
And meet him; they who reached a brother's hand
To those who wandered lost by sea or land,
And brought them solace of their nation's love.
There too, with Afric writ upon his heart,
The breaker of the yoke from off the slave
Comes from long rest in yonder Abbey nave
To bear a welcoming part,
And stands, great ghost, among the mighty dead.
Shall they not greet those comrades tried and true,
Whose hearts were swift as arrows in their will
And bold as lions for the desperate fray?
Witness the rout of that momentous day
When Mazamboni's drums from hill to hill
Sounded for war:— one, wan and maimed of foot,
Who watched the sick and famished pine and die
In Ugarrowa's toils and treachery;
And one who sought in vain the manioc root
To save the ten he strove for; one whose eye
So nearly saw the Mahdi's spears of flame
Close round; one skilled and brave fierce death to tame;
One wounded like to die;
These England greets, his comrades—tried and true.
Whose hearts were swift as arrows in their will
And bold as lions for the desperate fray?
Witness the rout of that momentous day
When Mazamboni's drums from hill to hill
Sounded for war:— one, wan and maimed of foot,
Who watched the sick and famished pine and die
In Ugarrowa's toils and treachery;
And one who sought in vain the manioc root
To save the ten he strove for; one whose eye
24
Close round; one skilled and brave fierce death to tame;
One wounded like to die;
These England greets, his comrades—tried and true.
Then, while the soft harp sounds, let voices praise
The wonder of a heart whose cords are steel,
Within whose adamantine casket stored
'Bides the sure oath that keeps the solemn word;
A heart of flint that still like man can feel,
But holds such secret fires within enshrined
That danger doth but make its darkness light
With dazzling courage, woe and want's despite
Seem but the natural fuel of its mind;
A heart whose judgment, like a strong man armed,
Leaps to the gate when others quail and fear,
Whose eyes, through all perplexity, see clear—
Whose life is trebly charmed.
So the heart's wonder let the soft harp praise.
The wonder of a heart whose cords are steel,
Within whose adamantine casket stored
'Bides the sure oath that keeps the solemn word;
A heart of flint that still like man can feel,
But holds such secret fires within enshrined
That danger doth but make its darkness light
With dazzling courage, woe and want's despite
Seem but the natural fuel of its mind;
A heart whose judgment, like a strong man armed,
Leaps to the gate when others quail and fear,
Whose eyes, through all perplexity, see clear—
Whose life is trebly charmed.
So the heart's wonder let the soft harp praise.
Next may the harper tell in changing tone
Of all those seven long wanderings in the land,
Dread night avowed where light shall one day be;
The fierce equator known from sea to sea;
Peoples and tongues, unnumbered as the sand,
That war and waste for ever, slay and burn;
Huge rivers rolling east and rolling west;
Vast inland oceans; that white mountain's breast
Whence Nilus gathers strength into his urn;
And that mysterious wood whose teeming womb
Breeds dark perpetual mist of rain, and pours
Atlantic clouds by Aruwimi's shores
Above a weltering tomb.
These let the harp tell forth in changing tone.
Of all those seven long wanderings in the land,
25
The fierce equator known from sea to sea;
Peoples and tongues, unnumbered as the sand,
That war and waste for ever, slay and burn;
Huge rivers rolling east and rolling west;
Vast inland oceans; that white mountain's breast
Whence Nilus gathers strength into his urn;
And that mysterious wood whose teeming womb
Breeds dark perpetual mist of rain, and pours
Atlantic clouds by Aruwimi's shores
Above a weltering tomb.
These let the harp tell forth in changing tone.
Sing sweetly, so the wanderer may forget
The weary heartache of the thousand miles,
The thrice re-travelled length of bitter road,
Famine, and loss, and disappointment's load,
The dwarf's dread arrow-flights, the wild men's wiles,
That river of six nations and seven names
Roaring in twilight underneath its wood,
The cone shaped huts, the fierce confederate brood
Of savage harpies that no glutting tames,
The foodless interspace of dearth and death,
The maddening fever, ulcerous limbs and feet,
The stupor of despair no hope could cheat,
And then the last long breath.
These must the singer make him quite forget.
The weary heartache of the thousand miles,
The thrice re-travelled length of bitter road,
Famine, and loss, and disappointment's load,
The dwarf's dread arrow-flights, the wild men's wiles,
That river of six nations and seven names
Roaring in twilight underneath its wood,
The cone shaped huts, the fierce confederate brood
Of savage harpies that no glutting tames,
The foodless interspace of dearth and death,
26
The stupor of despair no hope could cheat,
And then the last long breath.
These must the singer make him quite forget.
But most the forest memories all must fade.
The fearsome, fretful, forest, dank and deep,
Whence venomous vapours rise, where rains down plash,
And scarce the elephant's head avails to crash
Its way through coils of tangle, where foes creep
Or stand like ruddy tree-stems, poise the spear
In silence, flash and vanish; where the ground
Reeks fever, and sharp pitfall barbs abound,
If ever for the nonce the track show clear.
Ah! who shall tell that forest's pitiless spite,
The mournful booming of the foeman's drum,
The death-like drowse of morn, the noontide's hum,
The whispers of the night—
Yea, let the singer bid such memories fade.
The fearsome, fretful, forest, dank and deep,
Whence venomous vapours rise, where rains down plash,
And scarce the elephant's head avails to crash
Its way through coils of tangle, where foes creep
Or stand like ruddy tree-stems, poise the spear
In silence, flash and vanish; where the ground
Reeks fever, and sharp pitfall barbs abound,
If ever for the nonce the track show clear.
Ah! who shall tell that forest's pitiless spite,
The mournful booming of the foeman's drum,
The death-like drowse of morn, the noontide's hum,
The whispers of the night—
Yea, let the singer bid such memories fade.
But ring the harp, and let it bring to mind
How war-drums down the river ceased to boom,
And sudden sunshine with transfiguring light
Put swift the leaden-wingèd morn to flight
And burst the wood's impenetrable gloom
With splendours unimagined. Then the trees,
White-stemmed as ivory pillars, rose from earth,
Ten thousand voices mingled in their mirth,
And waving like a banner in the breeze
Rich scarves flew o'er the river, wheeled and burned
In rainbow lines; in multi-coloured droves
Rare butterflies toyed up and told their loves,
And Paradise returned.
Let the harp ring and bring these things to mind.
How war-drums down the river ceased to boom,
And sudden sunshine with transfiguring light
Put swift the leaden-wingèd morn to flight
27
With splendours unimagined. Then the trees,
White-stemmed as ivory pillars, rose from earth,
Ten thousand voices mingled in their mirth,
And waving like a banner in the breeze
Rich scarves flew o'er the river, wheeled and burned
In rainbow lines; in multi-coloured droves
Rare butterflies toyed up and told their loves,
And Paradise returned.
Let the harp ring and bring these things to mind.
Nor shall the harper cease till he have told
How when six moons had faded—scarcely seen
For that malignant woody vale that made
Day night, and night a deeper, deadlier shade—
There rose a shout, and sunlight's marvellous sheen
Lay on the mounded hills, and on the plain
Where grass was large and Mazamboni king:
And how the famished on the flocks did fling,
And slew and ate, so strength was born again,
Yea, and with strength, unconquerable zeal
To follow on through sunlight and through storm
Of spear and arrow, him of god-like form,
Who thus could sorrow heal.—
Let not the harper cease till this be told.
How when six moons had faded—scarcely seen
For that malignant woody vale that made
Day night, and night a deeper, deadlier shade—
There rose a shout, and sunlight's marvellous sheen
Lay on the mounded hills, and on the plain
Where grass was large and Mazamboni king:
And how the famished on the flocks did fling,
And slew and ate, so strength was born again,
Yea, and with strength, unconquerable zeal
To follow on through sunlight and through storm
Of spear and arrow, him of god-like form,
28
Let not the harper cease till this be told.
Then, while the song grows, gladdening all who hear,
Bid one December morn the joy recal,
When they who clomb, victorious, slope to slope,
Saw from their Pisgah hope beyond all hope—
Nyanza laid along Unyoro's wall,
And—like a serpent coiling—down below,
Semliki, with the sunlight on its breast,
While southward far with glory to the crest
Rose Ruwenzori's ridges swathed in snow.
Most let the harper with triumphant song
Sing of that hour supreme the saviour stood,
Above Nyanza's shallowy silver flood,
With him he sought for long.
So may the harp sound, gladdening all who hear.
Bid one December morn the joy recal,
When they who clomb, victorious, slope to slope,
Saw from their Pisgah hope beyond all hope—
Nyanza laid along Unyoro's wall,
And—like a serpent coiling—down below,
Semliki, with the sunlight on its breast,
While southward far with glory to the crest
Rose Ruwenzori's ridges swathed in snow.
Most let the harper with triumphant song
Sing of that hour supreme the saviour stood,
Above Nyanza's shallowy silver flood,
With him he sought for long.
So may the harp sound, gladdening all who hear.
Strike loud the harp! and louder sing the lay!
Sing of the travellers' joy that swallowed pain,
Scatter the glow as wide as Nilus pours
Through those twin sister Lakes the fruitful stores
Of Afric's heart to mingle with the main,
For never soul did gladlier see the dawn,
Nor eyes with greater joyance scale the heights
Than his, who saw the rosy morning lights
Flash up the terraced slopes and forest-lawn,
And fill the Heavens as with a magic boon
Of some enchanted world's inconstant grace
That came, like clouds from azure depths of space,
Dissolved to cloud as soon.
Strike the loud harp! and loudly ring the lay.
Sing of the travellers' joy that swallowed pain,
Scatter the glow as wide as Nilus pours
Through those twin sister Lakes the fruitful stores
Of Afric's heart to mingle with the main,
For never soul did gladlier see the dawn,
29
Than his, who saw the rosy morning lights
Flash up the terraced slopes and forest-lawn,
And fill the Heavens as with a magic boon
Of some enchanted world's inconstant grace
That came, like clouds from azure depths of space,
Dissolved to cloud as soon.
Strike the loud harp! and loudly ring the lay.
Here shall the singer change awhile his song
To tell of sorrow, and the Leader led.
Half way adown the hill whence none return:
The anxious watching for the fires to burn,
To coldness in the brain, and bring the dead
Back to the living, all an April moon;
The faithful love that o'er the sick man bent,
The faithless lust whose murderous intent
Brought judgment at the breaking of the swoon;
Thence homeward thro' Ukanju's constant spring,
And Usangora's tawny land of drouth,
Beyond the waters gleaming in the south,
The Salt Lake's crystal ring.
These let the singer tell in changing song.
To tell of sorrow, and the Leader led.
Half way adown the hill whence none return:
The anxious watching for the fires to burn,
To coldness in the brain, and bring the dead
Back to the living, all an April moon;
The faithful love that o'er the sick man bent,
The faithless lust whose murderous intent
Brought judgment at the breaking of the swoon;
Thence homeward thro' Ukanju's constant spring,
And Usangora's tawny land of drouth,
Beyond the waters gleaming in the south,
The Salt Lake's crystal ring.
These let the singer tell in changing song.
30
Louder and yet more loud the song may swell,
For every dawn is nearer now to joy.
The joyful sound of that familiar voice
Sound of the sea-blue surges that rejoice
Along the palm-girt beach of Bagamoy,
And joy for that unutterable spell,
Born of the wilderness, the call to prayer,
When old sweet memories throb, and all our care
Fades at the sovran bidding of a bell,
When all the clouds of sorrow ever come
Between the wanderer and his promised land
Melt at the grasp of some warm-hearted hand
That gives a welcome home.
Loud sweep the harp let such song loudest swell.
For every dawn is nearer now to joy.
The joyful sound of that familiar voice
Sound of the sea-blue surges that rejoice
Along the palm-girt beach of Bagamoy,
And joy for that unutterable spell,
Born of the wilderness, the call to prayer,
When old sweet memories throb, and all our care
Fades at the sovran bidding of a bell,
When all the clouds of sorrow ever come
Between the wanderer and his promised land
Melt at the grasp of some warm-hearted hand
That gives a welcome home.
Loud sweep the harp let such song loudest swell.
Last let the harper sing in solemn tone,
Unseen but felt the guardian spirit's hand
That gently led, that firm impelled him on
Till all the ways of safety had been won,
From dawn to brightening dawn—the while his band
Drave the dark hordes in half a hundred fights
Along Semliki's vale of silver shine,
Out-faced with brave but daily-minished line,
Fierce heats, and withering cold upon the heights;
The hand that brooked no bitterness of delay,
That brought the exile from the snares and wile
Of King and caitiffs, from the fount of Nile,
And traitorous Wadelai.
So shall the harper sing in solemn tone.
Unseen but felt the guardian spirit's hand
That gently led, that firm impelled him on
Till all the ways of safety had been won,
From dawn to brightening dawn—the while his band
Drave the dark hordes in half a hundred fights
Along Semliki's vale of silver shine,
Out-faced with brave but daily-minished line,
Fierce heats, and withering cold upon the heights;
31
That brought the exile from the snares and wile
Of King and caitiffs, from the fount of Nile,
And traitorous Wadelai.
So shall the harper sing in solemn tone.
And while the song has solemnized the soul,
Let all the people standing on the shore
Lift up their hands and voices in accord,
To thank the great Deliverer, even the Lord
Whose wings are stretched in mercy as of yore
To guide the weary wanderer on his way,
Whose wisdom still miraculously feeds,
Sustains and guides, to light through darkness leads,
And for the night of anguish gives the day;
But most for those far purposes divine
Of peace to all the warrior tribes that sit
In pain and iron until love's lamp be lit,
And God's true Mahdi shine.
That solemn sound shall sink into our soul.
Let all the people standing on the shore
Lift up their hands and voices in accord,
To thank the great Deliverer, even the Lord
Whose wings are stretched in mercy as of yore
To guide the weary wanderer on his way,
Whose wisdom still miraculously feeds,
Sustains and guides, to light through darkness leads,
And for the night of anguish gives the day;
But most for those far purposes divine
Of peace to all the warrior tribes that sit
In pain and iron until love's lamp be lit,
And God's true Mahdi shine.
That solemn sound shall sink into our soul.
But ah, how changed the hero steps ashore!
Is this the man beside yon Abbey grave,
The strong stern man a moment woman-weak,
Who dashed the tear of friendship from his cheek
When the great hymn went rolling down the nave?
Not this the man I met in that weird place,
Where Egypt keeps her gods beside the Nile,
Who smiled back Sheik Ed Beled's sturdy smile
And stared the royal Raamses in the face?
This is not he whom England used to know,
Or he has searched the very heart of care.
He went forth strong, with silver in his hair,
He comes as white as snow—
Changed but unchanged, the hero steps ashore.
Is this the man beside yon Abbey grave,
32
Who dashed the tear of friendship from his cheek
When the great hymn went rolling down the nave?
Not this the man I met in that weird place,
Where Egypt keeps her gods beside the Nile,
Who smiled back Sheik Ed Beled's sturdy smile
And stared the royal Raamses in the face?
This is not he whom England used to know,
Or he has searched the very heart of care.
He went forth strong, with silver in his hair,
He comes as white as snow—
Changed but unchanged, the hero steps ashore.
Therefore we bring the weary traveller home
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare,
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war but worn with care,
He went not forth to conquer but to save,
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave.
Wherefore our England now goes forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because her heart is full and tears are by,
So does our England greet him,
And brings the long lost weary wanderer home.
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare,
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war but worn with care,
He went not forth to conquer but to save,
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave.
33
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because her heart is full and tears are by,
So does our England greet him,
And brings the long lost weary wanderer home.
34
THE OLD PARTNER GONE.
Deäd, ay deäd, but I thowt
He was nivver a-gooin' to die;
But he nivver not wanted for nowt
As long as the cloäs wur to dry.
He was nivver a-gooin' to die;
But he nivver not wanted for nowt
As long as the cloäs wur to dry.
Thoff he very gäin lost me the wash
From quolity oop at the Hall,
Fur I mowed Miss Hallus's sash
When his carpenter coömed fur to call.
From quolity oop at the Hall,
Fur I mowed Miss Hallus's sash
When his carpenter coömed fur to call.
When the Vicarage laädies caäme
To ax after Ellerby's staäte,
D'ya think if he'd meä to blaäme
He wudn't ha' spoak owt sträight?
To ax after Ellerby's staäte,
D'ya think if he'd meä to blaäme
He wudn't ha' spoak owt sträight?
Fur I sed, “Now Ellerby, saäy,
Hev I ivver waästed your dinner
Coom give me a character,” “Naäy,”
He sed, “I've nowt agin her.”
Hev I ivver waästed your dinner
35
He sed, “I've nowt agin her.”
“And you hallus 'ed plenty to yeät,
And nivver went owt ‘Rag-Jack’;
And I nivver was one to cheät
My belly to put on my back?”
And nivver went owt ‘Rag-Jack’;
And I nivver was one to cheät
My belly to put on my back?”
And he sed, “Not as I can mind.”
“And you're quoit contented to goä?
If the Lord wud leave you behind
Fur a bit you'd not hev it soä?”
“And you're quoit contented to goä?
If the Lord wud leave you behind
Fur a bit you'd not hev it soä?”
He was stunt, soä I shook him i' bed;
“Now give the young laädies your word”;
And he sidled and nodded his head,
“He was quoit content with the Lord.”
“Now give the young laädies your word”;
And he sidled and nodded his head,
“He was quoit content with the Lord.”
Oh yees, he was quoit content,
As a Christian 'ed ought to beä;
And quoit lamb-quiet he went
At the last, when he went fro' meä.
As a Christian 'ed ought to beä;
And quoit lamb-quiet he went
At the last, when he went fro' meä.
I nivver not fetched him at night,
Tho' noä dowt in his beer he wur flighty;
He warnt not a choorchman, but quoit
Well-affected toward the Halmoighty.
Tho' noä dowt in his beer he wur flighty;
36
Well-affected toward the Halmoighty.
He was offens a botheration,
And my kneeäs they are still fur to rub;
Fur 'e cudn't remember my staätion
Was downstairs along o' the tub.
And my kneeäs they are still fur to rub;
Fur 'e cudn't remember my staätion
Was downstairs along o' the tub.
But I nivver gev 'im a down-raätin',
And wud goä oop iron i' hand,
And tell him yung laädies wur waäitin'
Fur frills he mud understand.
And wud goä oop iron i' hand,
And tell him yung laädies wur waäitin'
Fur frills he mud understand.
Sometimes his owd paäins they wud lighten,
He'd hing hissen oaver a chair;
And lor how his faäce seemed to brighten,
And he wrestlin' out sich a prayer.
He'd hing hissen oaver a chair;
And lor how his faäce seemed to brighten,
And he wrestlin' out sich a prayer.
And “Muther,” he'd saäy, “I'm wi' Jesus”;
“That's just where I want you to beä,”
I wud answer. The Saviour He seeäs us
When two in His name do agreeä.
“That's just where I want you to beä,”
I wud answer. The Saviour He seeäs us
When two in His name do agreeä.
And I really do think that He'd seeäd us,
And knew that my back was nigh broak;
Fur the haängel of Death caäme and freeäd us,
When the Hall was a-fillin wi' fwoak.
And knew that my back was nigh broak;
37
When the Hall was a-fillin wi' fwoak.
And after a long daäy's washin',
I'd gitten meä oop to bed,
And I felt that the raäin was a-lashin',
And silin in oaverhead,
I'd gitten meä oop to bed,
And I felt that the raäin was a-lashin',
And silin in oaverhead,
Clear fit to drown boäth on us nearly,
So I stirred and th' owd man stirred an' all;
And “Muther,” he sed, “I feel queeärly,”
And the clock bang'd twelve at the Hall.
So I stirred and th' owd man stirred an' all;
And “Muther,” he sed, “I feel queeärly,”
And the clock bang'd twelve at the Hall.
The wind was a-shaäkin' the winders,
The chimley was all in a moil,
But I got to the kindlin' and cinders,
And bellus'd the kettle to boil.
The chimley was all in a moil,
But I got to the kindlin' and cinders,
And bellus'd the kettle to boil.
And I mashed him the teä, and I pour'd it,
—Yon blue un's the very saäme cup—
Noa milk, fur we cudn't afford it,
And I puffed it fur him to sup.
—Yon blue un's the very saäme cup—
Noa milk, fur we cudn't afford it,
And I puffed it fur him to sup.
And I reached to 'is owd lips the saucer;
He sed nowt, but that wasn't straänge,
For he moastly sed nothink; and lor, Sir!
I seeäd i' a moament the chaänge.
He sed nowt, but that wasn't straänge,
38
I seeäd i' a moament the chaänge.
Soä 'e went, it was awkard 'is goin',
Fur dryin' daäy was soä near;
But the Lord I reckon is knowin'
Reight times fur to call us oop theere.
Fur dryin' daäy was soä near;
But the Lord I reckon is knowin'
Reight times fur to call us oop theere.
And I wean't saäy as I wur unwillin',
Thoff cumpany's good at nights;
But the parish has stopped 'is two shillin'
I hed, and shud still hev by rights.
Thoff cumpany's good at nights;
But the parish has stopped 'is two shillin'
I hed, and shud still hev by rights.
39
SISTER ROSE GERTRUDE.
If, Lord, Thy hand to each a sum doth give
Of joy, take mine to be on others shed;
And if Thou seekest vengeance, strike me dead—
So others live.
Of joy, take mine to be on others shed;
And if Thou seekest vengeance, strike me dead—
So others live.
Sister Rose with the meek blue eye,
And the Dominic dress, and the milk-white hood,
You have long resolved, you have crossed the flood,
You have out-faced death, and the leper's ban,
For the glory of God and the love of man:
At least you can never die.
And the Dominic dress, and the milk-white hood,
You have long resolved, you have crossed the flood,
You have out-faced death, and the leper's ban,
For the glory of God and the love of man:
At least you can never die.
It is true you sat in your “nurse's” gown
And waved a hand to the twilit shore;
It is true, when the funnels began to roar
And the stern to lash in the Mersey tide,
You looked back over the vessel's side,
And thought of the Combe and the Down.
And waved a hand to the twilit shore;
It is true, when the funnels began to roar
And the stern to lash in the Mersey tide,
You looked back over the vessel's side,
And thought of the Combe and the Down.
40
But your soul had long ago crossed the seas,
To the purple cliffs with their ladders of sun,
To the beach where the pitiless breakers run,
Where the lepers wail on the prisoning strand,
And Christ's love only can reach a hand
To lessen the sore disease.
To the purple cliffs with their ladders of sun,
To the beach where the pitiless breakers run,
Where the lepers wail on the prisoning strand,
And Christ's love only can reach a hand
To lessen the sore disease.
Sister Rose, there the roses are fair,
The wild convolvulus shines like fire,
The air is as soft as soul can desire,
The honey-bird gleams, and the fern trees wave,
But the ocean moans round an island grave,
And Death has poisoned the air.
The wild convolvulus shines like fire,
The air is as soft as soul can desire,
The honey-bird gleams, and the fern trees wave,
But the ocean moans round an island grave,
And Death has poisoned the air.
Sister Rose, you will land in a bay
Where the fish like jewels will swim or sleep,
But the shark's fierce fin sails out of the deep.
Fair is the day, but all night in the south
The dread volcano flames from its mouth
Anger and sore dismay.
Where the fish like jewels will swim or sleep,
But the shark's fierce fin sails out of the deep.
Fair is the day, but all night in the south
The dread volcano flames from its mouth
Anger and sore dismay.
One can bear to sit down by a corpse awhile,
To see the face-cloth drawn from a face
Which has won from death a renewal of grace;
But how will it be when the face that is death
Still breathes and heaves through its knots with breath,
And counterfeits still a smile?
To see the face-cloth drawn from a face
Which has won from death a renewal of grace;
41
Still breathes and heaves through its knots with breath,
And counterfeits still a smile?
One can wait and watch by a coffin, when
The lid is closed and the cry unheard;
But what if the dead man called or stirred,
And what if the pain of our agony
Was to tend the dead and to hear the cry
Of the still uncoffined men?
The lid is closed and the cry unheard;
But what if the dead man called or stirred,
And what if the pain of our agony
Was to tend the dead and to hear the cry
Of the still uncoffined men?
One can love and pity the wounded and weak,
The mangled body whose face is whole,
Whose eyes look forth with the look of a soul;
But, ah, when the body has ceased to be
The thing God made it, no eyes to see,
No ears, and no lips to speak?
The mangled body whose face is whole,
Whose eyes look forth with the look of a soul;
But, ah, when the body has ceased to be
The thing God made it, no eyes to see,
No ears, and no lips to speak?
Sister Rose, when saw you the Lord?
Did you gaze at Him coming adown the hill
When the leper cried, and He said, “I will,
Be clean!” or when did the angels meet
And strew the lilies about your feet,
And press your hands to the sword?
Did you gaze at Him coming adown the hill
When the leper cried, and He said, “I will,
Be clean!” or when did the angels meet
And strew the lilies about your feet,
And press your hands to the sword?
42
—Sword of the spirit, and lilies of life,
Flower of the heart, and weapon of fire,
Tender and keen with the soul's desire
To dare this deed, and to face disease
With the flush of your health; in the Southern Seas
To be unto Death for wife.
Flower of the heart, and weapon of fire,
Tender and keen with the soul's desire
To dare this deed, and to face disease
With the flush of your health; in the Southern Seas
To be unto Death for wife.
When you were a child did the angels come
That day that you gave your cowslip ball
To the crippled boy? Did you hear the call,
When the birds were crying about the nest
In the copse, and you carried with beating breast
The poor winged pigeon home?
That day that you gave your cowslip ball
To the crippled boy? Did you hear the call,
When the birds were crying about the nest
In the copse, and you carried with beating breast
The poor winged pigeon home?
When your youth with the birds and the flowers was filled,
With the sun and the dew of the Somerset lane,
Did you go to the prisoner's house of pain,
Or take your little white heart of pity
Into the grim and ulcerous city,
And feel that God's will had willed?
With the sun and the dew of the Somerset lane,
Did you go to the prisoner's house of pain,
Or take your little white heart of pity
Into the grim and ulcerous city,
And feel that God's will had willed?
Had you read of Sienna's Saint and the dove
That hovered above the maiden's head?
Or of her who giving the leper a bed,
Found Christ? Or of him who learned to die
That the dying might live at Molokai,
That thus you are sworn to love?
That hovered above the maiden's head?
Or of her who giving the leper a bed,
43
That the dying might live at Molokai,
That thus you are sworn to love?
Or was it a faded leaf with a prayer
They found on a fallen soldier's breast,
Which has sent you forth on your holy quest
To beat down death, and if God must give
The blow, to bear it, so brothers may live,
And sisters your sunlight share?
They found on a fallen soldier's breast,
Which has sent you forth on your holy quest
To beat down death, and if God must give
The blow, to bear it, so brothers may live,
And sisters your sunlight share?
It matters little, the angels came,
Passed thro' the streets of the troubled town
To the quiet village beneath the down;
They touched your soul and they opened your eyes,
They fired an altar of sacrifice,
And cast your heart in the flame.
Passed thro' the streets of the troubled town
To the quiet village beneath the down;
They touched your soul and they opened your eyes,
They fired an altar of sacrifice,
And cast your heart in the flame.
And ever since then, your grey hills gleamed
As grey as the native hills He knew
Who loved His friends to the death, and drew
The whole world after: yea, yonder mill,
With its arms outstretched on the top of the hill,
Like a cross in the darkness seemed.
As grey as the native hills He knew
Who loved His friends to the death, and drew
The whole world after: yea, yonder mill,
With its arms outstretched on the top of the hill,
Like a cross in the darkness seemed.
44
Sister Rose Gertrude, the gates of Heaven
Are open for you, and your heart that was small
Is wide to embrace the world at the call
Of Love at the gates. Let England prove
At the height of its power, its power to love,
To you is the high task given.
Are open for you, and your heart that was small
Is wide to embrace the world at the call
Of Love at the gates. Let England prove
At the height of its power, its power to love,
To you is the high task given.
Sister Rose Gertrude—who has just sailed to be the Superior of the Leper's Hospital at Kalawao on the Island of Molokai, the home of the late Father Damien—is the daughter of the Vicar of Combe Down, near Bath, sometime Chaplain of the Union and H. M. Prison at Bath. She is described as being a young, fresh, beautiful girl, with large eyes of deepest blue, and a fair rosy complexion. A member of the Roman Catholic Church, she feels that “suffering is her lot and her profession. Love which cannot suffer is unworthy of the name of love.” For years past it has been her desire to go forth and tend the lepers on their lonely island home of sorrow, and she has equipped herself for the work by study in the hospitals and at the Pasteur Institute in Paris. “It had always been,” she said to a lady who interviewed her on the eve of her departure, “my wish and my desire to do some of God's work on earth, into which I could throw my whole being, where there was scope for the fullest self-sacrifice, and where I could follow Him who said: ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’” She handed shyly a little old Prayer-book to the lady, and said, “I don't know whether I ought to tell you, but unless I do I shall not have explained one of the reasons of my great wish to go and live with and help the lepers. In Miss F——'s small clear hand-writing a prayer was
45
46
THE OLD-FASHIONED “TORTOSSY” CAT.
Coom in, sir, I've wiped the cheeir, sit down; yees, I'll taäke yur hat,
Ay, it's a straänge owd-fanned owd thing. Doän't touch her, she'll scrat!
Theer now, sir, I could tell ye soom things along of owr cat.
Ay, it's a straänge owd-fanned owd thing. Doän't touch her, she'll scrat!
Theer now, sir, I could tell ye soom things along of owr cat.
Nivver was parshal to tabbies, and black uns is awkard and queer,
Allays alookin' in when you doän't expec' that they're neär,
Cooms fro' the divil, fwoäks saäy, to listen and let 'im heär.
Allays alookin' in when you doän't expec' that they're neär,
Cooms fro' the divil, fwoäks saäy, to listen and let 'im heär.
But, howivver, if ivver the divil was plagued wi' a cat hissén,
It's wi' Tortossy-shell i' the winder, why, talk o' nine lives, she's ten!
Theer ain't sich a clivir owd thieäf, noä not fur miles i' the Fen.
It's wi' Tortossy-shell i' the winder, why, talk o' nine lives, she's ten!
47
We've nivver no 'casion to buy, fur whenivver my laädy cooms in,
After layin' fur daäys in the deyke,—you may tell by the drip ov her skin—
Sheä's sewer to coom straängen fat, thoff her leg beä mashed oop i' a gin.
After layin' fur daäys in the deyke,—you may tell by the drip ov her skin—
Sheä's sewer to coom straängen fat, thoff her leg beä mashed oop i' a gin.
Not that she wur soä allays, as a kit she was maäzin graäve,
Reg'lar born Wesleyan, and mind ye, knew how to behaäve;
Lor' when muther wur bad, how she maäde the choorch minister raäve!
Reg'lar born Wesleyan, and mind ye, knew how to behaäve;
Lor' when muther wur bad, how she maäde the choorch minister raäve!
Fur muther wur took quoite suddent i' one of her brownkittey
fits,
And parson he coomed and 'e reäd reight thruff her favourite bits,
And all muther sed at the hend was, “Lawks, 'ow quoiet cat sits.”
And parson he coomed and 'e reäd reight thruff her favourite bits,
And all muther sed at the hend was, “Lawks, 'ow quoiet cat sits.”
48
And 'e gloomed, and 'e shet the book and sez'e, “Cat's ain't in the Word,
And hadn't she need o' comfort, and wasn't it quoite absurd
Fur 'im to beä reädin' Paul, and nivver a verse to beä heard.”
And hadn't she need o' comfort, and wasn't it quoite absurd
Fur 'im to beä reädin' Paul, and nivver a verse to beä heard.”
Quoite a Quaäker cat she wur, soä sober and taäme,
But Squire's sons got at her and plaäyed her “the strawberry game,”
And ivver sin that the critter warn't what you might call the saäme.
But Squire's sons got at her and plaäyed her “the strawberry game,”
And ivver sin that the critter warn't what you might call the saäme.
Fur they buttered twoä oyster tubs, and set' em each side o' the bed,
Ran a long twine fro' the twoä, put a ring-collar oäver 'er 'ead,
And “theer she might find hersén i' meät wi' blackbirds,” they sed.
Ran a long twine fro' the twoä, put a ring-collar oäver 'er 'ead,
And “theer she might find hersén i' meät wi' blackbirds,” they sed.
It was oop and down i' the strawberry beds she was made to fleeä,
Bangin' hersén to bits, and the lads they laughed to seeä,
Scared the birds furst-raäte, but was nivver the saäme to meä.
Bangin' hersén to bits, and the lads they laughed to seeä,
Scared the birds furst-raäte, but was nivver the saäme to meä.
49
And she addled
meä nowt by the job, thoff the critter 'ed sarved 'em true,
Not so much as a berry fur thanks,—and the cat spoilt too—
She didn't yeät, but I reckon cat's missis could yeät a few.
Not so much as a berry fur thanks,—and the cat spoilt too—
She didn't yeät, but I reckon cat's missis could yeät a few.
Pussy, thou knoäst we are talkin' o' theeä—do ye 'eär 'ow she purrs?
Cats is sensible things, you maäy tell by the sparks i' theer furs—
'Lectric—doctor, 'e maäkes the stuff i' a box that whirrs.
Cats is sensible things, you maäy tell by the sparks i' theer furs—
'Lectric—doctor, 'e maäkes the stuff i' a box that whirrs.
But, howivver, the cat went wild and turned oop 'er noäse at a mouse,
Thieäved at the coops she did till the neähbours gev' 'er the souse,
And she coomed hoame wringin'wet wi' a string round 'er neck to the house.
Thieäved at the coops she did till the neähbours gev' 'er the souse,
And she coomed hoame wringin'wet wi' a string round 'er neck to the house.
It bothered feyther a deäl to sarve muther's cat that waäy,
And'e tongued 'em and called 'em adeäl, and they went oop o' Session daäy,
And blaämt if the Justices didn't consent to maäke 'im paäy!
And'e tongued 'em and called 'em adeäl, and they went oop o' Session daäy,
And blaämt if the Justices didn't consent to maäke 'im paäy!
50
But things went fro' wuss to wuss till the neähbours was all turned foe,
And we cudn't keeap pussy at hoäm and we judged the poor thing mun goä,
And feyther 'e gev' 'is consent with a “hiff” and a “spoäsin' soä.”
And we cudn't keeap pussy at hoäm and we judged the poor thing mun goä,
And feyther 'e gev' 'is consent with a “hiff” and a “spoäsin' soä.”
But 'e begged like a lawyer i' wig and gown, “She was friend o' his wife
As wur deäd, and was we sewer that 'er endin' wud end the strife.
He'd deäl reyther kill a pig.” And the cat sat purrin' fur life.
As wur deäd, and was we sewer that 'er endin' wud end the strife.
He'd deäl reyther kill a pig.” And the cat sat purrin' fur life.
But yon hypocrite theer i' the winder, she didn't git hoäver us
Wi' all her soft sawdrin' purr, ivvery daäy she wur cause o' some fuss,
And 'er manners abowt the house wur grawin' from bad to wuss.
Wi' all her soft sawdrin' purr, ivvery daäy she wur cause o' some fuss,
And 'er manners abowt the house wur grawin' from bad to wuss.
And feyther at last gev' in, “Now, gells,” sez 'e, “you'll greeä,
If the critter, maäde oop i' a poäke to beä drowned i' the dreän, gits freeä,
You noän on you doän't nivver ask for 'er condemnation fro' meä.”
If the critter, maäde oop i' a poäke to beä drowned i' the dreän, gits freeä,
51
Well, hincourse, the thing was sattled i' terms, and the poäke wur browt,
And a couple o' bricks, and the cat popped in—by goy! 'ow she fowt,—
And feyther he took the twine and'e neeädled awaäy like owt.
And a couple o' bricks, and the cat popped in—by goy! 'ow she fowt,—
And feyther he took the twine and'e neeädled awaäy like owt.
Awaäy to the dreän we went, and the neähbours set oop a cheeär,
“White noäsed doä i' the hutch won't yeät 'er young uns to yeär!
Fwoäks maäy goä to market, and chickens weän't beä soä deär.”
“White noäsed doä i' the hutch won't yeät 'er young uns to yeär!
Fwoäks maäy goä to market, and chickens weän't beä soä deär.”
It wur dusk when we splashed 'er in, and Tortossy-shell went down,
Bagged wi' a couple o' bricks she wur sartin sewer to drown,
And the fwoäks cried owt, “We're shut o' the clivirest thieäf i' the town.”
Bagged wi' a couple o' bricks she wur sartin sewer to drown,
And the fwoäks cried owt, “We're shut o' the clivirest thieäf i' the town.”
52
But blaämt if the very saäme night, when all on us got to bed,
If we didn't 'ear Tortossy mew, “Mun beä Tortossy's ghoäst,” we sed;
But the ghoäst cud kill rabbits, 'owivver, that night theer wur threeä on 'em dead.
If we didn't 'ear Tortossy mew, “Mun beä Tortossy's ghoäst,” we sed;
But the ghoäst cud kill rabbits, 'owivver, that night theer wur threeä on 'em dead.
And theer i' the morn when we hoppened the door, owtside, i' the mat,
A-lickin' the fur fro' 'er lips and groomin' 'ersen, who sat,
And pleased and peart as a queen? howr owd-fanned Tortossy cat!
A-lickin' the fur fro' 'er lips and groomin' 'ersen, who sat,
And pleased and peart as a queen? howr owd-fanned Tortossy cat!
Howivver owd Tortossy scheämed 'ersen freeä we cudn't decide,
But feyther'e called us all round o' the night afoor'e died,
And sez he, “Gells, I neädled yon cat i' the poäke, but the knots wur noän on 'em tied.”
But feyther'e called us all round o' the night afoor'e died,
And sez he, “Gells, I neädled yon cat i' the poäke, but the knots wur noän on 'em tied.”
53
THE BALLAD OF THE “CLEOPATRA.”
Hear how the stars and stripes—above stripes the stars,
For by suffering men grow great—
In the foam of Atlantic waves, the fiercest of wars—
Rage of waters and hate
Of wind—did a noble deed
Whereof the eternal seed,
When this our little world
Into thousand atoms is hurled,
And there is no more sea,
Shall still bear fruit and be.
For by suffering men grow great—
In the foam of Atlantic waves, the fiercest of wars—
Rage of waters and hate
Of wind—did a noble deed
Whereof the eternal seed,
When this our little world
Into thousand atoms is hurled,
And there is no more sea,
Shall still bear fruit and be.
We waved our caps, we crossed the cove,
And out into the bay,
And many a lass who lost her love
Was sad of heart that day,
Each sailor loves some maid the best;
Our ship went east, our thoughts went west.
And out into the bay,
And many a lass who lost her love
Was sad of heart that day,
Each sailor loves some maid the best;
Our ship went east, our thoughts went west.
54
The great sail whitened to the sun,
And cheerly sang the foam,
But backward still some hearts must run
To that last eve at home,
When in the mellow harvest corn
They named the far-off marriage morn.
And cheerly sang the foam,
But backward still some hearts must run
To that last eve at home,
When in the mellow harvest corn
They named the far-off marriage morn.
Our “Cleopatra's” golden head
Scarce heaved, so smooth of keel
We flew, our topsail canvas spread,
Our skipper at the wheel,
Sixteen aboard, a crew as sound
As ever sought a fishing ground.
Scarce heaved, so smooth of keel
We flew, our topsail canvas spread,
Our skipper at the wheel,
Sixteen aboard, a crew as sound
As ever sought a fishing ground.
You hail from Gloucester, friend, you know
Jack Pendleton—a man you say,
Our skipper—ay, not one to throw
Much breath or many words away,
But just and brave, a man who won
All hearts of men, was Pendleton.
Jack Pendleton—a man you say,
Our skipper—ay, not one to throw
Much breath or many words away,
But just and brave, a man who won
All hearts of men, was Pendleton.
I sometimes think that God still comes
In human shape and common kind,
And calls from fisher-faring homes
A simple crew of varied mind
To teach men in a cross-sea trip
The mystery of fellowship.
In human shape and common kind,
55
A simple crew of varied mind
To teach men in a cross-sea trip
The mystery of fellowship.
But be that false or be that true,
Our skipper's spell was over all,
His word was law in love, no crew
Came merrier to a “bosun's” call,
And in the love to him we bore
Each came to love his brother more.
Our skipper's spell was over all,
His word was law in love, no crew
Came merrier to a “bosun's” call,
And in the love to him we bore
Each came to love his brother more.
Once in a dream it seemed to me,
Like Jesus, as I read one day,
Our skipper walked a stormy sea;
I saw his face burn through the spray,
And I remember that he said,
“With Me is life—be not afraid.”
Like Jesus, as I read one day,
Our skipper walked a stormy sea;
I saw his face burn through the spray,
And I remember that he said,
“With Me is life—be not afraid.”
He seldom spoke of God or Heaven,
But moved as in another world,
And ever one day out of seven
The kedge was cast, the sails were furled,
We raised a hymn, he made a prayer,
And told us of a Father's care.
But moved as in another world,
And ever one day out of seven
The kedge was cast, the sails were furled,
56
And told us of a Father's care.
Oh! hard is any seaman's lot
When nets are foul and winds are wild,
But when in calm the nets are shot
And decks with silver store are piled,
And lines come laden home with spoil,
The fisher's heart forgets the toil.
When nets are foul and winds are wild,
But when in calm the nets are shot
And decks with silver store are piled,
And lines come laden home with spoil,
The fisher's heart forgets the toil.
And many a day we sailed and knew
A golden east and rosy west,
But still our thoughts like swallows flew
To that dear harbour loved the best.
“To-morrow,” cried the skipper, “come
What will to-day, we'll steer for home.”
A golden east and rosy west,
But still our thoughts like swallows flew
To that dear harbour loved the best.
“To-morrow,” cried the skipper, “come
What will to-day, we'll steer for home.”
But as he spoke we felt the breath
Of some far iceberg fill the sail,
And with a hand as cold as death
The storm wrack burst in sleet and hail,
And all the sea writhed mad with pain
Beneath the thundering hurricane.
Of some far iceberg fill the sail,
And with a hand as cold as death
The storm wrack burst in sleet and hail,
And all the sea writhed mad with pain
Beneath the thundering hurricane.
57
Our shrouds were snapt like packers' thread,
The blocks flew out, the schooner heeled,
We saw the white sea overhead,
We cut the sheets and back she reeled,
Then all a-board a billow leapt,
And stem to staggering stern it swept.
The blocks flew out, the schooner heeled,
We saw the white sea overhead,
We cut the sheets and back she reeled,
Then all a-board a billow leapt,
And stem to staggering stern it swept.
Oh! bitterest wave, it tore from me
My own son's son, it crashed the mast,
It smote us all upon our knee,
And when the whelming flood was past
Three were not: one upon the deck
Lay dying, and our craft a wreck!
My own son's son, it crashed the mast,
It smote us all upon our knee,
And when the whelming flood was past
Three were not: one upon the deck
Lay dying, and our craft a wreck!
God knows how through that day and night
The groaning vessel rose and sank,
We envied him with face so white
Beside the shattered water tank,
He seemed so calm, his tempest past,
We could not die, we fought the blast.
The groaning vessel rose and sank,
We envied him with face so white
Beside the shattered water tank,
He seemed so calm, his tempest past,
We could not die, we fought the blast.
Then one cried out: “A sail! a sail!”
Dear God! the dead man was forgot.
They see our flag's distress, they hail—
Brave land to bear so brave a Scot—
Our stars and stripes remember still
Your bold sea captain's generous will!
Dear God! the dead man was forgot.
58
Brave land to bear so brave a Scot—
Our stars and stripes remember still
Your bold sea captain's generous will!
Oh! life is dearer than we guess'd,
And hope is harder to forego,
Each saw the port he loved the best
Once more upon the weather bow;
But without word our skipper seemed
As one who prayed or one who dreamed.
And hope is harder to forego,
Each saw the port he loved the best
Once more upon the weather bow;
But without word our skipper seemed
As one who prayed or one who dreamed.
The mountain ridge of hurrying wave
Rose up, but ever as it fell
We caught between us and the grave
That huge red hull, and we could tell
How men as brave as lions there
For brother men would do and dare.
Rose up, but ever as it fell
We caught between us and the grave
That huge red hull, and we could tell
How men as brave as lions there
For brother men would do and dare.
Our boats were stove, their boats were whole,
Lord help them! out the davits swing!
What! shall they pull for such a goal
And launch on Death from death to bring
Life, but at Death's most certain price?
God asks, not man, such sacrifice.
Lord help them! out the davits swing!
What! shall they pull for such a goal
And launch on Death from death to bring
59
God asks, not man, such sacrifice.
The waters hissed, the waters curled,
Thrashed into dust the waters screamed,
From height to hell we back were hurled,
But still our skipper prayed or dreamed,
And still above our battered crew
The stars and stripes in pity flew.
Thrashed into dust the waters screamed,
From height to hell we back were hurled,
But still our skipper prayed or dreamed,
And still above our battered crew
The stars and stripes in pity flew.
Then spake the skipper tried and true,
And there was that about his word
That pierced our very beings through
As if it were a spirit's sword,
And there was that about his face
Made each forget the storm a space.
And there was that about his word
That pierced our very beings through
As if it were a spirit's sword,
And there was that about his face
Made each forget the storm a space.
“Mates, have we such dark fear of death,
Is that old Gloucester dock so dear,
That we would purchase life and breath,
Albeit the succour come so near,
At risk of such a hungry grave
For yonder friends who haste to save?
Is that old Gloucester dock so dear,
That we would purchase life and breath,
Albeit the succour come so near,
At risk of such a hungry grave
For yonder friends who haste to save?
60
“Have they no homes, no bairns, no wives?
Shall we like cowards stand to see
Men, brothers, dare to rescue lives,
—Our lives so poor—at such a fee?”
And as he spoke his eyes were bright
With something of an angel light.
Shall we like cowards stand to see
Men, brothers, dare to rescue lives,
—Our lives so poor—at such a fee?”
And as he spoke his eyes were bright
With something of an angel light.
Oh! God forgive my silence then,
My wife's dear call came through the wind;
But with the skipper there were ten
Of self-forgetful hero mind.
Amen! Amen! and with that cry
They swore for them no man should die.
My wife's dear call came through the wind;
But with the skipper there were ten
Of self-forgetful hero mind.
Amen! Amen! and with that cry
They swore for them no man should die.
Down came the stripes, down came the stars!
Did e'er doomed hulk so well pretend
Her pumps were sound, no leak, no scars,
Nor any need of succouring friend?
And with the dead man at our side
We felt that we indeed had died.
Did e'er doomed hulk so well pretend
Her pumps were sound, no leak, no scars,
Nor any need of succouring friend?
And with the dead man at our side
We felt that we indeed had died.
Right merry gleams the Peter blue,
'Tis sad to haul the Peter down,
But when the flag for life flies true
And every other hope is flown,
To haul those colours down and feel
Hope dead, it tries a heart of steel!
'Tis sad to haul the Peter down,
61
And every other hope is flown,
To haul those colours down and feel
Hope dead, it tries a heart of steel!
Our vessel groaned as she would break,
O'erhead a billow seemed to boom;
When next I heard the skipper speak
I lay in some strange cabin room—
He smiled and said, “God crossed us, mate,
That day we dared to choose our fate.”
O'erhead a billow seemed to boom;
When next I heard the skipper speak
I lay in some strange cabin room—
He smiled and said, “God crossed us, mate,
That day we dared to choose our fate.”
The facts on which the ballad has been founded appeared in an
English paper shortly after the occurrence. The writer was
fortunately able to have them verified by an American friend,
Mr. Yarnall, of Philadelphia, who wrote direct to the Shipping
Agency for him and obtained the following reply:—
“Peter Wright and Sons, Philadelphia, Sept. 25, 1886.
“Ellis Yarnall, Esq.
“Dear Sir,—Annexed please find information required by you.
“Very truly,
“Frank D. P. Weall.
“Capt. Geo. W. Pendleton, American fishing schooner ‘Cleopatra,’
of Gloucester, Mass.
“Capt. Edmund Miller Hughes, American line steamer ‘Lord
Gough.’ Date of rescue, December 27th, 1885.”
62
The “Lord Gough,” though of the American line of steamers (Liverpool to Philadelphia), is a British vessel; her captain is, I think, a Scotchman. On the 27th December the “Lord Gough,” on her way to Philadelphia, saw the flag of distress on the mast of the “Cleopatra.” The wind was blowing a gale, making it a matter of serious risk for the “Lord Gough” to send a boat to the rescue. But Captain Hughes thought it his duty to do this, and he called for volunteers. The second officer (I think) and a crew volunteered, and a boat was lowered. Suddenly, however, the signal of distress was lowered from the mast of the “Cleopatra.” Captain Hughes was much perplexed; it seemed almost certain that the vessel was in extremity. On the whole he thought it his duty to send the boat. The brave fellows made their way over the perilous waters, and the schooner was reached. There they found the master and eleven men, but for the “Lord Gough,” utterly without hope. Three others of the crew had been washed away, and the body of a fourth lay on the deck. In two trips the survivors were conveyed to the “Lord Gough.” The master of the schooner went in the second trip of the boat, but before doing so, he read with such solemnity as he could in the awful storm, the burial service over the remains of his comrade, and then the body was committed to the deep. Of course, the first inquiry made by Captain Hughes of the American captain was, Why did he haul down his signal? The reply was:—“Sir, we saw that you were preparing to make an effort to save us, but we saw, also, that it was a sea in which it was very doubtful whether a boat would live. I said, then, to my men, ‘Shall we let those brave fellows risk their lives to save ours?’ and they said ‘No!’ Then I hauled down the flag.”
63
DREEÄMS.
Theer's dreeäms i' the Bible, my dear,
And part of the Promise was dreeäms;
But mind ya they're terrible queer
When they waäkens a body with screäms.
And part of the Promise was dreeäms;
But mind ya they're terrible queer
When they waäkens a body with screäms.
And its singlar they moastlins shud come
Wi'a bit o' bad news to their taaïl;
Mebbe just when you've setten fro' home,
And not hoaver fond o' the raaïl.
Wi'a bit o' bad news to their taaïl;
Mebbe just when you've setten fro' home,
And not hoaver fond o' the raaïl.
But thou knaws it's not Christians aloäne
As dreeäms, fur dreeäms cooms to the brute,
Howr dog dreeäms of shakkin' a boäne,
But it's worst when ya dreeäm o' Ripe Fruit.
As dreeäms, fur dreeäms cooms to the brute,
Howr dog dreeäms of shakkin' a boäne,
But it's worst when ya dreeäm o' Ripe Fruit.
I dreeämed o' Ripe Fruit tother night,
And I set oop o' hend i' the bed;
And I woake my owd man wi' my fright,
And “Ripe Fruit!” was the words that I sed.
And I set oop o' hend i' the bed;
64
And “Ripe Fruit!” was the words that I sed.
“Is it couzen or hant as is ta'en?”
And he grunted, “Git on, let ma lig”;
“Is it one of Will's waggoners slaäin?”
And he gruffed and soon snoored like a pig.
And he grunted, “Git on, let ma lig”;
“Is it one of Will's waggoners slaäin?”
And he gruffed and soon snoored like a pig.
But next mornin' as sewer as I'm here,
A “black-hedge” 'ed coomed thruff the post;
Was it hant? Was it couzen? My dear,
It was one of Will's “caulvers” wur lost!
A “black-hedge” 'ed coomed thruff the post;
Was it hant? Was it couzen? My dear,
It was one of Will's “caulvers” wur lost!
65
FATHER DAMIEN.
Father Damien is dead,
Mourn for Father Damien,
He who broke the leper's bread,
Most compassionate of men.
Mourn for Father Damien,
He who broke the leper's bread,
Most compassionate of men.
Crowns of gold to kings we give,
But for those who life lay down
That their brother men may live,
Immortality is crown.
But for those who life lay down
That their brother men may live,
Immortality is crown.
Lilies bring, bring passion flower,
Strew white poppies o'er his sleep,
Damien's love could charm with power
Gardens from the barren steep;
Strew white poppies o'er his sleep,
Damien's love could charm with power
Gardens from the barren steep;
Not a lava-bed but gave
Fruit and fragrance to his hand,
Wherefore over Damien's grave
Let the blossoming roses stand.
Fruit and fragrance to his hand,
66
Let the blossoming roses stand.
Fierce the “Cona” winds may blow,
Howling down the northern heights,
Round our huts as white as snow
Moan by day and roar by nights.
Howling down the northern heights,
Round our huts as white as snow
Moan by day and roar by nights.
Damien hears them not, no more
Breasts the blast to bring us aid,
He has reached a stormless shore
Where the winds of God are laid.
Breasts the blast to bring us aid,
He has reached a stormless shore
Where the winds of God are laid.
Red as rubies flash the birds
Over Damien's resting-place—
So like rubies flashed his words
When he gave us heart of grace.
Over Damien's resting-place—
So like rubies flashed his words
When he gave us heart of grace.
Fair as foam the sea-birds flew
Glad when Damien passed them by—
Free as foam his love, we knew,
Hovered over Molokai.
Glad when Damien passed them by—
Free as foam his love, we knew,
Hovered over Molokai.
Southward look by sea and shore
How the great fire-fountains toss!
So burned on the zeal he bore,
So flames out at night our loss.
How the great fire-fountains toss!
67
So flames out at night our loss.
He who staunched the leper's sore,
He who bade the leper smile,
He who taught us holy lore,
Gave us faith and blessed our isle;
He who bade the leper smile,
He who taught us holy lore,
Gave us faith and blessed our isle;
Built us homes, from beasts made men,
Out of madness and despair
Wrought sweet patience—Damien—
Damien has ceased from care.
Out of madness and despair
Wrought sweet patience—Damien—
Damien has ceased from care.
Seas less sapphire, skies less blue
Meet in Kalawao's bay,
Fish that swam, of iris hue,
Through the corals cease their play.
Meet in Kalawao's bay,
Fish that swam, of iris hue,
Through the corals cease their play.
Desolate the forest yearns,
Where the south wind holds its breath,
Murmuring move the tall tree-ferns,
Sighing as for Damien's death.
Where the south wind holds its breath,
Murmuring move the tall tree-ferns,
Sighing as for Damien's death.
Hark! from Molokai a call,
Wailing, weeping up the glen,
“Lord, have mercy on us all,
Reft of Father Damien.”
Wailing, weeping up the glen,
68
Reft of Father Damien.”
Who shall strive our woes to heal,
Give the sick ones drink and food,
Who shall make the leper feel
Joy in human brotherhood?
Give the sick ones drink and food,
Who shall make the leper feel
Joy in human brotherhood?
Who shall teach us God is love—
God we cursed for this our ill—
Who by sacrifice shall prove
Christ the Lord is with us still?
God we cursed for this our ill—
Who by sacrifice shall prove
Christ the Lord is with us still?
Who will show us gain from loss,
Bid us faint not on our way,
Bear uphill our heavy cross
Till we reach our Golgotha?
Bid us faint not on our way,
Bear uphill our heavy cross
Till we reach our Golgotha?
So the lepers wail and wail,
Down the shore and up the glen;
Shall their sorrow nought avail
Crying still for Damien?
Down the shore and up the glen;
Shall their sorrow nought avail
Crying still for Damien?
Yea, at night, when on the wave
Winds are hushed, and no birds cry
Comes a voice from Damien's grave,
Sounding out to Molokai:
Winds are hushed, and no birds cry
69
Sounding out to Molokai:
“Leper men no longer weep
Though ye now seem fatherless;
Damien has but entered sleep
Damien's spirit lives to bless!”
Though ye now seem fatherless;
Damien has but entered sleep
Damien's spirit lives to bless!”
70
THE EVIL EYE.
Now Liza, didn't I tell tha a straänger wud coom to-daäy?
Fur I stirred th' owd cup last night, but the tea leaves swum and swum,
And the shrouds burnt bright in the candle thoff I snuffed and snuffed awaäy,
When things goä that-how siver, a straänger is bound to coom.
Fur I stirred th' owd cup last night, but the tea leaves swum and swum,
And the shrouds burnt bright in the candle thoff I snuffed and snuffed awaäy,
When things goä that-how siver, a straänger is bound to coom.
It's maäzin' happen you've lit huppon Eve of St. Mark to-year,
Fur my owd man as is gone, 'e wur boärn huppon Eve of St. Mark,
Why 'e'd second sight fro' 'is birth, 'e cud tell when the sperrits wur near,
And cud seeä the stars i' the nooän, that huther fwoaks seeäs at dark.
Fur my owd man as is gone, 'e wur boärn huppon Eve of St. Mark,
Why 'e'd second sight fro' 'is birth, 'e cud tell when the sperrits wur near,
And cud seeä the stars i' the nooän, that huther fwoaks seeäs at dark.
71
They doan't goä now to the choorches, but lor, when I wur a gell,
Theer wur watchers went cloäse huppo twelve, to knaw whoä was gooin' to die,
Owr maister 'e hedn't noä 'casion, fur 'e knawed thoff 'e nivver wud tell,
Wonst goä ya wur foorst to goä hivvery year when St. Mark's coomed by.
Theer wur watchers went cloäse huppo twelve, to knaw whoä was gooin' to die,
Owr maister 'e hedn't noä 'casion, fur 'e knawed thoff 'e nivver wud tell,
Wonst goä ya wur foorst to goä hivvery year when St. Mark's coomed by.
I mind one Skipputh as went, and he coom'd back maäz'd i' the heäd,
And blaämt if 'e didn't get sight of hall owd Worllaby's lot,
The gaäinest neähbour an' all, and by goy, i' the year they wur deäd,
Fur the “demmuck” tuk taäties and caulves and the fam'ly reight down to the cot.
And blaämt if 'e didn't get sight of hall owd Worllaby's lot,
The gaäinest neähbour an' all, and by goy, i' the year they wur deäd,
Fur the “demmuck” tuk taäties and caulves and the fam'ly reight down to the cot.
We wur all on us skeared i' them daäys, theer wur corplights seeän i' the ditches,
And meg-ullats skrikin' o' death, and death-carts stoppin' at doors,
And coffins that joomped fro' the cooäls, and wise men along o' the witches,
And women as hoäver-looked ya, the bad uns, by scoors and scoors.
And meg-ullats skrikin' o' death, and death-carts stoppin' at doors,
72
And women as hoäver-looked ya, the bad uns, by scoors and scoors.
One time when owr sow went wrong, and Molly the cow wur draäpe,
And the butter wud hardlins coom, and the hens got crawin' at morn,
And fur all the management put i' the threeä-haäcre top o' the raäpe,
Theer was nowt paäid cuttin' or feeädin', and ketlocks clear meslin the corn.
And the butter wud hardlins coom, and the hens got crawin' at morn,
And fur all the management put i' the threeä-haäcre top o' the raäpe,
Theer was nowt paäid cuttin' or feeädin', and ketlocks clear meslin the corn.
I minds my owd feyther went hoff to Scamblesby mountain-side,
And 'e fun the wise man i' the house, one Cossit, and telled 'im 'is staäte,
And the chimly began to rooär, and my feyther wur like to hev died,
Fur 'e thowt all the divvils i' hell wur a-bealin' a-back o' the graäte.
And 'e fun the wise man i' the house, one Cossit, and telled 'im 'is staäte,
And the chimly began to rooär, and my feyther wur like to hev died,
Fur 'e thowt all the divvils i' hell wur a-bealin' a-back o' the graäte.
73
Soä 'e downed with 'is munny and left, 'e nivver let on what he wore,
But I knaw Cossit gev fur the butter white hairs fro' a black cat's taäil,
And 'e 'vised 'im to wring the hens necks, chaänge the land, and to git a new boar,
And to turn the first sod as draape trod when she coomed fro' the milkin' paäil.
But I knaw Cossit gev fur the butter white hairs fro' a black cat's taäil,
And 'e 'vised 'im to wring the hens necks, chaänge the land, and to git a new boar,
And to turn the first sod as draape trod when she coomed fro' the milkin' paäil.
'E wur daft fur 'is paäins, fur the parson wud like enew done it fur nowt,
When Stoäne's wur hoäver-looked 'e got 'im to coom to the sty,
And 'e went to the Choorch next Sunday and 'is pigs got as well as owt,
Yeeäs, I do belieëve that the parson can sattle the “Evil Eye.”
When Stoäne's wur hoäver-looked 'e got 'im to coom to the sty,
And 'e went to the Choorch next Sunday and 'is pigs got as well as owt,
Yeeäs, I do belieëve that the parson can sattle the “Evil Eye.”
74
THE FOREMAN KING.
A Ballad of the Ohio.
Fourteen comrades laid in a row!
The Louisville people shudder and stare;
The hush is horrible; I declare
The sob of that woman bending low,
And the “Oh, God help us!” and then the prayer
Blesses the curse of the silent air,
My tears are beginning to flow.
The Louisville people shudder and stare;
The hush is horrible; I declare
The sob of that woman bending low,
And the “Oh, God help us!” and then the prayer
Blesses the curse of the silent air,
My tears are beginning to flow.
Dumb drowned corpses fit for the clay,
But meant for the holiest work God sends—
Toil from the morn till the hard day ends
For wife and for babe. A rivet gave way
So the caisson flooded, you know my friends
When a rivet gives way and a wall-plate bends
In a caisson, it ends the day.
But meant for the holiest work God sends—
Toil from the morn till the hard day ends
For wife and for babe. A rivet gave way
So the caisson flooded, you know my friends
When a rivet gives way and a wall-plate bends
In a caisson, it ends the day.
75
You are gazing long on the pale white face,
But the pale white face, it can stare you out.
“Did they suffer in death?” you ask; no doubt,
Rats in a trap die hard; you may trace
Pain in the look of a beast's death pout,
And the beast leaves little it cares about—
These were leaving the hope of their race.
But the pale white face, it can stare you out.
“Did they suffer in death?” you ask; no doubt,
Rats in a trap die hard; you may trace
Pain in the look of a beast's death pout,
And the beast leaves little it cares about—
These were leaving the hope of their race.
Look at the fingers and hands that were strong,
Strong for the hammer, and pick, and spade,
Fighting like demons was never their trade!
But scrabbles of flesh the whole cheek long,
Tufts of hair clenched tightly, are made
Signs of a battle where none were afraid
And where all that they did was done wrong.
Strong for the hammer, and pick, and spade,
Fighting like demons was never their trade!
But scrabbles of flesh the whole cheek long,
Tufts of hair clenched tightly, are made
Signs of a battle where none were afraid
And where all that they did was done wrong.
Like enough! for with Heaven before
And Hell behind, it was swim or sink,
And death that had closed on them all but a chink
Was foaming up thro' the floor.
Prisoners they, could they stop to think?
In a case like theirs we should none of us shrink
From pushing a bit for the door.
And Hell behind, it was swim or sink,
And death that had closed on them all but a chink
Was foaming up thro' the floor.
Prisoners they, could they stop to think?
In a case like theirs we should none of us shrink
From pushing a bit for the door.
76
But here lies a man like a prince, so tall,
Such a proud fixed smile, on his lips no pain,
You might almost think he would wake again.
He has long since waked to a clearer call
Than the cries of a wife and her sobs in vain,
He has gone with the mates whom he loved, to reign
Foreman King of them all.
Such a proud fixed smile, on his lips no pain,
You might almost think he would wake again.
He has long since waked to a clearer call
Than the cries of a wife and her sobs in vain,
He has gone with the mates whom he loved, to reign
Foreman King of them all.
I speak, I was one of the four that past
Out from that prison of pain and death,
Of struggle, of throttle, and stamping beneath,
Tearing at flesh while the flood rose fast,
Fighting like devills all hooves and teeth;
I can tell there was one drew a bold man's breath,
Yea, God's brave breath, to the last.
Out from that prison of pain and death,
Of struggle, of throttle, and stamping beneath,
Tearing at flesh while the flood rose fast,
Fighting like devills all hooves and teeth;
I can tell there was one drew a bold man's breath,
Yea, God's brave breath, to the last.
For the river hissed in, and we saw the sky,
A narrow slit in the caisson's top,
And first one climbed o'er his fellows to drop
Back with an oath to be trodden and die—
“He has had his chance, stamp him into a sop,
Let his body be rags so the rift it stop!”
And the water it rose breast high.
A narrow slit in the caisson's top,
And first one climbed o'er his fellows to drop
Back with an oath to be trodden and die—
“He has had his chance, stamp him into a sop,
Let his body be rags so the rift it stop!”
And the water it rose breast high.
77
And I who was smallest knew the wave
Gurgling cold at the nape, at the chin,
And I struck at the fallen and felt it no sin,
Got him beneath my feet; then a brave
Calm voice cried out thro' the dark and the din:
“Mates, be men! let the weaker win!
Let the strong be strong but to save!”
Gurgling cold at the nape, at the chin,
And I struck at the fallen and felt it no sin,
Got him beneath my feet; then a brave
Calm voice cried out thro' the dark and the din:
“Mates, be men! let the weaker win!
Let the strong be strong but to save!”
Then lips were hushed that had loudest cursed,
And hands were stayed that had fought like giaours.
The calm voice cried, “The man who towers
Above his brothers will not fare worst!
There are heads will be sooner beneath than ours!
Help them, by God, and by God's own powers!
Let all that are short go first!”
And hands were stayed that had fought like giaours.
The calm voice cried, “The man who towers
Above his brothers will not fare worst!
There are heads will be sooner beneath than ours!
Help them, by God, and by God's own powers!
Let all that are short go first!”
Then I felt from the whirl of death that an host
Of hands were laid on me, struck for the light
And gained the heaven; there pale with affright
Another, a third, and a fourth, like a ghost
Bubbled up thro' the man-hole, the blood of the fight
Red on their brows; and the voice cried “Right?
Say the Foreman died at his post.”
Of hands were laid on me, struck for the light
And gained the heaven; there pale with affright
Another, a third, and a fourth, like a ghost
Bubbled up thro' the man-hole, the blood of the fight
Red on their brows; and the voice cried “Right?
Say the Foreman died at his post.”
78
A Central News Telegram from New York, January 10, 1890, reports:—A horrible death has overtaken fourteen workmen engaged in laying the foundations of a new bridge over the Ohio river to connect the towns of Louisville and Jeffersonville. Eighteen men were working within a large caisson in the river bed, when, owing to some accident, which remains at present unexplained, the water rushed in beneath. All saw the terrible fate which must overtake them if they could not escape before the water rose to the top. The only means of exit was a small valve door at the top of the caisson, just large enough to allow one man at a time to pass. To gain this was everyone's object, and according to the narrative of the survivors an awful struggle ensued. With almost certain death staring them in the face, nearly all acted on the principle of sauve qui peut, and fought desperately for the first chance. Meanwhile the waters gained rapidly, and every man knew that some must die. The foreman, a tall man, now shouted, “Let all the short men go first, mates. Our heads will be out of the water longer than theirs.” This gallant advice had the effect of checking some of the men in their fight for egress, but it availed little or nothing to save life. Four only succeeded in passing the door, and the brave foreman was amongst the fourteen left behind to die.
79
THE MONKEY-O'-HERSE-BACK METHODY MAN.
I was taävin'
about i' “the yard,” like the critter among the graäves,
When parson he coomed thruff the garden and in at the choorchyard gaäte,
And he seed that summat was oop, for it's not very offens I raäves,
And he sez, “Good mornin',” sez he, “and isn't it reyther laäte?”
When parson he coomed thruff the garden and in at the choorchyard gaäte,
And he seed that summat was oop, for it's not very offens I raäves,
And he sez, “Good mornin',” sez he, “and isn't it reyther laäte?”
And I turned round stunt at the word, I 'ed wind the owd clock that morn,
'Ed scratted the clat fro the wheeäls and gëan her works a shak.
Sich a chitterin' thing to be sewer, a reglar recklin-born,
Maäde by a tinker feller as 'edn't a cwöat to 'is back.
'Ed scratted the clat fro the wheeäls and gëan her works a shak.
Sich a chitterin' thing to be sewer, a reglar recklin-born,
Maäde by a tinker feller as 'edn't a cwöat to 'is back.
80
And sez I, “Ting-tang
esn't gone! If we're laäte oop theer i' the tower,
There'll be many a tick-tack liar to weeäk i' the farmer's fob,
For nivver a cart as passes, but reckons a taäking the hour,
We've nivver deceäved 'em yit, sin I beeän along o' the job.”
There'll be many a tick-tack liar to weeäk i' the farmer's fob,
For nivver a cart as passes, but reckons a taäking the hour,
We've nivver deceäved 'em yit, sin I beeän along o' the job.”
But the words warn't coäld fro' my mouth when dang it the quarter went,
“Clock agin, clerk,” nods the parson, and into the choorch weä past.
It warn't to be called a sarvice, noa ting tang, noa horganiment,
I mowed the Aämens and I mashed the Psalms, fur heä went soa fast.
“Clock agin, clerk,” nods the parson, and into the choorch weä past.
It warn't to be called a sarvice, noa ting tang, noa horganiment,
I mowed the Aämens and I mashed the Psalms, fur heä went soa fast.
And arter sarvice he grunted, as I wur a hingin' the gown,
“What's oop?” “A deal,” I sez, for I nivver was parson-shan,
“And I reckon I shan't be better till I've beeän a time or twoa down
O' my kneeäs, along o' the Monkey-o'-herse-back Methody man.
“What's oop?” “A deal,” I sez, for I nivver was parson-shan,
“And I reckon I shan't be better till I've beeän a time or twoa down
O' my kneeäs, along o' the Monkey-o'-herse-back Methody man.
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“But I'll owt wi' it all, it's best for stummick and mebbe for mind.
You knaw up a Sunday mornin' it's ëight o'clock bell as goäs,
And I cooms to seä to the fires and to gie the owd clock a wind,
Birds gits into the chaämber, so I cooms i' my wuk-a-day cloäs.
You knaw up a Sunday mornin' it's ëight o'clock bell as goäs,
And I cooms to seä to the fires and to gie the owd clock a wind,
Birds gits into the chaämber, so I cooms i' my wuk-a-day cloäs.
“We 'ed fired and 'ed clocked,—eh! dear, what a clat of a job to be sewer—
Wants a new roäpe for the weights, theer's summat wrong wi' a chime—
And I loöked owt Halminak plaäces and hid the keäy by the door,
And hoff to breäkfast I went to be cleeän by sarvice time.
Wants a new roäpe for the weights, theer's summat wrong wi' a chime—
And I loöked owt Halminak plaäces and hid the keäy by the door,
And hoff to breäkfast I went to be cleeän by sarvice time.
“I heeärd a hamblin' sound, and I gits myssen oop o' the pad,
And a voice like thunderee cooms bealin' a back o' my heäd.
Thinks I wi' myssen, thinks I, it's nobbut the doctor's lad,
It's somebody wants to be boarn, or somebody wants to be deäd.
And a voice like thunderee cooms bealin' a back o' my heäd.
Thinks I wi' myssen, thinks I, it's nobbut the doctor's lad,
It's somebody wants to be boarn, or somebody wants to be deäd.
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“Not noä bizness o' mine, and ‘Feller!’ the chap cries out,
But I taäkes noa noatish, and ‘Feller!’ ageän he sings in a rooar.
‘My man!’ and ‘Feller!’ Wi' that I turned myssen faäce to the shout,
‘My naäme's not ‘Feller,’ my naäme's i' the Bible, it's Jeremy Hoaare.
But I taäkes noa noatish, and ‘Feller!’ ageän he sings in a rooar.
‘My man!’ and ‘Feller!’ Wi' that I turned myssen faäce to the shout,
‘My naäme's not ‘Feller,’ my naäme's i' the Bible, it's Jeremy Hoaare.
“‘Now what's your bizness?’ I sez, ‘And what do you want o' mea?’
And he draws hissel oop i' the saddle wi' a sanck-shimonious leer,
‘By your appearance, my friend, i' your wuk-a-day cloäs, I seä
You're a-gooin' to spend this Sabbath an all, along o' the beer.’
And he draws hissel oop i' the saddle wi' a sanck-shimonious leer,
‘By your appearance, my friend, i' your wuk-a-day cloäs, I seä
You're a-gooin' to spend this Sabbath an all, along o' the beer.’
“Lor' how the blood went oop, me as doän't take nowt you may saäy,
Not to call owt, from Fattus reight thruff to Horncestle
Meä, a clerk i' the choorch, to be called and my-friended that waäy,
Meä comin' hoäm fro' the choorch, i' cloäs for the puppos I wear.
Not to call owt, from Fattus reight thruff to Horncestle
Meä, a clerk i' the choorch, to be called and my-friended that waäy,
Meä comin' hoäm fro' the choorch, i' cloäs for the puppos I wear.
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“Naäy, naäy, if the parson's tub i' the choorch is a barrel ov aäle,
Ya may call the clerk's seat by its side a aäle bench reight enuff;
Nivver no sarvice wi'owt me, and allays theer wi'owt fail,
And nivver no missin' the ëight o'clock bell the whole year thruff.
Ya may call the clerk's seat by its side a aäle bench reight enuff;
Nivver no sarvice wi'owt me, and allays theer wi'owt fail,
And nivver no missin' the ëight o'clock bell the whole year thruff.
“So I turned and snapt at my monkey, and answered him plaäin and straäight—
‘I'm not a-gooin’ to spend my Sabbath along o' the swill,
Not no moor than you, a-ridin' your raäil of a gaäte,
And who giv you God's daäy to goa about speakin' ill?’
‘I'm not a-gooin’ to spend my Sabbath along o' the swill,
Not no moor than you, a-ridin' your raäil of a gaäte,
And who giv you God's daäy to goa about speakin' ill?’
“For I seëad by the cut of his faäce he wur one of them ranter chaps,
Good, no doubt, i' the gab when theer's onything good to git,
Fussin' about the country and settin' their hell-fire traps,
And I thowt by the colour he 'ed plaäyed hissen wi' the jug a bit.
Good, no doubt, i' the gab when theer's onything good to git,
Fussin' about the country and settin' their hell-fire traps,
And I thowt by the colour he 'ed plaäyed hissen wi' the jug a bit.
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“Sez he, ‘My friend, I'm one as God O'mighty oärdained
To goa about lettin' fwoaks knoa the terrible staäte they're in,
And mightn't I beä quite sewer 'twas the sperrit o' luvv had reined
His herse and bidden 'im speäk to a man wi' the loöks ov sin.’
To goa about lettin' fwoaks knoa the terrible staäte they're in,
And mightn't I beä quite sewer 'twas the sperrit o' luvv had reined
His herse and bidden 'im speäk to a man wi' the loöks ov sin.’
“‘Oardained of who?’ I sez. ‘You may ranter and canter awaäy,
Aye, and pison the ponds you wesh in by leavin' your sins behind,
For hafter yon Baptist dippin' owd Ellerby's cows went wrong—
But oardained, you were nivver oardained a preächer, least waäy to my mind.
Aye, and pison the ponds you wesh in by leavin' your sins behind,
For hafter yon Baptist dippin' owd Ellerby's cows went wrong—
But oardained, you were nivver oardained a preächer, least waäy to my mind.
“Oardained, you're not oardained, not hauf so much as myssen,
For I am a clerk i' the choorch, and goäs to the Supper an' all,
Nivver a woman wed nor choorched, but I sez Aämen,
And I moästlins sattles the ‘Lesson,’ and gies the parson 'is call.
For I am a clerk i' the choorch, and goäs to the Supper an' all,
Nivver a woman wed nor choorched, but I sez Aämen,
And I moästlins sattles the ‘Lesson,’ and gies the parson 'is call.
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“‘Telled in the sperrit was ya? It's a foöl rides faäce to the taäil,
Or blaämt if I shouldn't ha' thowt that a knaäve had got höld o' the rein;
But when clerks i' their wuk-a-daäy cloäs is thowt to be sinners i' aäle,
It's not the sperrit o' luvv, it's the Methody man's mistaäen.
Or blaämt if I shouldn't ha' thowt that a knaäve had got höld o' the rein;
But when clerks i' their wuk-a-daäy cloäs is thowt to be sinners i' aäle,
It's not the sperrit o' luvv, it's the Methody man's mistaäen.
“‘Tellin’ fwoaks o' their sins, thou'rt a strëan pretty haängel o' graäce,
When parson sez a bit rough he hus'es and we'es it the while,
Goin' about insultin' the loikes o' meä to my faäce,
Rubbin' in salt to the soäres and forgettin' the wine and ile.’
When parson sez a bit rough he hus'es and we'es it the while,
Goin' about insultin' the loikes o' meä to my faäce,
Rubbin' in salt to the soäres and forgettin' the wine and ile.’
“I was o'most fit to be craäzed, the feller he maäde me so mad,
But he seead he was oop to his neck wi' noan but hissen to thank,
So he looked as much as to saäy, ‘You're hoäver-eärdly bad,’
And hoff he popped at a canter the Methody mountebank.
But he seead he was oop to his neck wi' noan but hissen to thank,
So he looked as much as to saäy, ‘You're hoäver-eärdly bad,’
And hoff he popped at a canter the Methody mountebank.
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“And I dowt till I've bin down a bit o' my kneëas I shan't be reight,
It's solidly spoilt the sarvice this mornin' from fust to last.
I could mebbe forgit the feller, but it's ting-tang went so laäte,
And all i' the town to hear it a gooin' a quarter past.
It's solidly spoilt the sarvice this mornin' from fust to last.
I could mebbe forgit the feller, but it's ting-tang went so laäte,
And all i' the town to hear it a gooin' a quarter past.
“It's bad enuff to be blaämt for mindin' my Sunday traäde,
Windin' them clatty owd works, and ringin' yon ëight o'clock bell,
But hafter I'd sattled the Lessons and seeäd that the fires was maäde,
I had taen the Boök this mornin' and studied five chapters as well.
Windin' them clatty owd works, and ringin' yon ëight o'clock bell,
But hafter I'd sattled the Lessons and seeäd that the fires was maäde,
I had taen the Boök this mornin' and studied five chapters as well.
“Noä dowt it's wrong to be craäzed, and them as trusts to the Lord
Should let sich Monkey-o'-herse-back men goä canterin by,
But it's not very nisht to be called that how, when you've read i' the Word
Bang thruff three o' Colosshans and two o' Malachi.”
Should let sich Monkey-o'-herse-back men goä canterin by,
But it's not very nisht to be called that how, when you've read i' the Word
Bang thruff three o' Colosshans and two o' Malachi.”
87
A BRAVE DOCTOR.
To the Memory of Doctors Rabbeth and Lysaght.
When with a wreath in hand for hero men
His roll the angel of the judgment calls,
Doctor, thy name, though quite forgot till then,
Shall sound about the city's golden walls.
His roll the angel of the judgment calls,
Doctor, thy name, though quite forgot till then,
Shall sound about the city's golden walls.
There she lay, the rose in her cheek,
Her nostrils wide, and the sweat on her brow.
I have lost my own—I suppose I am weak,
But I never can see a sick child now.
Her nostrils wide, and the sweat on her brow.
I have lost my own—I suppose I am weak,
But I never can see a sick child now.
Her hands were twitching, they dropped her dolly,
Her large eyes followed us round the room,
They were soon to be fixed, poor dear little Polly,
Stifled to death! what a pitiful doom!
Her large eyes followed us round the room,
They were soon to be fixed, poor dear little Polly,
Stifled to death! what a pitiful doom!
88
When the day was closing the doctor came—
Strong big man, but his voice was mild,
He felt her pulse, and he saw the flame
On her cheek, and he said, “Poor child! poor child!”
Strong big man, but his voice was mild,
He felt her pulse, and he saw the flame
On her cheek, and he said, “Poor child! poor child!”
Then the nurse passed by, so grave, with a sponge,
For Polly's eyes had begun to stare,
And a bright thing flashed with a harmless plunge,—
The doctor had given her lungs sweet air!
For Polly's eyes had begun to stare,
And a bright thing flashed with a harmless plunge,—
The doctor had given her lungs sweet air!
I could not look—I had lost my own,
And my heart was there with the four in heaven—
But I heard the doctor say in a tone
I shall never forget, “It's the last chance given.”
And my heart was there with the four in heaven—
But I heard the doctor say in a tone
I shall never forget, “It's the last chance given.”
The lamp burnt low, and her breathing went
And came with a sort of silvery sigh.
“What a beautiful child! I could be content
For such,” the doctor muttered, “to die.”
And came with a sort of silvery sigh.
“What a beautiful child! I could be content
For such,” the doctor muttered, “to die.”
He turned on his heel and he strode away;
“Call me, nurse, if the child cannot rest,
Or the canular blocks: I always say
For a wound like that one must do one's best.”
“Call me, nurse, if the child cannot rest,
Or the canular blocks: I always say
For a wound like that one must do one's best.”
89
It was night; the nurses had gone to bed;
I was watching alone, and I heard a click,
The breathing laboured, her face went red
Then grey, and I summoned the doctor quick.
I was watching alone, and I heard a click,
The breathing laboured, her face went red
Then grey, and I summoned the doctor quick.
The tube is clotted! my God, she is lost!
And the child, with a wonderful meek surmise,
Looked, and I saw as a man at his post
Wavers, then wills, the doctor's eyes.
And the child, with a wonderful meek surmise,
Looked, and I saw as a man at his post
Wavers, then wills, the doctor's eyes.
“Poor little Polly, she's younger than I,”—
I seemed to see such a thought in his face,—
“Should a man for a child's sake fear to die?
What about Christ in such a case?”
I seemed to see such a thought in his face,—
“Should a man for a child's sake fear to die?
What about Christ in such a case?”
Then he stooped his brave strong mouth to the vent,
And he sucked the poisoned canular clear,
And her silvery breathing came and went.
“Nurse, be careful! Good-night! little dear!”
And he sucked the poisoned canular clear,
And her silvery breathing came and went.
“Nurse, be careful! Good-night! little dear!”
So he went to his rest. Good-night! good-night!
But he went with the dread diphtheria ban;
He had given his life for a child. Was it right?
Men called him a fool—God calls him a man.
But he went with the dread diphtheria ban;
He had given his life for a child. Was it right?
Men called him a fool—God calls him a man.
90
IN THE PIG MARKET.
Now durst onyone buy my pigs?
Guineas I want, ya may 'low meä more,
Coomed of a sow as coomed fro' Briggs,
Tha knaws th' owd boar?
Guineas I want, ya may 'low meä more,
Coomed of a sow as coomed fro' Briggs,
Tha knaws th' owd boar?
I'll give yon little owd recklin in,
Danged if I wean't if ya taäke the lot,
They're sweeät and cleän as a baäby's skin,
And nivver a spot.
Danged if I wean't if ya taäke the lot,
They're sweeät and cleän as a baäby's skin,
And nivver a spot.
Some hes pigs as greeäsy as wax,
Look at yon lot how the crew-clat clings,
Reg'lar cwoats o' maäil to theer backs,
The howry things!
Look at yon lot how the crew-clat clings,
Reg'lar cwoats o' maäil to theer backs,
The howry things!
How yon chitterin' recklin stares,
It'll not sleeäp at its swill tha mun knaw,
Nivver likes to seeä pigs at prayers
Upo' kneeäs i' the straw.
It'll not sleeäp at its swill tha mun knaw,
91
Upo' kneeäs i' the straw.
Weigh? if the bairns is like the muther,
And doa theer duty to flesh and boäne,
Forty coom Christmas yeär! her bruther
Hinged fifty stoäne.
And doa theer duty to flesh and boäne,
Forty coom Christmas yeär! her bruther
Hinged fifty stoäne.
Coom git 'oäme and git thy owd woman,
She knaws pork when she seeäs it kilt,
Nivver noä better pigs selt to noä man,
“Heder” or “gilt”!
She knaws pork when she seeäs it kilt,
Nivver noä better pigs selt to noä man,
“Heder” or “gilt”!
Sellin'! sellin'! it's givin' awaäy,
If ya 'low meä ma price ya'll git 'em fur nowt,
Whoy, the pigs 'ud amoast speeak oop and saäy,
“Ya begged, not bowt.”
If ya 'low meä ma price ya'll git 'em fur nowt,
Whoy, the pigs 'ud amoast speeak oop and saäy,
“Ya begged, not bowt.”
Guineas I want to-daäy fur my pigs!
Dal little luvvies ya're wuth far more!
Gev us tha hand, sow coomed fro' Briggs,
Tha knaws th' owd boar.
Dal little luvvies ya're wuth far more!
Gev us tha hand, sow coomed fro' Briggs,
Tha knaws th' owd boar.
92
THE VILLAGE CARPENTER.
I am a village carpenter;
When last we travelled along this road
She lightened half of my bitter load.
And now I carry her.
When last we travelled along this road
She lightened half of my bitter load.
And now I carry her.
Yes, come up close, the coffin is right,
The best wood job I have done in my life;
Did you think I was going to shame the wife?
Tennon and mortice tight!
The best wood job I have done in my life;
Did you think I was going to shame the wife?
Tennon and mortice tight!
Sit down here till the storm blows o'er,
You are cold, I feel it as warm as May;
The sun shines bright as it shone that day
We rested here before.
You are cold, I feel it as warm as May;
The sun shines bright as it shone that day
We rested here before.
There lies the very same stick, I declare,
She broke from the hedge for the pack on my shoulder;
I can hear her laugh and her sigh when I told her
Thorns could not carry care.
She broke from the hedge for the pack on my shoulder;
93
Thorns could not carry care.
For I was the village carpenter,
Work in the place was woefully slack,
So we tramped; I carried the tools on my back
For love of my darling there.
Work in the place was woefully slack,
So we tramped; I carried the tools on my back
For love of my darling there.
I remember a passionless face flashed by;
The wife looked down at her dusty feet,
“I suppose I shall never take a seat
In a carriage before I die.”
The wife looked down at her dusty feet,
“I suppose I shall never take a seat
In a carriage before I die.”
Oh God! how the sun went under a cloud;
I rose and I clenched my fist, and cried,
“Is a cold heart better with plenty and pride
Than want that feels and is proud?”
I rose and I clenched my fist, and cried,
“Is a cold heart better with plenty and pride
Than want that feels and is proud?”
We wandered on from village to town,
We shunned the commoner lodging place,
She wiped the morning dews from her face,
She shook the dust from her gown.
We shunned the commoner lodging place,
She wiped the morning dews from her face,
She shook the dust from her gown.
Her face lies under a colder dew,
Body and gown are both as dust;
But she has travelled to rest, I trust,
Where never a tempest blew.
Body and gown are both as dust;
94
Where never a tempest blew.
Work would not come though we sought it wide,
We toiled through sun, and we braved the storm;
And then—she was far too frail of form—
She sickened, and then she died.
We toiled through sun, and we braved the storm;
And then—she was far too frail of form—
She sickened, and then she died.
But or ever she slept, she rambled, and spake
Of that old old village she loved from birth.
I am seeking there six feet of earth
For her dear dead body's sake.
Of that old old village she loved from birth.
I am seeking there six feet of earth
For her dear dead body's sake.
I had no friends in the far-off spot,
I wrought this coffin with mine own hand;
We started together through the land,
The last time, too, God wot.
I wrought this coffin with mine own hand;
We started together through the land,
The last time, too, God wot.
She cheered me on over hill, over dale,
She shared each crust that the people gave;
I have often wished I might share her grave,
But what can a wish avail?
She shared each crust that the people gave;
I have often wished I might share her grave,
But what can a wish avail?
I have done with wishes, I wished for pay,
Half-pay and full work, so it gained her bread,
I wished her to live.—She is dead! she is dead!
I have wished my life away.
Half-pay and full work, so it gained her bread,
95
I have wished my life away.
Uphill and down, to me all was one,
Her coffin it made the journey level;
In wrath I asked if a god or devil
To me this deed had done.
Her coffin it made the journey level;
In wrath I asked if a god or devil
To me this deed had done.
How had I sinned to be treated so?
Did ever a man love better than I?
I could curse right out, but I could not cry,
And on and on did I go.
Did ever a man love better than I?
I could curse right out, but I could not cry,
And on and on did I go.
Sometimes downhill, with a passionate pace,
Her coffin tilted against the sun;
Sometimes in anger it seemed to run
Full into the moon's white face.
Her coffin tilted against the sun;
Sometimes in anger it seemed to run
Full into the moon's white face.
No pity by night, no pity by day,
The stars in heaven were keen and cold,
The earth from the morn to the sunset rolled
Compassionless on its way.
The stars in heaven were keen and cold,
The earth from the morn to the sunset rolled
Compassionless on its way.
The woodland moaned and the hedges cried,
The long wet roads were bitter and wild,
And never a face upon me smiled,
Her face it was shut inside.
The long wet roads were bitter and wild,
96
Her face it was shut inside.
Hoarse voices blaming me came with the wind,
The passers by gazed all askance
As if I had killed her; and on in a trance
I pushed, nor looked behind.
The passers by gazed all askance
As if I had killed her; and on in a trance
I pushed, nor looked behind.
One met me once who had wronged me sore,
Right up to the coffin he came and spoke,
Kindly, I think, but I could but choke,
I hated him all the more.
Right up to the coffin he came and spoke,
Kindly, I think, but I could but choke,
I hated him all the more.
I pushed down the streets of a darkened town,
I saw on the window-blinds the shade
The wives bent over their needles made,
Where, oh where, was my own?
I saw on the window-blinds the shade
The wives bent over their needles made,
Where, oh where, was my own?
The Christmas bells came over the lea,
It was hollow mockery all they rang;
I heard the carols, but what they sang
Seemed madness unto me.
It was hollow mockery all they rang;
I heard the carols, but what they sang
Seemed madness unto me.
And once on a night the stars from heaven
Fell fierce with a flash across our way;
I had cursed her God, but I could not pray,
Nor care to be forgiven.
Fell fierce with a flash across our way;
97
Nor care to be forgiven.
But yestermorn on the ridge of a hill,
Where quite foredone with the toil I stopt,
A robin down on her coffin dropt
And sang his sweetest trill.
Where quite foredone with the toil I stopt,
A robin down on her coffin dropt
And sang his sweetest trill.
All thro' the day with a song in mine ears,—
For she loved the bird with the red on its breast,—
I pushed on bravely, my soul had rest,
And I felt on my cheek the tears.
For she loved the bird with the red on its breast,—
I pushed on bravely, my soul had rest,
And I felt on my cheek the tears.
Dreamed of my darling, then woke and wept,
And dreamed again; to-day I am strong,
For she sang a lilt to the robin's song,
And smiled on me as I slept.
And dreamed again; to-day I am strong,
For she sang a lilt to the robin's song,
And smiled on me as I slept.
This morning the coffin seemed so light,
I whistled myself, half-ashamed, poor dear,
That a passer-by should see us and hear;
But I felt that to whistle was right.
I whistled myself, half-ashamed, poor dear,
That a passer-by should see us and hear;
But I felt that to whistle was right.
For all the way now through wind and weather
This hand-cart has no weight for my hand,
We are travelling both to a happier land,
And our souls are still together.
This hand-cart has no weight for my hand,
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And our souls are still together.
“A poor man entered the town of Thirsk last evening pushing a handcart before him, on which was his wife's coffin. He was a carpenter who had gone off from his home with his wife in search of work. She had died in a town somewhere on the east coast. Being without money or friends, he had made a coffin, and had either borrowed or knocked together a handcart, and was making his way by road back to his native village to bury her.”—Extract from local paper
99
A SAD LETTER.
“Dear gell, thy Joe is gone to glory,
Took sudden upo' Sunday night.”
So of the drear pathetic story
Wrote one who could not write.
Took sudden upo' Sunday night.”
So of the drear pathetic story
Wrote one who could not write.
“He will not keeäp, his corp's that bad,
We bury 'im at threeä to-morrow.”
Words fit to send a lover mad,
Sad words not meant for sorrow.
We bury 'im at threeä to-morrow.”
Words fit to send a lover mad,
Sad words not meant for sorrow.
“We shall not send to meeät thee, gell,
But cloäthes they needn't be no bother,
Fur Emma's ‘black’ 'ull sarve thee well
That job, thy luvvin' mother.”
But cloäthes they needn't be no bother,
Fur Emma's ‘black’ 'ull sarve thee well
That job, thy luvvin' mother.”
So in such wise a mother told
Of Joe the village lover's death,
And of a world made blank and cold
For her Elizabeth.
Of Joe the village lover's death,
100
For her Elizabeth.
Though happy they whose souls have words,
Whose thoughts flame out in golden speech,
Our human hearts have tender chords,
Such silence best can reach.
Whose thoughts flame out in golden speech,
Our human hearts have tender chords,
Such silence best can reach.
101
THE ISLAND HOME.
A Ballad of the East River, New York.
Love leads us by a devious way,
And sets us sudden face to face,
Then what we scarce had hoped, we say,
And silent stand a little space—
One single word will change our fate,
The silence is too long: too great:
And then an answer comes, and then
We are the happiest of men.
And sets us sudden face to face,
Then what we scarce had hoped, we say,
And silent stand a little space—
One single word will change our fate,
The silence is too long: too great:
And then an answer comes, and then
We are the happiest of men.
But sometimes even so, a veil
Is hung between our beating hearts;
We dare not wholly tell the tale
We secret spoke, but spoke in parts,
Till, on a day far off, we feel
Our souls so one, we tear the seal,
And after to the inmost core
Are one, and one for evermore.
Is hung between our beating hearts;
We dare not wholly tell the tale
We secret spoke, but spoke in parts,
Till, on a day far off, we feel
Our souls so one, we tear the seal,
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Are one, and one for evermore.
New York! its rugged streets half light,
Half dark, crossways of blinding sun;
How crisp the air, how swift of flight
Above our heads steam-horses run;
How filled with folk, how smooth of feet,
The cars go jingling down the street;
How keen the talk, where each one plies
The task of New World rivalries!
Half dark, crossways of blinding sun;
How crisp the air, how swift of flight
Above our heads steam-horses run;
How filled with folk, how smooth of feet,
The cars go jingling down the street;
How keen the talk, where each one plies
The task of New World rivalries!
But oft-times from the withering heat
And withering cold of city ways,
I ask if heaven gives no retreat,
Where souls in quietude may raise
Their thoughts above a seething tide
Of restlessness personified;
No tranquil island o'er the stream,
Where hearts a little while may dream.
And withering cold of city ways,
I ask if heaven gives no retreat,
Where souls in quietude may raise
Their thoughts above a seething tide
Of restlessness personified;
No tranquil island o'er the stream,
Where hearts a little while may dream.
Must gentle youth in such a strife,
As good as orphaned for the press,
Pour out its tender vase of life?—
Then how shall fare the fatherless'.
The waifs, the strays, whose mothers die
In unremembered misery,
And what can keep a city pure,
Whose sons of shame such woes endure?
As good as orphaned for the press,
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Then how shall fare the fatherless'.
The waifs, the strays, whose mothers die
In unremembered misery,
And what can keep a city pure,
Whose sons of shame such woes endure?
Hard by, East River sought the sea.
The Adirondack's stream was rolled
To build the continents to be,
When this New World shall prove the Old.
“Is there no island home,” I cried,
“In yonder river's cleansing tide,
Where babes forlorn a home may share
And grow to grace in fruitful air?”
The Adirondack's stream was rolled
To build the continents to be,
When this New World shall prove the Old.
“Is there no island home,” I cried,
“In yonder river's cleansing tide,
Where babes forlorn a home may share
And grow to grace in fruitful air?”
The rope was loosed, the helmsman steered,
We had no need of oarsman's hand,
And soon our boat of mercy neared
An island palace nobly planned.
Above the stream with walls and towers
It rose, about it trees and flowers:
“And here,” said they, “we train our youth—
Else lost—for duty and for truth.”
We had no need of oarsman's hand,
And soon our boat of mercy neared
An island palace nobly planned.
Above the stream with walls and towers
It rose, about it trees and flowers:
“And here,” said they, “we train our youth—
Else lost—for duty and for truth.”
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Upon the place there lay a charm,
Deep peace, where any soul might grow;
Around it, with a saviour arm,
The solemn Hudson seemed to flow.
A sweet bell tinkled—out there ran
Brave boyhood, soon to be the man,
And girls, as full of life as grace,
Made sunshine in that merry place.
Deep peace, where any soul might grow;
Around it, with a saviour arm,
The solemn Hudson seemed to flow.
A sweet bell tinkled—out there ran
Brave boyhood, soon to be the man,
And girls, as full of life as grace,
Made sunshine in that merry place.
These, through a leaf-embowered screen
Passed on to game of romp and ball;
And those, with deftest hands were seen
To ply for play the axe and awl.
A kind old greybeard to me came;
“We teach,” said he, “our tasks in game,
So scholars trained in head or hand
May prove an honour to the land.
Passed on to game of romp and ball;
And those, with deftest hands were seen
To ply for play the axe and awl.
A kind old greybeard to me came;
“We teach,” said he, “our tasks in game,
So scholars trained in head or hand
May prove an honour to the land.
Just then, with happy bridal face,
A girl toward the gateway moved,
Linked with her lover; you could trace
Even in their walk how well they loved.
They seemed of gentle blood and life,
As on they strolled, that man and wife,
And yet a guide they needed not—
Spirits familiar with the spot.
A girl toward the gateway moved,
Linked with her lover; you could trace
Even in their walk how well they loved.
They seemed of gentle blood and life,
As on they strolled, that man and wife,
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Spirits familiar with the spot.
But deep and silent as the tide,
As strong to keep two shores apart,
The bridegroom and his new-made bride
Felt each an ache within the heart;
A secret stream, a silent flood,
A fear unuttered, understood,
The strange unrest no reasonings move,
Of something hid 'twixt souls that love.
As strong to keep two shores apart,
The bridegroom and his new-made bride
Felt each an ache within the heart;
A secret stream, a silent flood,
A fear unuttered, understood,
The strange unrest no reasonings move,
Of something hid 'twixt souls that love.
And still from stair to stair they went,
They watched the children backward pour;
The masters, o'er the scholars bent;
From class-room and from corridor
Heard sounds that told how well the hive
Of youth and industry must thrive,
When all the moments on the wing
Sweet store for future use will bring.
They watched the children backward pour;
The masters, o'er the scholars bent;
From class-room and from corridor
Heard sounds that told how well the hive
Of youth and industry must thrive,
When all the moments on the wing
Sweet store for future use will bring.
“Yon lad, his mother died of dread
The morn his father met his fate:
So spake our guide, “that, underfed
And blind, we found beside the gate,—
Left by a passing boat; his eyes
Have seen a glimpse of Paradise,
His ears have heard the angel chime,
His heart is set to serve his time.
The morn his father met his fate:
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And blind, we found beside the gate,—
Left by a passing boat; his eyes
Have seen a glimpse of Paradise,
His ears have heard the angel chime,
His heart is set to serve his time.
“But all are nameless, leave behind
The very call to which they came,
For some were born to fate unkind,
And some have felt the breath of shame;
So entering to this island home,
They must forget from whence they come,
Forget their old dead selves, and here
Learn life is new and love sincere.”
The very call to which they came,
For some were born to fate unkind,
And some have felt the breath of shame;
So entering to this island home,
They must forget from whence they come,
Forget their old dead selves, and here
Learn life is new and love sincere.”
“And shall these nameless ones go forth
Mere cyphers?” “Nay, when fully grown
They pass, to leaven with their worth
The great bewildering busy town:
And ere they go, the name is told
By which their mothers called of old,
And from that morn, they learn to date
Their names, and move to meet their fate.
Mere cyphers?” “Nay, when fully grown
They pass, to leaven with their worth
The great bewildering busy town:
And ere they go, the name is told
By which their mothers called of old,
And from that morn, they learn to date
Their names, and move to meet their fate.
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“Forth to the world of strife they go
Poor lads, but oft rich princes come:
Where'er they work, whate'er they do,
Their hearts are with their island home:
And I have seen,” the greybeard said,
“Sons, nurtured here, our city's head,
And youths, whose hands we taught to work,
The pride and blessing of New York.
Poor lads, but oft rich princes come:
Where'er they work, whate'er they do,
Their hearts are with their island home:
And I have seen,” the greybeard said,
“Sons, nurtured here, our city's head,
And youths, whose hands we taught to work,
The pride and blessing of New York.
“Ay, and yon city's fostering care
Broods o'er the isle with generous wing;
You saw but now that happy pair,
They brought a marriage offering,
He looked me straight into mine eyes—
But time forgets and years disguise—
And then he laughed, I heard him say,
‘'Tis scarce a moon since wedding day.’
Broods o'er the isle with generous wing;
You saw but now that happy pair,
They brought a marriage offering,
He looked me straight into mine eyes—
But time forgets and years disguise—
And then he laughed, I heard him say,
‘'Tis scarce a moon since wedding day.’
“He looked me close, he looked me thro',
He said, ‘You sure are teacher here?
Now tell me, Master, tell me true,
Is that life whole, that love sincere,
That still must keep within its breast,
The least faint something unexprest
To her he loves, that fain would hide
One secret from his new-made bride?’
He said, ‘You sure are teacher here?
Now tell me, Master, tell me true,
Is that life whole, that love sincere,
That still must keep within its breast,
The least faint something unexprest
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One secret from his new-made bride?’
“‘Nay, Sir,’ I answered, ‘I am old,
And I have done with love and life,
But if once more I might enfold
In these grey arms my own true wife,
No thought in all this interspace,
But I would tell her face to face,
No moment's joy, nor hour of care,
But with my loved one I would share.’
And I have done with love and life,
But if once more I might enfold
In these grey arms my own true wife,
No thought in all this interspace,
But I would tell her face to face,
No moment's joy, nor hour of care,
But with my loved one I would share.’
“Then to his bride the young man turned,
‘Old Master mine, you answer well,
You kindle fires that still have burned
Within my heart the tale to tell.
Dear love, henceforth 'twixt me and thee,
No secret of my life shall be,
Here, in this island home, my youth
Was trained, I speak God's very truth.
‘Old Master mine, you answer well,
You kindle fires that still have burned
Within my heart the tale to tell.
Dear love, henceforth 'twixt me and thee,
No secret of my life shall be,
Here, in this island home, my youth
Was trained, I speak God's very truth.
“‘Here learned I how East River's tide
Takes tender age in saviour arm;
This greybeard standing at our side,
He threw o'er waking life his charm.
And I, not knowing whence I came,
Learned here how honest work was fame,
And passing hence was consecrate
To duty, for our God and state.’
Takes tender age in saviour arm;
This greybeard standing at our side,
He threw o'er waking life his charm.
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Learned here how honest work was fame,
And passing hence was consecrate
To duty, for our God and state.’
“You should have seen how that fair wife
Blushed at the word, and kissed his brow,
Then taking both his hands, ‘My life,
My love,’ she cried, ‘thrice honoured now,
No secrets shall be unconfessed,
Soul wide to soul, breast bare to breast,
I too, thine own, whatever come,
Was nurtured in this island home.’
Blushed at the word, and kissed his brow,
Then taking both his hands, ‘My life,
My love,’ she cried, ‘thrice honoured now,
No secrets shall be unconfessed,
Soul wide to soul, breast bare to breast,
I too, thine own, whatever come,
Was nurtured in this island home.’
“The very silence seemed to speak,
I saw his lips a moment part,
And then, with tears upon his cheek,
He pressed her, heart to beating heart,
And wond'ring, towards the river's side,
They went, the bridegroom and the bride,
And walked that dear familiar shore,
One Life, one Love, for evermore.”
I saw his lips a moment part,
And then, with tears upon his cheek,
He pressed her, heart to beating heart,
And wond'ring, towards the river's side,
They went, the bridegroom and the bride,
And walked that dear familiar shore,
One Life, one Love, for evermore.”
Extract from a speech delivered by Lord Chief Justice Coleridge
110
“It is one of the most interesting recollections of a very interesting passage of my life, the visit that I paid when I was in America, to a great institution in the harbour of New York. The physical conditions of that institution are, no doubt, peculiarly advantageous. It is situated on one of the islands, and is a sort of boys' and girls' home. When I was there, some 1,600 or 1,700 boys and girls were in the home, which, cut off from New York by the swift stream, is only accessible by boats. They are all taught some trade. They are sent there not as a punishment, but they are allowed to be sent by the law of New York for minor offences, offences which would condemn many a poor little fellow here to be a felon for life. They are sent to this institution, where their names are concealed, and where they are not treated as under punishment, but as Christian boys and girls, and taught as far as they can be taught to get on themselves in life. I was told that there was no dishonour nor discredit in after life in having been in this place; that constantly young men who had flourished in life came back and left donations for the assistance of this institution—an institution helped, indeed, by the State of New York, but chiefly carried on by voluntary contributions, and by some of the first men, and men of the largest business, in that crowded and immensely wealthy city. And I was told a story, for the truth of which I do not vouch, but for the possibility of which I may vouch, otherwise it would not have been told me. A young man and young woman, very thriving people, came to see this institution. They had just been married. They went through the building, and when they left, each of them gave a considerable donation. As they left the place, the young man said to the young wife, ‘I have told you everything about myself but one thing, I was a boy here.’ ‘Well, my love,’ said the young wife, ‘I have told you everything about myself but one thing, I was a girl here.’”
111
“CHAÄSING THE SUN”; OR, “THE TRAK WI' THE TERRIBLE NAÄME.”
I nivver went howt o' the town,
I'm noan o' your fidgetty-rigs;
It's twenty year sin' I hed a black gown
To my back, and I keeäps noä pigs.
But if there's owt that I like as well
As my cat, it's a book abowt Heaven and Hell.
I'm noan o' your fidgetty-rigs;
It's twenty year sin' I hed a black gown
To my back, and I keeäps noä pigs.
But if there's owt that I like as well
As my cat, it's a book abowt Heaven and Hell.
There's summat as warms your blood
In a trak about fwoaks as sins,
For praise the Lord—He is good,
It nivver ends saäme as't begins.
We all on us hev our faults, but then
It's a strangen plaäce for quar'ls is the Fen.
In a trak about fwoaks as sins,
For praise the Lord—He is good,
It nivver ends saäme as't begins.
We all on us hev our faults, but then
It's a strangen plaäce for quar'ls is the Fen.
Not that I quar'l, but, lor!
Wi' chickens a scratting your stocks,
And bairns a slamming the door,
Or clamming the hollyhocks,
It's nowt but the graäce of Heaven I saäy
As keeps ya neahbourly daäy by daäy.
Wi' chickens a scratting your stocks,
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Or clamming the hollyhocks,
It's nowt but the graäce of Heaven I saäy
As keeps ya neahbourly daäy by daäy.
For they're nowt but a mask o' fieënds,
From the mill reight down to the dreän,
Nivver cud call 'em friends,
Sich tongues and so blaämedly meän:
There's Stubbs's, and Johnson's and Ellerby's lot,
Fieënds from the man reight thruff to the cot.
From the mill reight down to the dreän,
Nivver cud call 'em friends,
Sich tongues and so blaämedly meän:
There's Stubbs's, and Johnson's and Ellerby's lot,
Fieënds from the man reight thruff to the cot.
And it's not for want of a teächer,
For parson he's plaäin and straight;
And one of the wust's a preächer,
And they goa to choorch fust-rate.
But to keeap fro' guile, oh, it's 'maäzin' hard,
When you're called to your faäce i' your oän backyard.
For parson he's plaäin and straight;
And one of the wust's a preächer,
And they goa to choorch fust-rate.
But to keeap fro' guile, oh, it's 'maäzin' hard,
When you're called to your faäce i' your oän backyard.
I tried all ways to git on,
But my owd man was so bad,
And mebbe it's well he's gone,
For he spent what boöath on us had;
And was I, his wife, to saäy nowt, and hear
The things fwoaks sed when they see'd him i' beer?
But my owd man was so bad,
And mebbe it's well he's gone,
For he spent what boöath on us had;
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The things fwoaks sed when they see'd him i' beer?
But, howivver, he went at last,
And I'd a'most nowt to do,
For my work-a-daäy toime wur past,
And the bairns at sarvice too,
So I toök to larning mysen to reäd,
And the laädies up at the Hall agreeäd.
And I'd a'most nowt to do,
For my work-a-daäy toime wur past,
And the bairns at sarvice too,
So I toök to larning mysen to reäd,
And the laädies up at the Hall agreeäd.
I cud scrat i' the paäpers a bit,
And guess at the praäyers i' chuch;
But now I can reeäd as I knit,
Reight thruff, be it ivver so much;
And the laädies knaws I luvv nowt so well
As a trak as treeäts of Heaven and Hell.
And guess at the praäyers i' chuch;
But now I can reeäd as I knit,
Reight thruff, be it ivver so much;
And the laädies knaws I luvv nowt so well
As a trak as treeäts of Heaven and Hell.
I've mastered “Brands from the Flames,”
And “Saäfe,” and “Wheer are you now?”
And a mess wi' terrible names
As browt the sweat to my brow.
But the laädies softened them off, besure,
They'd meant that packet for fwoaks next door.
And “Saäfe,” and “Wheer are you now?”
And a mess wi' terrible names
As browt the sweat to my brow.
But the laädies softened them off, besure,
They'd meant that packet for fwoaks next door.
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I weant hev no more fro' the Hall,
I shall tek in the Baptists' next,
A maäkin' one crip and crawl
And turn i' one's bed—I was vext:
For tha knaws very well that theer's traks and traks,
And soom's for choorch-fwoak and soom's for blacks.
I shall tek in the Baptists' next,
A maäkin' one crip and crawl
And turn i' one's bed—I was vext:
For tha knaws very well that theer's traks and traks,
And soom's for choorch-fwoak and soom's for blacks.
It's my opinion Miss Kaäte
Hes gotten the wrong soort sent;
Noä dowt that soom's fust-rate,
But some on 'em's devilment.
There's one I've kep' wropped up for long,
Wi' a naäme I reckon quite dreadful wrong.
Hes gotten the wrong soort sent;
Noä dowt that soom's fust-rate,
But some on 'em's devilment.
There's one I've kep' wropped up for long,
Wi' a naäme I reckon quite dreadful wrong.
It's lock'd i' my drawer upstairs,
The laädies found me fro' home,
And left it me unawares;
I keeäp it wropped up till they come.
By the words on the coover howtside I could seä
It was not for a hungry soul like meä.
The laädies found me fro' home,
And left it me unawares;
I keeäp it wropped up till they come.
By the words on the coover howtside I could seä
It was not for a hungry soul like meä.
Mind the knots round the boök,
It's reytherly queerly done,
And hankercher's owd; now look
At the naäme, “A Chaäsing the Sun!”
Did you ivver see loikes o' the soort afoar,
For a trak to be lent fro' door to door?
It's reytherly queerly done,
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At the naäme, “A Chaäsing the Sun!”
Did you ivver see loikes o' the soort afoar,
For a trak to be lent fro' door to door?
“Chaäsing the Sun,”—as I reäd,
I shaäkes to menshun the word!
“Chaäsing the Sun,” i'deeäd,
The sun belongs to the Lord
They'll find if they chaäses it fast or slow
That God Omighty will let 'em know!
I shaäkes to menshun the word!
“Chaäsing the Sun,” i'deeäd,
The sun belongs to the Lord
They'll find if they chaäses it fast or slow
That God Omighty will let 'em know!
Noa, noa, I'm fond of a trak,
But the Devil he mebbe can write
And shuffle his oän i' a pack
That's hotherwise Christian quite.
But the laädies, I reckon, is much to blaäme
For leaving yon trak wi' a terrible naäme.
But the Devil he mebbe can write
And shuffle his oän i' a pack
That's hotherwise Christian quite.
But the laädies, I reckon, is much to blaäme
For leaving yon trak wi' a terrible naäme.
116
DEATH THE BEFRIENDER.
A Ballad of the People's Palace.
“Rabbi Jehudah hath said,
The Messiah which was for to come
Is with us, but waits to be known,
Hid in His mother's home
Till the sown appear unsown,
And the travailing earth is afraid.
The Messiah which was for to come
Is with us, but waits to be known,
Hid in His mother's home
Till the sown appear unsown,
And the travailing earth is afraid.
“Hath not the prophet written
That the great Prince—He who shall stand
For the people—cannot arise
Till trouble perplex the land,
And the world be full of cries,
And the powers of Heaven be smitten?
That the great Prince—He who shall stand
For the people—cannot arise
Till trouble perplex the land,
And the world be full of cries,
And the powers of Heaven be smitten?
“Did not the Carpenter's Son
Tell the beginnings of sorrow
Before the Day of the Lord,
New wars heard on the morrow,
Earthquake, famine, and sword,
And Love as cold as a stone?
Tell the beginnings of sorrow
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New wars heard on the morrow,
Earthquake, famine, and sword,
And Love as cold as a stone?
“Yea, the earth has quaked, like a moon
The day-star glimmers o'erhead,
And suns! men make them for night,
The murderers hack the dead,
The streets flame fiercely alight,
The Messiah must sure come soon!
The day-star glimmers o'erhead,
And suns! men make them for night,
The murderers hack the dead,
The streets flame fiercely alight,
The Messiah must sure come soon!
“Hath not one sign been seen,
How the wells are stopped and dry—
Wells of the heart of pity—
Here where our children ply
Their needles, and curse the city
That swears by the Nazarene?
How the wells are stopped and dry—
Wells of the heart of pity—
Here where our children ply
Their needles, and curse the city
That swears by the Nazarene?
“Age stands in the presence of prime,
The son dishonours the sire,
True wisdom is gall and hate,
The poor who wander for hire
Find none compassionate.
This most betokens the time.”
The son dishonours the sire,
True wisdom is gall and hate,
The poor who wander for hire
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This most betokens the time.”
So half in wrath and half in grief
Old Moses muttered at my side,—
I bound on errand of relief,
He busy with the wares he cried.
Old Moses muttered at my side,—
I bound on errand of relief,
He busy with the wares he cried.
With hopeless eyes and jaded face
The weary hundreds passed and passed;
Some found last night no sleeping place,
And some to-day would seek their last.
The weary hundreds passed and passed;
Some found last night no sleeping place,
And some to-day would seek their last.
Down the long miles of loveless street
The dismal houses stared forlorn,
A hay cart rolling by breathed sweet,—
All else was sickly London morn.
The dismal houses stared forlorn,
A hay cart rolling by breathed sweet,—
All else was sickly London morn.
Now here, now there, with gleaming cross,
High lifted o'er the flock unfed,
A towery temple seemed to toss
Its passionless defiant head.
High lifted o'er the flock unfed,
A towery temple seemed to toss
Its passionless defiant head.
Then on our left with purple dome,
With ample stair and wide-roofed hall,
The poorest people's Palace-home
Sprang up, with looks of love for all.
With ample stair and wide-roofed hall,
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Sprang up, with looks of love for all.
Slow entering in the royal place,
Where sits the Queen above the door,
One went with sorrow on his face,
And pain and patience, wan and poor.
Where sits the Queen above the door,
One went with sorrow on his face,
And pain and patience, wan and poor.
His hairs were white, but not with sin,
In decent black the man was dressed,
But, ah! his coat, thread-worn and thin,
Hung loose about a withered breast.
In decent black the man was dressed,
But, ah! his coat, thread-worn and thin,
Hung loose about a withered breast.
Too proud he seemed for such a plight,
But hunger glittered in his eyes,
Where caverned deep, I saw the light
That burns before the last lamp dies.
But hunger glittered in his eyes,
Where caverned deep, I saw the light
That burns before the last lamp dies.
I asked his state and whence he came:
“I once had friends,” he made reply,
“On Lincoln's wold they know my name,
I could not beg, but I can die.
“I once had friends,” he made reply,
“On Lincoln's wold they know my name,
I could not beg, but I can die.
“My wife beside our child was laid,
I dared not pass the churchyard gate,
My door was locked, my last debt paid,
I wandered off disconsolate.
I dared not pass the churchyard gate,
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I wandered off disconsolate.
“I left the golden breadths of corn,
The whirling mills, the fruitful fen,
They loved me well where I was born,
None knew me in this maze of men.
The whirling mills, the fruitful fen,
They loved me well where I was born,
None knew me in this maze of men.
“I craved employ, with no avail,”—
And here his voice grew hoarse and low,—
“They looked me o'er, they heard my tale,
They bade me to the workhouse go.
And here his voice grew hoarse and low,—
“They looked me o'er, they heard my tale,
They bade me to the workhouse go.
“I asked it not—one gave me bread,
A pictured paper wrapped it round;
There of the People's Hall I read,
And hither faint my way was found.
A pictured paper wrapped it round;
There of the People's Hall I read,
And hither faint my way was found.
“Oh, bitter quest, to prove in vain!
Books feed, but are not body's food!
But now, well past my hunger's pain,
The right of resting here is good.
Books feed, but are not body's food!
But now, well past my hunger's pain,
The right of resting here is good.
“This gorgeous roof of royal span,
This golden gallery's purple dome,
At least have made a dying man
Feel love has still on earth a home.”
This golden gallery's purple dome,
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Feel love has still on earth a home.”
He spake, and swooning smote the floor,
His face showed where his soul had flown;
Dead, in the Palace of the Poor,
In Christian England's wealthiest town!
His face showed where his soul had flown;
Dead, in the Palace of the Poor,
In Christian England's wealthiest town!
Then half in wrath and half in grief
Old Moses muttered at my side—
“The poorest poor shall find relief,
Messiah can no longer hide!”
Old Moses muttered at my side—
“The poorest poor shall find relief,
Messiah can no longer hide!”
“A little before 2 o'clock on the afternoon of Wednesday the 17th, a poorly but respectably dressed old man, cleanly in appearance, and with well blacked shoes, staggered into the premises of the People's Palace, dying of starvation. Too weak to coherently explain his condition, he was led into the office, and supplied by the clerks there in attendance with a basin of soup and some bread, which, however, his famished stomach refused to retain for a moment. He was then placed in a cab and conveyed to the London Hospital, where he lingered for about an hour and died, the coroner's jury subsequently returning a verdict of ‘Death from starvation.’”—The Times, Oct. 27, 1888. Subsequent inquiry elicited the fact that he was a Lincolnshire man, a widower, who had left his home for London in search of work, and had failed to find it.
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OLD TIMES.
I'se nobbut a middlinish creatur to-daäy, but how's thysen?
Straänge sight o' paäins in my back—now, Betsy, a cheëir fur the gent.
Coomed abowt Witches, hev ya? Tha mun knaw, when they dreäined the fen
A deal o' years sin' I can mind, the Witches and Jinny Wisps went.
Straänge sight o' paäins in my back—now, Betsy, a cheëir fur the gent.
Coomed abowt Witches, hev ya? Tha mun knaw, when they dreäined the fen
A deal o' years sin' I can mind, the Witches and Jinny Wisps went.
Not but what I wur glad, sewer-loy, that the Witches shud goä,
Fur I do beleäve owd Saätan was a'back of the whoale live lot.
But fwoaks i' them daäys was hoffens quoite turned, they wur frightened soä,
And now they goä scamperin' clear into hell reight lathery hot.
Fur I do beleäve owd Saätan was a'back of the whoale live lot.
But fwoaks i' them daäys was hoffens quoite turned, they wur frightened soä,
And now they goä scamperin' clear into hell reight lathery hot.
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Theer was Harniss, the postin' boy, who nivver went near noä plaäce,
'E seeäd a corp-light burn, and it did 'im a sight o' good.
Our parson's man met a Witch or a Jinny Wisp faäce to faäce,
And 'e took to preaächin', 'e did, in the chapel down by the wood.
'E seeäd a corp-light burn, and it did 'im a sight o' good.
Our parson's man met a Witch or a Jinny Wisp faäce to faäce,
And 'e took to preaächin', 'e did, in the chapel down by the wood.
Yeës, odd uns wur good i' them daäys, they wasn't all solidly bad,
Tha knaws, if theer wasn't noäne good, the world wud coom to a hend,
And a few on 'em went oop o' Sunday, when my owd man wur a lad,
But they maäde sad work in God's House i' them toimes they cudn't intend—
Tha knaws, if theer wasn't noäne good, the world wud coom to a hend,
And a few on 'em went oop o' Sunday, when my owd man wur a lad,
But they maäde sad work in God's House i' them toimes they cudn't intend—
Didn't knaw better, poor things; why, I've seen my oän sen i' the choorch
Happles, and peärs, and taätes skelped down by the chanshel-wall,
Wool i' the gallery gethered, and lambs penned oop i' the poorch,
And milk teeämed owt 'i big tins, and the parson along ov it all.
Happles, and peärs, and taätes skelped down by the chanshel-wall,
Wool i' the gallery gethered, and lambs penned oop i' the poorch,
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Naäy, I can't saäy what they meant by theer dooment, they called it tithes.
We wur all of us poor i' them toimes—not a fardin' to spend at the fairs.
Cooäls? theer wasn't noä cooäls, we baäked upo' peeät and dithes —
Cow-cassons roälled i' the sun and cutten i' nishtish squares.
We wur all of us poor i' them toimes—not a fardin' to spend at the fairs.
Cooäls? theer wasn't noä cooäls, we baäked upo' peeät and dithes —
Cow-cassons roälled i' the sun and cutten i' nishtish squares.
I' harvest men addled a shillin', but flour was six a stoäne,
Nivver yeät wheäten breäd 'cep' o' one daäy howt o' the seven:
Teä—it was not fur bairns, and we got neäther flesh nor boäne—
Squire's dinner o' Christmas daäy, was omoast like gooin to Heaven!
Nivver yeät wheäten breäd 'cep' o' one daäy howt o' the seven:
Teä—it was not fur bairns, and we got neäther flesh nor boäne—
Squire's dinner o' Christmas daäy, was omoast like gooin to Heaven!
But then, theer wur cows and commons! we hed milk to howr barley breäd.
Best part of the fens wur i' watter, and a deal o' wheät wasn't sown.
A reg'lar “Yaller-Belly” was my owd man as is deäd,
And he knawed, and I knawed when two haäcres o' wheät sarved Henderby Town.
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A reg'lar “Yaller-Belly” was my owd man as is deäd,
And he knawed, and I knawed when two haäcres o' wheät sarved Henderby Town.
Commons? Yees, then theer wur commons, and waäste reight hoäver the wold.
Roots wur nowt, it wur rabbits, and menny a man i' the shire
Began low down upo' rabbits, and chaänged fro' silver to gold,
As but fur theer grey owd jackets 'ud nivver hev got noä 'igher.
Roots wur nowt, it wur rabbits, and menny a man i' the shire
Began low down upo' rabbits, and chaänged fro' silver to gold,
As but fur theer grey owd jackets 'ud nivver hev got noä 'igher.
But the poor got shotten like dogs! Oop theer o' Barrington Hill
They found a skeletin man with a hoäl i' his heäd, they saäy.
Fwoaks didn't knaw, but I knawed he'd gotten a leaden pill
Like scoors, along o' the rabbits; they sarved the poächers that waäy.
They found a skeletin man with a hoäl i' his heäd, they saäy.
Fwoaks didn't knaw, but I knawed he'd gotten a leaden pill
Like scoors, along o' the rabbits; they sarved the poächers that waäy.
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Shot'im, and happed 'im oop; theer wasn't no paäpers then
To fuss; whoy, howr paäper was nowt but a feller as reightled the clocks,
Picked oop news as he went, and added a deäl hissen—
And mebbe his oän wur the best as fell from his chatterin' box.
To fuss; whoy, howr paäper was nowt but a feller as reightled the clocks,
Picked oop news as he went, and added a deäl hissen—
And mebbe his oän wur the best as fell from his chatterin' box.
Eh, luvvy! them toimes is chaänged—theer's nivver no gibbets now!
I can mind at Saucetripp Cross the last as they hing'd i' the chaäins,
And his poor owd feyther an' all as wur forced to foller the plow
I' the fieälds cloäs by, and the craws a-pickin' his oän son's braäins!
I can mind at Saucetripp Cross the last as they hing'd i' the chaäins,
And his poor owd feyther an' all as wur forced to foller the plow
I' the fieälds cloäs by, and the craws a-pickin' his oän son's braäins!
Theer's a deal o' talk oop o' the Sessions, o' taäkin' a 'aäpoth o' threäd,
Whoy stealin' 'ed used to be summat, but now theer's noäbody steäls!
A nichst fat yowe wur temptin' when the bairns were pinin' fur breäd,
Lor! fwoaks knaws nowt o' temptation as can look reight thruff to theer meäls.
Whoy stealin' 'ed used to be summat, but now theer's noäbody steäls!
A nichst fat yowe wur temptin' when the bairns were pinin' fur breäd,
Lor! fwoaks knaws nowt o' temptation as can look reight thruff to theer meäls.
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It wasn't not oänly theer bellies wur pinched, theer backs wur cold,
And loike enuff poor things, fur the oänly stuff they cud git
Was the wool they cud scrat together, fro' the sheep walks oop o' the wold—
I hev spun a quarter myssen ov a night when the rushes wur lit.
And loike enuff poor things, fur the oänly stuff they cud git
Was the wool they cud scrat together, fro' the sheep walks oop o' the wold—
I hev spun a quarter myssen ov a night when the rushes wur lit.
But the poorest wur cleän i' them daäys, new fangledy ribbins wur dear,
We dressed oop o' winseys then, cleän kerchiefs and brats and smocks;
Nivver noa dallackments then but stuff as ud wesh and weear,
And nivver a gell but larned to whiten the Sunday frocks.
We dressed oop o' winseys then, cleän kerchiefs and brats and smocks;
Nivver noa dallackments then but stuff as ud wesh and weear,
And nivver a gell but larned to whiten the Sunday frocks.
Nat'ral sooäp we used, fur a “Linken Bar” cost a deäl,
It lathered like owt and rembled the clat and the spots o' greeäse,
We wur cleän fur sewerness i' them daäys, tho' hoffens we wanted a meäl,
And were proud as a mouse amoast ov a bit o' hoammaäde cheeäse.
It lathered like owt and rembled the clat and the spots o' greeäse,
We wur cleän fur sewerness i' them daäys, tho' hoffens we wanted a meäl,
And were proud as a mouse amoast ov a bit o' hoammaäde cheeäse.
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Homespun? Yeës, yeës, i' them daäys, and now not a wheeäl to be seeän;
But, lor! if I hed a hemp-bunch I could still mebbe draw owt a line,
For we maäde owr oän aprons and sheeäts and bleeäched them milk-white i' the greeän,
Wattered and sunned them well, and the webs the finest o' fine.
But, lor! if I hed a hemp-bunch I could still mebbe draw owt a line,
For we maäde owr oän aprons and sheeäts and bleeäched them milk-white i' the greeän,
Wattered and sunned them well, and the webs the finest o' fine.
Tha knaw'st what it saäys i' the Word 'bowt Saätan a-rooärin' round,
And “mischief fur idle hands”; th' owd feller must haäte the spinnin';
Fur when lasses wur saäfe at hoäme, and twistin' theer quarter o' pound,
Theer was nowt o' nonsense at nights, noä time ya may saay fur sinnin'.
And “mischief fur idle hands”; th' owd feller must haäte the spinnin';
Fur when lasses wur saäfe at hoäme, and twistin' theer quarter o' pound,
Theer was nowt o' nonsense at nights, noä time ya may saay fur sinnin'.
But fur all that we hungered and scratted from light to the dark i' them daäys,
Theer wur fiddles and heëls and toäs i' the barn, when the barley wur got;
And the “Plough-Jags”
called o' Plough Munday, and we laughed fit to brost at theer plaäys,
And the queeär “Moddish Dancers” at Yule got caäkes and brown aäle spiced hot.
Theer wur fiddles and heëls and toäs i' the barn, when the barley wur got;
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And the queeär “Moddish Dancers” at Yule got caäkes and brown aäle spiced hot.
But I've gotten a fit o' the gab, my dear, thou must 'scuse an owd tongue,
Fur an owd tongue 's nowt to doä but to clack o' the times gone past;
I was minded to tell o' the witches and wizards when I wur young,
Thou must call, and must set meä on witches ageän and howd meä fast.
Fur an owd tongue 's nowt to doä but to clack o' the times gone past;
I was minded to tell o' the witches and wizards when I wur young,
Thou must call, and must set meä on witches ageän and howd meä fast.
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LINCOLNSHIRE WITCHES
I'm not of the sort as is feared o' crossin' the choorch-yard o' nights,The man with his heäd off his showders he nivver gev' meä the frights.
I've gethered star-shot i' the fieälds, but I doan't think it fell fro' the skies,
And as fur them “fairy-rings,” it's all a parshel o' lies.
But I'll 'low that I moästlins 'ull burn the hegg-shell I've 'ed to my teä,
To prevent them howry owd witches fro' crossin' the Mablethorpe seä—
Fur tha knoäs theer wur witches of old i' the Bible, and divvils an' all,
And our parson 'e's allus a-preeächin' we ain't gotten shut o' the “Fall.”
Fwoaks talks abowt vervein and dill, and pins putten hunder the floor,
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I 'member our maister's owd “gaffman,”—it's gone upo' seventy year—
They wur takkin' threeä hay-loaden waggins, the Scrembleby witch wur theer,
And she crossed the rooäd wi' her stick, and two o' them waggins fell,
But the “gaffman” druv reight forrart, and the witch—soä I've heärd tell—
Wur all of a dither, and shak', and she skirled out fit to be mad,
“The divvil shall goä with the man as goäs wi' the wicken gad.”
Whoy didn't we clam the witches? they cud nivver be hodden by noä man—
Fur a witch wud chaänge to a hare, and back ageän into a woman.
My feyther wonst watched fur my laädy, and set on his owd splayed bitch,
And just as sheä popped i' the cat-hole, dog clammed the Scrembleby Witch,
Teäred a pieäce owt' 'ner an' all; when they commed to her cottage door
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Tha mun knaw, if tha nobbut draws blood fro' a witch the witches is done.
My bruther wonst scrawmed an owd witch—ay, 'e's deäd these forty year gone—
'E was amblin' one night fro' the fair, and she joomped on 'is 'erse's back,
'E 'ad gotten a reeäp hook i' hand, and 'e fetched the owd critter a whack,
And theer i' the morn o' the pillion wur blood, and blood i' the rooäd;
'E wur nivver disturbed no moor by the witch when he venter'd abrooäd.
Till we got clear shut o' the witches, the country was all of a tew,
Theer wur nivver no sureness i' baäkin, and hoffens we lost the brew,
And the wizard's wud cockle the barley, and the witches wud smut the coärn,
And blaämt if they wudn't wish ill to the babbies afore they wur boärn.
Theer wur toimes when the cows i' good milkin' wi' plenty o' gress 'ud goä dry,
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We'd a gell o' the farm as wur witched, and she got quoite disgraäced wi' a wen,
And it wudn't not stirr thoff she went to the gallus and touched threeä men—
And the touch of a man that is hinged is as good as a king's, they saäy.
Eh, the witches wur bad sewer-ly, but the “wise uns” wur wuss ony daäy,
Fur the “wise uns,” my dear, cud wish tha, and fetch tha fro' far awaäy.
My owd man used to tell he was kiddin' o' furze upo' Hagnaby Hill,
'E wur wished, and coom reightlins hoff, and noä time to get “mittens” nor “bill,”
But he fun hissen down at the Bull, and the “wise man” gawmin' theer,
And fixed he wur all ov a moäment, and cudn't ha' rembled 'is cheëir,
Noä, not fur a thousand pounds, and the fire got scorchin' his kneeäs;
“Sit furder, tha fool,” groomped the “wise un,” and my maister sed “Yeës, if you pleeäse.”
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Fur one they called Stainton o' Louath, he telled where they fun' a man deäd;
And but fur owd Cossit to 'vise us when Bessie with kingcough took ill,
Wes hud nivver ha' knawed o' the vally o' sow-beetles took fur a pill.
Eh, luvvy! I moind it as clearly as if it wur nobbut to-weeäk,
How I went when our threeä hogs wur stoälen fur all they 'ed gitten owr streeäk;
And the “wise man” he grooäned i' the sperit, his chimly was all of a rooär,
We sattled i' terms, and I bid 'im threeä pound, thoff he axed fur moore.
Then he showed meä the feller as stoäle 'em, and he gev me a hetherd-stoän charm,
And be hangt if it wasn't our neahbour who wukked on the next dooär farm!
Od blaäm 'im; we nivver sed nowt, but the “wise man” 'e put on 'is back
A curse fur a thousand years, till Saätan hes gotten the sack.
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He wud snort like a herse round his paster, and wud plunge and gallop it hard;
Noä dowt it wur 'long o' the “wise un,” for wizards is under a curse,
They feeäl that th' owd feller has got 'em, and they luvvs to seeä other fwoaks wurse.
But the last o' the “wise uns” as died, he sent fur the parson, I red
I' the paäpers, “I've lived a wise man, and I's dyin' a fool, sir!” he sed.
Fwoaks saäy that it's dreäinin' as druv 'em, but I saäy it's along o' God's graäce,
And the nasty owd things isn't hended, they nobbut hev chaänged theer plaäce.
Fur my grand-daughter's gell, i' her missiony booäk, was a-reädin' to meä,
They're a sight o' tormentaätion to the blackamoors hoäver the seä.
Well, the Lord knaws his oän, and the divvil will cling to his oän to the last,
But I'm solidly Christian-glad that the toimes of the witches is past.
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DANIEL PERITON.
A Ballad of the Conemaugh Flood.
The windows of Heaven were open wide,
The storm cloud broke, and the people cried
Will Conemaugh dam hold out?
But the great folks down at Johnstown played,
They ate, they drank, they were nought afraid,
For Conemaugh dam holds Conemaugh lake,
By Conemaugh dam their pleasure they take,
Fine catching are Conemaugh trout.
The storm cloud broke, and the people cried
Will Conemaugh dam hold out?
But the great folks down at Johnstown played,
They ate, they drank, they were nought afraid,
For Conemaugh dam holds Conemaugh lake,
By Conemaugh dam their pleasure they take,
Fine catching are Conemaugh trout.
The four mile lake at the back of its wall
Is growing to five, and the rains still fall,
And the flood by night and by day
Is burrowing deep thro' buttress and mound,
Fresh waters spring and spurt from the ground;
While God is thundering out of His cloud
The fountain voices are crying aloud,
Away to the hills! away!
Is growing to five, and the rains still fall,
And the flood by night and by day
Is burrowing deep thro' buttress and mound,
Fresh waters spring and spurt from the ground;
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The fountain voices are crying aloud,
Away to the hills! away!
Away to the hills! leave altar and shrine,
Away to the hills! leave table and wine,
Away from your trade and your tills;
Let the strong man speed with the weakest child,
And the mother who just on her babe has smiled
Be carried, leave only the dead on their biers,
No time for the tomb, and no time for tears;
Away, away to the hills!
Away to the hills! leave table and wine,
Away from your trade and your tills;
Let the strong man speed with the weakest child,
And the mother who just on her babe has smiled
Be carried, leave only the dead on their biers,
No time for the tomb, and no time for tears;
Away, away to the hills!
Daniel Periton heard the wail
Of the waters gathering over the vale,
With sorrow for city and field,—
Felt already the mountain quake
'Twixt living and dead. For the brethren's sake
Daniel Periton dared to ride
Full in front of the threatening tide,
And what if the dam do yield?
Of the waters gathering over the vale,
With sorrow for city and field,—
Felt already the mountain quake
'Twixt living and dead. For the brethren's sake
Daniel Periton dared to ride
Full in front of the threatening tide,
And what if the dam do yield?
To a man it is given but once to die,
Though the flood break forth he will raise his cry
For the thousands there in the town.
At least some child may be saved by his voice,
Some lover may still in the sun rejoice,
Some man that has fled, when he wins his breath,
Shall bless the rider who rode thro' Death,
For his fellows' life gave his own.
Though the flood break forth he will raise his cry
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At least some child may be saved by his voice,
Some lover may still in the sun rejoice,
Some man that has fled, when he wins his breath,
Shall bless the rider who rode thro' Death,
For his fellows' life gave his own.
He leapt to his horse that was black as night,
He turned not left and he turned not right,
Down to the valley he dashed;
He heard behind him a thunderous boom,
The dam had burst and he knew his doom;
“Fly, fly for your lives!” it was all he spoke,
“Fly, fly, for the Conemaugh dam has broke!”
And the cataract after him crashed.
He turned not left and he turned not right,
Down to the valley he dashed;
He heard behind him a thunderous boom,
The dam had burst and he knew his doom;
“Fly, fly for your lives!” it was all he spoke,
“Fly, fly, for the Conemaugh dam has broke!”
And the cataract after him crashed.
They saw a man with the God in his face,
Pale from the desperate whirlwind pace,
They heard an angel cry.
And the steed's black mane was flecked as he flew,
And its flanks were red with the spur's red dew,
Into the city and out of the gate,
Rider and ridden were racing with fate,
Wild with one agony.
Pale from the desperate whirlwind pace,
They heard an angel cry.
And the steed's black mane was flecked as he flew,
And its flanks were red with the spur's red dew,
Into the city and out of the gate,
Rider and ridden were racing with fate,
Wild with one agony.
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“Flash on the news that the dam has burst,”
And one looked forth, and she knew the worst,
“My last message!” she said.
The words at her will flashed on before
Periton's call and the torrent's roar:
And not in vain had Periton cried,
His heart had caught a brave heart to his side,
As bold for the saving he sped.
And one looked forth, and she knew the worst,
“My last message!” she said.
The words at her will flashed on before
Periton's call and the torrent's roar:
And not in vain had Periton cried,
His heart had caught a brave heart to his side,
As bold for the saving he sped.
The flood came down and its strong arms took
The city, and all together shook,
Tower and church and street.
Like a pack of cards that a player may crush,
The houses fell in the whirlpool rush,
Rose and floated and jammed at the last,
Then a fierce flame fed by the deluge blast
Wove them a winding sheet.
The city, and all together shook,
Tower and church and street.
Like a pack of cards that a player may crush,
The houses fell in the whirlpool rush,
Rose and floated and jammed at the last,
Then a fierce flame fed by the deluge blast
Wove them a winding sheet.
God have mercy! was ever a pyre
Lit like that of the flood's fierce fire!
Cattle and men caught fast,
Prisoners held between life and death,
While the flame struck down with its sulphurous breath,
And the flood struck up with its strong cold hand,
No hope from the water, no help from the land,
And the torrent thundering past!
Lit like that of the flood's fierce fire!
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Prisoners held between life and death,
While the flame struck down with its sulphurous breath,
And the flood struck up with its strong cold hand,
No hope from the water, no help from the land,
And the torrent thundering past!
Daniel Periton, still he rides,
By the heaving flank and the shortening strides,
The race must be well-nigh won.
“Away to the hills!” but the cataract's bound
Has caught and has dashed him from saddle to ground,—
And the man who saw the end of the race,
Saw a dark dead horse, and a pale dead face.
Did they hear Heaven's great “Well done?”
By the heaving flank and the shortening strides,
The race must be well-nigh won.
“Away to the hills!” but the cataract's bound
Has caught and has dashed him from saddle to ground,—
And the man who saw the end of the race,
Saw a dark dead horse, and a pale dead face.
Did they hear Heaven's great “Well done?”
Daniel Periton is believed to have seen the first signs of the breaking of the Conemaugh dam. He took horse and dashed madly down in front of the certain deluge-wave, into and through Johnstown, crying, “To the hills, to the hills!”
He was overwhelmed by the oncoming flood, and perished in an heroic attempt to warn his fellow-townsmen of their peril.
Miss Ogle, a telegraph clerk, saw the waters coming down one the town, and died at her post. “This is my last message” —so ran her telegram—but the message was unfinished, the waters overwhelmed her.
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THE WIDOWER FROM LATRIGG.
When last I stood on Latrigg's brow,
'Twas thirty years agone,
But clear can I remember how
The lake and valley shone.
'Twas thirty years agone,
But clear can I remember how
The lake and valley shone.
Then one was standing at my side,
“Has Heaven,” she said, “more grace?
Can God indeed of bounty hide
A lovelier resting place?”
“Has Heaven,” she said, “more grace?
Can God indeed of bounty hide
A lovelier resting place?”
Tears have been mine, and want, and pain,
And death has come between,
But like sweet sun thro' April rain
I still behold that scene.
And death has come between,
But like sweet sun thro' April rain
I still behold that scene.
Far Borrowdale is all as blue,
Helvellyn lies as brown,
As silver coils the Greta thro'
The meadows by the town.
Helvellyn lies as brown,
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The meadows by the town.
Yon pale white flood at Skiddaw's feet
So gleamed—about his knees
Rose valley incense just as sweet
From fields as glad as these.
So gleamed—about his knees
Rose valley incense just as sweet
From fields as glad as these.
Their rubies out the larches hang,
As rich their tresses glow;
You heard that bird? no merrier sang
The thirty years ago.
As rich their tresses glow;
You heard that bird? no merrier sang
The thirty years ago.
How sad and soft the river calls!
How hums the town beneath!
And never yet on Walla's walls
Did spring more gently breathe.
How hums the town beneath!
And never yet on Walla's walls
Did spring more gently breathe.
Still with its island home of prayer
Close bosomed, lies the lake,
Ageless with youth no years will wear,
In calm no storm can break.
Close bosomed, lies the lake,
Ageless with youth no years will wear,
In calm no storm can break.
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Yet as I gaze, one little spot
In this vast changelessness
Seems lovelier, one remembered plot
Is changed, but changed to bless.
In this vast changelessness
Seems lovelier, one remembered plot
Is changed, but changed to bless.
The old church tower on yonder mound
Shines white, as then it shone;
There one I love is sleeping sound,
And I am here alone.
Shines white, as then it shone;
There one I love is sleeping sound,
And I am here alone.
Dear voice, send answer up the steep,
“Has Heaven indeed more grace,
Does God of His compassion keep
A lovelier resting place?”
“Has Heaven indeed more grace,
Does God of His compassion keep
A lovelier resting place?”
144
THE BALLAD OF ROSEMARIE; OR, THE WHITE COCKADE.
Christmas is here, and Christ is King!
No need to rhyme of Belted-Will,
Nor Clym o' the Clough I care to sing,
The Robin Hood of Penrith Hill;—
I tell how helplessness has power
More sure to guard than moat or tower.
No need to rhyme of Belted-Will,
Nor Clym o' the Clough I care to sing,
The Robin Hood of Penrith Hill;—
I tell how helplessness has power
More sure to guard than moat or tower.
Red are the roses by the tower
That looks rose-red on Caldew's tide,
But fallen and frayed the milk-white flower—
Gaunt Warwick's badge of battle pride,—
Yet Rose, one blossom cannot fade
Thy knightly flower, the White Cockade!
That looks rose-red on Caldew's tide,
But fallen and frayed the milk-white flower—
Gaunt Warwick's badge of battle pride,—
Yet Rose, one blossom cannot fade
Thy knightly flower, the White Cockade!
It chanced on a November's day
The cruel northern winds did blow,
And darkly Caldew swept away
From Carrock muffled white with snow,
A bitter wind from over Forth
Brought news of rebels from the north.
The cruel northern winds did blow,
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From Carrock muffled white with snow,
A bitter wind from over Forth
Brought news of rebels from the north.
The sun on Carlisle's walls may shine,
'Tis set for hearts of loyal blood,
For brave Prince Charlie quaffs the wine
Where for his king stout Dacre stood,
And Carlisle's burgher sons must flee,
Or sing “neck-verse” at Harrabee.
'Tis set for hearts of loyal blood,
For brave Prince Charlie quaffs the wine
Where for his king stout Dacre stood,
And Carlisle's burgher sons must flee,
Or sing “neck-verse” at Harrabee.
Oh! better had the ship that sailed
With those seven rebels drunk the seas,
And better had the pibroch wailed
For Death to dance in Hebrides,
Than that old Carlisle's walls should ring
With shouts of “Bonnie Charlie's King.”
With those seven rebels drunk the seas,
And better had the pibroch wailed
For Death to dance in Hebrides,
Than that old Carlisle's walls should ring
With shouts of “Bonnie Charlie's King.”
But one is in the castleyard
Who hears no screel of pipe nor song,
He paces moody 'twixt his guard,
And deems the night is all too long.
This night, God knows, his good wife lies
In her first mother's agonies.
Who hears no screel of pipe nor song,
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And deems the night is all too long.
This night, God knows, his good wife lies
In her first mother's agonies.
Quoth Dacre:—“By our Lady, sire,
Whose rose adorns old Halton's gate,
Grant me a boon!—my heart's desire—
My lady lies disconsolate,
And is it meet when babes are born
The mother should be left forlorn?”
Whose rose adorns old Halton's gate,
Grant me a boon!—my heart's desire—
My lady lies disconsolate,
And is it meet when babes are born
The mother should be left forlorn?”
Prince Charlie laughed a laugh and said,
“Let ring-doves coo, but men of war
Who wear the bonnet and the plaid
Leave dreams of wives and babes afar;
When James the Third has won his claim
Shall Dacre go to tend his dame!”
“Let ring-doves coo, but men of war
Who wear the bonnet and the plaid
Leave dreams of wives and babes afar;
When James the Third has won his claim
Shall Dacre go to tend his dame!”
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Morn broke—and Criffel o'er the flood
Frowned upon Skiddaw, veiled in cloud,
The eastern heavens were wet with blood,
And Crossfell's fiends were howling loud,
By Dalston tower, with never a gleam
Of light, ran dreary Caldew's stream.
Frowned upon Skiddaw, veiled in cloud,
The eastern heavens were wet with blood,
And Crossfell's fiends were howling loud,
By Dalston tower, with never a gleam
Of light, ran dreary Caldew's stream.
All night the country-side had seen
The blaze in heaven of farmyard fires,
The geese are gathered from the green,
The sheep are folded in the byres,
And doors of church and pele are barred,
For Cumbria's yoeman-sons die hard.
The blaze in heaven of farmyard fires,
The geese are gathered from the green,
The sheep are folded in the byres,
And doors of church and pele are barred,
For Cumbria's yoeman-sons die hard.
A cry! the rebels come! they come
With bonnets blue and bare of knee,
But with no sound of pipe nor drum,
Pride of Glenfinnan's chivalry,
And at their head with naked blade
Rides one who wears the white cockade.
With bonnets blue and bare of knee,
But with no sound of pipe nor drum,
Pride of Glenfinnan's chivalry,
And at their head with naked blade
Rides one who wears the white cockade.
148
“Now Dalston loons,” Macdonald cries,
“We have no quarrel, friends, with you,
But tell us where Rose Castle lies,
And at your peril tell us true.
Your Baron Bishop in his hold,
He dines from silver, drinks from gold.
“We have no quarrel, friends, with you,
But tell us where Rose Castle lies,
And at your peril tell us true.
Your Baron Bishop in his hold,
He dines from silver, drinks from gold.
“Your Bishop's horses fill the stall,
He has good store of buckled shoon,
We scarce for lack of such can crawl
Your English roads to pibroch tune—
No man need fear, no maid need flee,
But shod our Highland lads must be.
He has good store of buckled shoon,
We scarce for lack of such can crawl
Your English roads to pibroch tune—
No man need fear, no maid need flee,
But shod our Highland lads must be.
“Nor dread for your great lord, we care
For those our God anoints, too much,
We will not hurt a single hair,
His books and “shaws” we will not touch;
Yea, if the Rosemary were out,
We would not pluck a single sprout.”
For those our God anoints, too much,
We will not hurt a single hair,
His books and “shaws” we will not touch;
Yea, if the Rosemary were out,
We would not pluck a single sprout.”
Then spake a voice, thick doors behind,
“The time for Rosemary is past,
But if you chance a sprig to find,
Unharmed by this November blast,
Swear you will come as now you go,
And I the way to Rose will show.”
“The time for Rosemary is past,
149
Unharmed by this November blast,
Swear you will come as now you go,
And I the way to Rose will show.”
“Ay! that will I right gladly swear,
For Rosemary is out of time,
And Rosemary or not, no hair
Shall cry for vengeance on our crime;
But horse and shoon we needs must take
All for the Lord's anointed sake.”
For Rosemary is out of time,
And Rosemary or not, no hair
Shall cry for vengeance on our crime;
But horse and shoon we needs must take
All for the Lord's anointed sake.”
Then through the fields, Macdonald's men
Moved merry with their yeoman guide;
They had no thought of Athol's glen
When Caldew glittered at their side,
And soon beneath its sheltering wood
The “Castle Rose” before them stood.
Moved merry with their yeoman guide;
They had no thought of Athol's glen
When Caldew glittered at their side,
And soon beneath its sheltering wood
The “Castle Rose” before them stood.
Flanked by the tower that Strickland planned,
High lifted o'er its terraced moat,
Macdonald bade his trooper band,
Its simple strength and beauty note,
And paused their captain's word to wait.
Then challengeless they passed the gate,
High lifted o'er its terraced moat,
Macdonald bade his trooper band,
Its simple strength and beauty note,
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Then challengeless they passed the gate,
Macdonald's broadsword on the door
Made noise, the rookery rose in air,
Came hurried steps across the floor,
And voices whispered from the stair:
“God's mercy!” cried the serving man,
And backward to the Hall he ran.
Made noise, the rookery rose in air,
Came hurried steps across the floor,
And voices whispered from the stair:
“God's mercy!” cried the serving man,
And backward to the Hall he ran.
Then grave, but white with wild alarm,
An aged serving maid stepped out,
“Ye cannot mean a woman harm,
My lady must not hear this rout,
She is delivered in this hour
Of babe that is of babes the flower!
An aged serving maid stepped out,
“Ye cannot mean a woman harm,
My lady must not hear this rout,
She is delivered in this hour
Of babe that is of babes the flower!
“Keep silence friends and follow me,
The roast is ready in the Hall,
There eat and drink and welcome be,
But let her hear no foot to fall,
For if she may not sleep to-day,
Her gentle life will pass away.”
The roast is ready in the Hall,
There eat and drink and welcome be,
But let her hear no foot to fall,
For if she may not sleep to-day,
Her gentle life will pass away.”
151
Back at her prayer the troopers fell,
They saw the working of her face,
They too had served a master well,
They too held faithfulness in grace,
Leaned on their swords, no word they spoke,
And thus her voice the stillness broke.
They saw the working of her face,
They too had served a master well,
They too held faithfulness in grace,
Leaned on their swords, no word they spoke,
And thus her voice the stillness broke.
“But if your heart no mother's woes
Can reach, respect the rites divine,
E'en now the service forward goes,
Within our castle's ancient shrine,
The prayer is said, the name is given,
That God will ratify in Heaven.”
Can reach, respect the rites divine,
E'en now the service forward goes,
Within our castle's ancient shrine,
The prayer is said, the name is given,
That God will ratify in Heaven.”
“Fear not, fear not,” Macdonald said,
“I have a wife and bairnies three,
What will they call your little maid?”
“Good sire, they name her Rosemarie:
Mary the Rose without a thorn,
From her they call the babe new born.”
“I have a wife and bairnies three,
What will they call your little maid?”
“Good sire, they name her Rosemarie:
Mary the Rose without a thorn,
From her they call the babe new born.”
Then round Macdonald turned, “I swore
If Rosemary were but in bloom,
I would not burst the castle door,
Nor let my gallants sack a room!
Here, nurse! go, take my white cockade,
And pin it on the little maid;
If Rosemary were but in bloom,
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Nor let my gallants sack a room!
Here, nurse! go, take my white cockade,
And pin it on the little maid;
“And say we will in silence wait,
The while the christening prayer goes on,
Then under yon rose-scutcheoned gate
We will as silently be gone—
That white cockade shall be a dower,
More sure to guard than moat or tower.
The while the christening prayer goes on,
Then under yon rose-scutcheoned gate
We will as silently be gone—
That white cockade shall be a dower,
More sure to guard than moat or tower.
“For if our troopers come this way,
And yon cockade and babe be shown,
They shall not dare to rob or slay,
While brave Prince Charlie seeks his own.
God speed his cause, and long life be
To ‘Castle Rose’ and Rosemarie!”
And yon cockade and babe be shown,
They shall not dare to rob or slay,
While brave Prince Charlie seeks his own.
God speed his cause, and long life be
To ‘Castle Rose’ and Rosemarie!”
Rosemary (Molly) Dacre, the heroine of this ballad, married Sir Walter Clerk, fifth baronet of Penicuik, and communicated
153
“Sir,—According to your request this morning, I send you some account of the particulars that attended my birth, which I do with infinite pleasure, as it reflects great honour on the Highlanders, to whom I always feel the greatest gratitude, that at the time when their hearts were set on plunder, the fear of hurting a sick lady and child instantly stopped their intentions.
“The incident occurred 15th November, 1745. My father, Mr. Dacre, then an officer in His Majesty's Militia, was a prisoner in the Castle of Carlisle, at that time in the hands of Prince Charles. My mother (a daughter of Sir George le Fleming, Bart., Bishop of Carlisle) was living at Rose Castle, six miles from Carlisle, where she was delivered of me. She had given orders that I should immediately be privately baptised by the Bishop's chaplain (his lordship not being at home) by the name of Rosemary Dacre. At that moment a company of Highlanders appeared, headed by a Captain Macdonald, who having heard that there was much plate and valuables in the Castle, came to plunder it. Upon the approach of the Highlanders an old grey-headed servant ran out and entreated Captain Macdonald not to proceed, as any noise or alarm might occasion the death of both the lady and the child. The Captain inquired when the lady had been confined. ‘Within the hour,’ the servant answered. Captain Macdonald stopped. The servant added, ‘They are just going to christen the infant.’ Macdonald, taking off his cockade, said, ‘Let her be christened with this cockade in her cap, it will be her protection now and after if any of our stragglers should come this way. We will wait the ceremony in silence’; which they accordingly did, and then went into the courtyard and were regaled with beef, cheese, and ale, etc. They then went off without the smallest disturbance.
“The white cockade was safely preserved, and shown me from
154
Later historical search has proved by examination of the Kirklinton parish register that the baptism took place at Rose Castle the 3rd November, on which day no Highlanders had crossed the border. It is possible that the old servant is responsible for the fact as he stated it. Necessity is the mother of invention. It is believed that the Macdonald spoken of was not Donald Macdonald of Moidart, but possibly Macdonald of the Edinburgh City-guard or some petty officer. It is thought that the object of the Highlanders was not so much loot as horses and shoes: they suffered terribly for lack of both. It is to their never-ending glory that the villagers for the most part were not harried, and no women suffered wrong at the hands of Prince Charlie's men in 1745.
The white cockade in question was given by Lady Clerk to George IV. when he came to Edinburgh.
The entrance gateway to Rose Castle, built by Bishop Halton in the 14th century, still stands, and bears above it in a large scutcheon the rose, in emblem probably of the Virgin Mary to whom Rose Castle was dedicated
The church and pele towers on the border were the refuge for the farmers and villagers in time of foray.
155
THE LEGEND OF ST. BEES.
It fell upon the very day
When God's dear Son was given,
That looking westward through the spray,
Men saw a vessel driven,
Its boats and bulwarks swept away,
Oars shattered, mainsail riven.
When God's dear Son was given,
That looking westward through the spray,
Men saw a vessel driven,
Its boats and bulwarks swept away,
Oars shattered, mainsail riven.
And who is this with book in hand
Stands ever at the helm?
Though waves roll mountains to the land,
Her heart no fear can whelm.
Sure such a presence, such command
Would rule a stormier realm!
Stands ever at the helm?
Though waves roll mountains to the land,
Her heart no fear can whelm.
Sure such a presence, such command
Would rule a stormier realm!
Across the bar they crash! they gride!
When, mightier than before,
Upon the shoulders of the tide
One wave the vessel bore;
Back from her hull the waters glide
And leave her safe ashore!
When, mightier than before,
156
One wave the vessel bore;
Back from her hull the waters glide
And leave her safe ashore!
Then out and stepped the ladye fair,
She was but one of three,
The foam-pearls fell from her red hair,
As she sank upon her knee,
And there they knelt in silent prayer
Beside the surly sea.
She was but one of three,
The foam-pearls fell from her red hair,
As she sank upon her knee,
And there they knelt in silent prayer
Beside the surly sea.
“Now who is here,” the ladye said,
“That knows of Christ our Lord?
And who will give us home and bread
For sake of His dear Word?
Nought have we left, but loom and thread,
Of all we brought aboard.”
“That knows of Christ our Lord?
And who will give us home and bread
For sake of His dear Word?
Nought have we left, but loom and thread,
Of all we brought aboard.”
Forth from the crowd, upon the beach
There stepped an aged hind,
Quoth he, “To-day our churches teach
Christ came for all mankind.
If our great ladye's hall ye reach,
Christ's pity ye shall find.
There stepped an aged hind,
Quoth he, “To-day our churches teach
Christ came for all mankind.
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Christ's pity ye shall find.
“For at her gates or rich or poor
To-day find equal dole,
There men, or knight, or priest, or boor,
Are one—God keep her soul!
If but you win her castle door
Your sorrows shall be whole.”
To-day find equal dole,
There men, or knight, or priest, or boor,
Are one—God keep her soul!
If but you win her castle door
Your sorrows shall be whole.”
The ladye, never a word she said,
But beckoned him to guide,
And up along the cliffs so red,
Above the sounding tide,
She followed where the shepherd led,
Her maidens at her side.
But beckoned him to guide,
And up along the cliffs so red,
Above the sounding tide,
She followed where the shepherd led,
Her maidens at her side.
Above the hill, across the moor,
To Egremond they hie;
Without is dusk, within the door
The lights burn merrily;
Inside are gathered rich and poor
For Yule-tide jollity.
To Egremond they hie;
Without is dusk, within the door
The lights burn merrily;
Inside are gathered rich and poor
For Yule-tide jollity.
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“For Jesu's sake,” the porter cried,
The steward clanked his keys,
The lord he swore, a royal tide
Had brought him such as these.
And the ladye led them straight aside
And bade their hearts have ease.
The steward clanked his keys,
The lord he swore, a royal tide
Had brought him such as these.
And the ladye led them straight aside
And bade their hearts have ease.
Anon she asked them of their race
And of their late distress,
Why emblems of the gospel grace
Were broidered in their dress;
But most she questioned face by face
Of its pure saintliness.
And of their late distress,
Why emblems of the gospel grace
Were broidered in their dress;
But most she questioned face by face
Of its pure saintliness.
And little, or of yea or nay,
The strangers made reply,
But the ladye did them all array
In robes most courteously,
And bade her ship-wrecked guests to stay
Till winter should go by.
The strangers made reply,
But the ladye did them all array
In robes most courteously,
And bade her ship-wrecked guests to stay
Till winter should go by.
Now comes the spring, and now the swift
Screams over land and lea,
The ragged edges of the thrift
Are pink against the sea,
And where the rosy ledges lift
Is gold as gorse can be.
Screams over land and lea,
159
Are pink against the sea,
And where the rosy ledges lift
Is gold as gorse can be.
The goat-herds up at Rothington
Have oft the strangers seen,
The heart of many a weary one
For the sight has gladder been;
They say that one is a holy nun,
Yet seems a very queen.
Have oft the strangers seen,
The heart of many a weary one
For the sight has gladder been;
They say that one is a holy nun,
Yet seems a very queen.
But queen or nun, with maidens twain
The fisher folk aver
She earns her bread, with more of pain
Than the busy gossamer;
They know how oft she winds the skein,
How late the spindles whirr.
The fisher folk aver
She earns her bread, with more of pain
Than the busy gossamer;
They know how oft she winds the skein,
How late the spindles whirr.
For lowly, in a lowly cot,
These high-souled maidens spin,
Contented with their humble lot
If they their bread may win—
So happy that the busy spot
Seems freed from touch of sin.
These high-souled maidens spin,
Contented with their humble lot
If they their bread may win—
160
Seems freed from touch of sin.
Sometimes into the narrow room
Great lords and ladies pry,
To watch the wonder-working loom
Build up its tapestry,
Whereon the small sand-roses bloom
In deathless broidery.
Great lords and ladies pry,
To watch the wonder-working loom
Build up its tapestry,
Whereon the small sand-roses bloom
In deathless broidery.
Now sets more northerly the sun,
Glad Midsummer is near,
Unharmed the woodland boar may run,
The doe no arrow fear;
And Egremond's great lord is won
His lady's suit to hear.
Glad Midsummer is near,
Unharmed the woodland boar may run,
The doe no arrow fear;
And Egremond's great lord is won
His lady's suit to hear.
“Now by the child that shall be born,
A boon, Sir Knight, I crave,
Our farms are green with store of corn,
Much food for years we have;
Mind ye the shipwrecked maids forlorn
Who came across the wave?
A boon, Sir Knight, I crave,
Our farms are green with store of corn,
Much food for years we have;
Mind ye the shipwrecked maids forlorn
Who came across the wave?
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“Good sire, I ask thee not beyond
What duly may be given,
'Tis meet the lord of Egremond
Should treasure lay in heaven,
And from these holy maids have bond
That so his soul be shriven.”
What duly may be given,
'Tis meet the lord of Egremond
Should treasure lay in heaven,
And from these holy maids have bond
That so his soul be shriven.”
The lord, he laughed with such an oath
As made the wood-birds fly:
“If spinsters' prayers can save us both,
Then spinsters' prayers I'll buy,
But Dame, I like not, on my troth,
To found a nunnery.
As made the wood-birds fly:
“If spinsters' prayers can save us both,
Then spinsters' prayers I'll buy,
But Dame, I like not, on my troth,
To found a nunnery.
“This morn, the fells seemed far away
For quivering of heat,
The Ehn went winding through the hay
Right warmly to my feet;
And Dame, look west, how sultry grey
The sun and ocean meet!
For quivering of heat,
The Ehn went winding through the hay
Right warmly to my feet;
And Dame, look west, how sultry grey
The sun and ocean meet!
162
“Midsummer's Vigil is to-night,
And ladye, I have sworn,
All lands whereon the snow lies white
Upon the morrow morn,
I give these wrecked ones out of right
To mend their case forlorn.”
And ladye, I have sworn,
All lands whereon the snow lies white
Upon the morrow morn,
I give these wrecked ones out of right
To mend their case forlorn.”
“Now God send grace, for well I trow,”
Quoth Egremond's ladye,
“The hand that holds, can loose the snow
From off the northern sea.
And many a godless oath ere now
Has won for Heaven a fee.”
Quoth Egremond's ladye,
“The hand that holds, can loose the snow
From off the northern sea.
And many a godless oath ere now
Has won for Heaven a fee.”
The lord, he whistled, from his wrist
The blinking hawk he shook,
That light-heart oath he little wist
Was written in God's book,
As homeward through the mellowing mist
His careless way he took.
The blinking hawk he shook,
That light-heart oath he little wist
Was written in God's book,
As homeward through the mellowing mist
His careless way he took.
But swift and sure beyond the moor
The lord's promise has sped,
Has entered in the little door
Beneath the rocks so red,
And all night long, beside the shore,
Are prayers and “aves” said.
The lord's promise has sped,
163
Beneath the rocks so red,
And all night long, beside the shore,
Are prayers and “aves” said.
The lord has gotten him to rest,
His ladye at his side,
He little dreams the dame's request
Shall bring back Christmas-tide—
That bitter winds at God's behest
Shall make his oath abide.
His ladye at his side,
He little dreams the dame's request
Shall bring back Christmas-tide—
That bitter winds at God's behest
Shall make his oath abide.
A black frost fell upon the hill,
A white frost on the wood,
The barn-owl felt the litter chill,
And stayed to warm her brood,
And the watchman durst not stand him still
For freezing of his blood.
A white frost on the wood,
The barn-owl felt the litter chill,
And stayed to warm her brood,
And the watchman durst not stand him still
For freezing of his blood.
But ere the night had passed about,
The warder he might know
From out the north, a fleecy rout
Of clouds came scudding low,
And when the morrow's sun shone out,
The grass was white with snow.
The warder he might know
From out the north, a fleecy rout
Of clouds came scudding low,
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The grass was white with snow.
Lord Lucy looked from out his tower,
While still the morn was red;
“Now by the holy angel's power
The ground is overspread—
I vow those maids have won for dower
From Esk to Tomline Head!”
While still the morn was red;
“Now by the holy angel's power
The ground is overspread—
I vow those maids have won for dower
From Esk to Tomline Head!”
He cares not for his loss, beyond
Hurt hay or blasted corn,
He only thinks him of the bond
With those three maids forlorn,
For the lord of faithful Egremond
Will do as he hath sworn.
Hurt hay or blasted corn,
He only thinks him of the bond
With those three maids forlorn,
For the lord of faithful Egremond
Will do as he hath sworn.
Then loud he called for chart and seal,
For seneschal and knight—
“Go, sires, and bring me answer leal
What lands the snow makes white,
For God has heard weak lips appeal
And answered them to-night.”
For seneschal and knight—
“Go, sires, and bring me answer leal
What lands the snow makes white,
For God has heard weak lips appeal
And answered them to-night.”
165
And down he rode with half content
Toward the rose-rocked Bay,
Behind, on Herdus Hill and Dent
Was full Midsummer's day,
But every step he shorewards went
Was snow-white as the May.
Toward the rose-rocked Bay,
Behind, on Herdus Hill and Dent
Was full Midsummer's day,
But every step he shorewards went
Was snow-white as the May.
Now has he won to Tomline Head,
But his dame has won before,
The loom is hushed, unplied the thread,
The maids are on the shore,
And she whose hair is russet red
Is praying, one of four.
But his dame has won before,
The loom is hushed, unplied the thread,
The maids are on the shore,
And she whose hair is russet red
Is praying, one of four.
The lord, he leaned upon his rein—
“God give you grace,” he cried,
“As much as under snow has lain
This strange Midsummer tide
Is to your use, and shall maintain
An house of prayer beside.”
“God give you grace,” he cried,
“As much as under snow has lain
This strange Midsummer tide
Is to your use, and shall maintain
An house of prayer beside.”
Then up she rose from off her knees,
The Lady Bega hight,
And with those maidens whom the seas
Had wrecked on Christmas night,
She entered, Abbess of St. Bees,
Into an Abbey's right.
The Lady Bega hight,
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Had wrecked on Christmas night,
She entered, Abbess of St. Bees,
Into an Abbey's right.
And long as Egremond may wear
The Pike-fish in his crest,
Shall Cumbria's shepherd-sons declare
How Lucy's soul had rest,
And how the good St Bega's prayer
By summer's snow was blest.
The Pike-fish in his crest,
Shall Cumbria's shepherd-sons declare
How Lucy's soul had rest,
And how the good St Bega's prayer
By summer's snow was blest.
The remains of the monastery of St. Bees, some four miles south of Whitehaven, on the Cumberland coast, are situated about half-a-mile from the shore in a hollow, well sheltered from the north-west storms which sweep across the Irish Channel, by the broad-backed bluff of Tomline Head, more generally known as St. Bee's Head.
In respect to this religious foundation, Tanner says—“Bega, a holy woman from Ireland, is said to have founded, about the year 650, a small monastery in Copeland, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.”
St. Bega is said to have been the daughter of an Irish king. She ran away from her father's house, having determined to be a nun; and in order to avoid marrying a Norse chieftain, she joined some strange sailors, and took ship and sailed to the coast of Cumberland. The traditionary account of the founding of the nunnery of St.
167
168
RAM BUKSH, THE LEPER.
“To His compassionate Excellency,
One Ram Buksh who is ready to die—
He in the light, and I in the dark,
He full sun and I but a spark—
Prayeth. I once like a wild goat ran,
Tigers right to their lair would trace,
Met the elephant face to face,
Smote the leopard, and slew the buck,
Strangled the cobra before he struck;
Pride of the village, beloved of my wife,
Now am I stricken and weary of life;
Under the whole community's ban,
A lonely, loathsome, leprous man.
One Ram Buksh who is ready to die—
He in the light, and I in the dark,
He full sun and I but a spark—
Prayeth. I once like a wild goat ran,
Tigers right to their lair would trace,
Met the elephant face to face,
Smote the leopard, and slew the buck,
Strangled the cobra before he struck;
Pride of the village, beloved of my wife,
Now am I stricken and weary of life;
Under the whole community's ban,
A lonely, loathsome, leprous man.
“I, the hunter, so strong, so fleet,
Now the hunted, scarce crawl on my feet,
No whole part of my body sound,
One huge festering, fearful wound.
Though my soul weep sore, no tear on my cheek,
Lidless eyes that shrink from the glare,
Ears decayed, where was hair, no hair;
Nose shrunk inwards so none can trace
The look of a man in my knotted face.
Toes! they have withered off one by one,
There falls my last forefinger's bone!
So wizened my windpipe, lungs so weak,
Though my heart cry loud my lips scarce speak.
Now the hunted, scarce crawl on my feet,
169
One huge festering, fearful wound.
Though my soul weep sore, no tear on my cheek,
Lidless eyes that shrink from the glare,
Ears decayed, where was hair, no hair;
Nose shrunk inwards so none can trace
The look of a man in my knotted face.
Toes! they have withered off one by one,
There falls my last forefinger's bone!
So wizened my windpipe, lungs so weak,
Though my heart cry loud my lips scarce speak.
“Weary of being: Hear my cry!
I, Ram Buksh, for I fain would die.
My life is a plague-spot here on earth,
I am loathed by the mother that gave me birth:
The Pariah dogs when they scent me near
Growl and slink to their offal heap,
I am weary of waking, I fain would sleep
It is known to all, if a leper consent
To be buried alive, the gods are content:
And never afflict his village again
With the leper's curse and the leper's pain.
I am willing to die: yea, I have no fear;
Cherisher of the afflicted, hear!
I, Ram Buksh, for I fain would die.
My life is a plague-spot here on earth,
I am loathed by the mother that gave me birth:
The Pariah dogs when they scent me near
Growl and slink to their offal heap,
I am weary of waking, I fain would sleep
It is known to all, if a leper consent
To be buried alive, the gods are content:
And never afflict his village again
With the leper's curse and the leper's pain.
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Cherisher of the afflicted, hear!
“The sun is sweet in the heaven still,
May it shine for you! but the high gods' will,
And the wish of the village I full well know,
Is that I, the leper, to death should go;
Dust in my mouth till my mouth cease breath,
For so the gods will alone give ease,
And save the village from sore disease;
So will this plague of my body's rot
Pass from the people and be forgot;
So never more will the leper crawl
A carrion corpse in the shade of the wall!
Oh compassionate! hear what he saith,
Ram Buksh, the leper, and grant him death.
May it shine for you! but the high gods' will,
And the wish of the village I full well know,
Is that I, the leper, to death should go;
Dust in my mouth till my mouth cease breath,
For so the gods will alone give ease,
And save the village from sore disease;
So will this plague of my body's rot
Pass from the people and be forgot;
So never more will the leper crawl
A carrion corpse in the shade of the wall!
Oh compassionate! hear what he saith,
Ram Buksh, the leper, and grant him death.
“Hear the prayer of a leper! Forgive
The wish of the living not to live;
For the will of my heart that still must beat
Is to lie beneath the dust of the street,
Out of sight of mine own wife's eyes,
Out of sound of the hunter's rout
When they bring the tiger home with a shout,
Where the heavy curse I shall no more hear,
The earth is a lighter load to bear!
But the law is good—you are law to the land,—
Wherefore I beg this boon of your hand,
To lie beneath where no torment lies,
For the people's sake and for Paradise.”
The wish of the living not to live;
For the will of my heart that still must beat
Is to lie beneath the dust of the street,
Out of sight of mine own wife's eyes,
Out of sound of the hunter's rout
When they bring the tiger home with a shout,
171
The earth is a lighter load to bear!
But the law is good—you are law to the land,—
Wherefore I beg this boon of your hand,
To lie beneath where no torment lies,
For the people's sake and for Paradise.”
Thus, that his brothers escape the ban,
Prayed Ram Buksh, the leper man.
Prayed Ram Buksh, the leper man.
On Monday, January 13th, 1890, H.R.H. the Prince of Wales presided at a subscription dinner at the Hôtel Métropole, in aid of the National Leprosy Fund. Father Damien's brother was of the company. Speaking of the lepers in India, the Prince stated that there were considerably over 200,000 of them, and that not more than one per cent, were in hospitals or asylums in 1887.
The vast majority of these roamed over the country as beggars— shunned, friendless, and uncared for, until they dropped down and died, or perhaps drowned themselves in some public well. Let me —continued the Prince—read to you one of the saddest and most pathetic petitions I have ever heard of, which was presented by a leper to the late Lord Lawrence when he was Viceroy:—
“Hail, Cherisher of the Afflicted,—Be it known to your enlightened mind that your devoted servant has been a leper for many years. My limbs have fallen off piece by piece; my whole body has become a mass of corruption. I am weary of life. I wish to die. My life is a plague and a disgust to the whole village, and my
172
This petition, it is hardly necessary to say, Lord Lawrence did not grant, but the unfortunate leper was nevertheless buried alive a day or two afterwards. He (the Prince of Wales) was glad to say that there was a possibility, he hoped a probability, of the State taking a more active part than hitherto in the prevention and treatment of leprosy in India.
173
IN A GARDEN.
The cowslip glowed, the tulip burned,
The grass was green as green could be;
There, as in sweet content we turned,
Beneath the budding linden tree,
We saw the westering sunbeams shake
Large glory o'er the mountain lake.
The grass was green as green could be;
There, as in sweet content we turned,
Beneath the budding linden tree,
We saw the westering sunbeams shake
Large glory o'er the mountain lake.
The cushat cooed, the blackbird's cry
About the terrace garden rang;
Still as we wooed, my love and I,
The throstle still enraptured sang,
And still the waters danced with glee
Beneath the budding linden tree.
About the terrace garden rang;
Still as we wooed, my love and I,
The throstle still enraptured sang,
And still the waters danced with glee
Beneath the budding linden tree.
The tulips trembled still with flame,
The cowslips gleamed along the walk,
Yet, dear one, when the last word came
And silence only seemed to talk,
We looked and found the lake was gone,
Flowers dim, birds hushed, and one star shone.
The cowslips gleamed along the walk,
174
And silence only seemed to talk,
We looked and found the lake was gone,
Flowers dim, birds hushed, and one star shone.
Beloved! by many an up and down,
O'er level lawns, unlevel ways,
Through weeds and flowers, when birds had flown,
And when birds sang, have passed the days
Since our new dawn forbade the night;
But, lo! o'erhead Love's star is bright.
O'er level lawns, unlevel ways,
Through weeds and flowers, when birds had flown,
And when birds sang, have passed the days
Since our new dawn forbade the night;
But, lo! o'erhead Love's star is bright.
175
THE CHRISTMAS BELLS.
No flocks and bells
Are on the fells,
The sheep are in the vale;
But near and far,
From belfry bar,
There goes a good old tale,
The bells of Christmastide that ring,
Against the coming of the King.
Are on the fells,
The sheep are in the vale;
But near and far,
From belfry bar,
There goes a good old tale,
The bells of Christmastide that ring,
Against the coming of the King.
With joy and hope,
The merry rope
Leaps dancing from the ground;
With steady sway,
From stay to stay,
The solemn bells swing round,
And silent hills, that watch and hear,
Beat back the news along the mere.
The merry rope
Leaps dancing from the ground;
With steady sway,
From stay to stay,
The solemn bells swing round,
And silent hills, that watch and hear,
Beat back the news along the mere.
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Though winds are chill,
The heron's bill
Is busy by the lake;
The white owls crow
Across the snow,
They needs their meal must make,
They cannot pause to wonder why
The night air throbs with melody.
The heron's bill
Is busy by the lake;
The white owls crow
Across the snow,
They needs their meal must make,
They cannot pause to wonder why
The night air throbs with melody.
Where great men dine
Flows talk and wine,
The meats are flashed about;
But as they drink
They little think
What music is without;
And at the windows idly beat
The words those merry bells repeat.
Flows talk and wine,
The meats are flashed about;
But as they drink
They little think
What music is without;
And at the windows idly beat
The words those merry bells repeat.
But on the farm
Has come a charm,
The airiest of spells;
Rob still must bide
To open wide
The barn, to hear the bells;
With lingering step to-night he plies
His frosty farm-yard ministries.
Has come a charm,
The airiest of spells;
Rob still must bide
To open wide
The barn, to hear the bells;
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His frosty farm-yard ministries.
Upon his tramp,
The shepherd's lamp
To-night stands steady, oft;
For up the hill
The church bells still
Sound cheerily and soft;
Though he has heard their tune for years
A strange new thing is in his ears.
The shepherd's lamp
To-night stands steady, oft;
For up the hill
The church bells still
Sound cheerily and soft;
Though he has heard their tune for years
A strange new thing is in his ears.
On pillow props,
Poor Elsie stops
In middle of her prayer;
Such sounds were given
From out of heaven,
She says, to guide her there;
And hands upon the window latch,
Let in the humming at the thatch.
Poor Elsie stops
In middle of her prayer;
Such sounds were given
From out of heaven,
She says, to guide her there;
And hands upon the window latch,
Let in the humming at the thatch.
The old man reads,
The grandchild heeds,
And crawls along the floor,
With fret and cry
Its fingers try
The bolts upon the door;
And soon the elder children stand
Out in the lane, a listening band.
The grandchild heeds,
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With fret and cry
Its fingers try
The bolts upon the door;
And soon the elder children stand
Out in the lane, a listening band.
But by the fire
The aged sire,
He rocks him to and fro,
Those sad church bells
Their music tells
Of Christmas long ago.
Outside the children laugh to hear,
Inside the old man drops a tear.
The aged sire,
He rocks him to and fro,
Those sad church bells
Their music tells
Of Christmas long ago.
Outside the children laugh to hear,
Inside the old man drops a tear.
Laid on his back
Behind some stack,
Less cold the beggar feels;
Loudest of all
To him they call,
Those gladsome Christmas peals.
Men's hearts—but why he does not know—
At such a season warmer grow.
Behind some stack,
Less cold the beggar feels;
Loudest of all
To him they call,
Those gladsome Christmas peals.
Men's hearts—but why he does not know—
At such a season warmer grow.
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Not recking much
Whose souls they touch,
The breathless ringers ring,
They little ken,
Those simple men,
What messages they wing,
But as each echoing bell comes up
An angel fills its iron cup.
Whose souls they touch,
The breathless ringers ring,
They little ken,
Those simple men,
What messages they wing,
But as each echoing bell comes up
An angel fills its iron cup.
From their full throats
A thousand notes
To village hearts are sent,
And some are glad,
And some are sad,
But all are much content;
For as is meet, the bells recall
How Christ was born to save them all.
A thousand notes
To village hearts are sent,
And some are glad,
And some are sad,
But all are much content;
For as is meet, the bells recall
How Christ was born to save them all.
Not curtains long,
Nor windows strong,
Keep out the roundelay,
For high and low,
Who list, may know
What words the church bells say;
Their Christmas tale alone is barred
From hearts whom selfishness makes hard.
Nor windows strong,
Keep out the roundelay,
For high and low,
Who list, may know
What words the church bells say;
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From hearts whom selfishness makes hard.
Still, as of old,
Christ's birth is told
To men of humblest home;
Still throbbing air
Can make minds 'ware
That Christmas-tide is come,
And he who has not where to rest
May hear the joyous tidings best.
Christ's birth is told
To men of humblest home;
Still throbbing air
Can make minds 'ware
That Christmas-tide is come,
And he who has not where to rest
May hear the joyous tidings best.
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AN OLD CONSPIRACY.
They met in haste, they met with guile,
Old Hanan mumbling in his beard,
Proud Pilate with a weary smile,
And Herod trembling to have heard,
And Caiaphas, the man of sin,
Arch-leader of the Sanhedrin.
Old Hanan mumbling in his beard,
Proud Pilate with a weary smile,
And Herod trembling to have heard,
And Caiaphas, the man of sin,
Arch-leader of the Sanhedrin.
They closed the doors, the soldier stood,
They asked him of the Crucified:
Stained with the water and the blood,
His spear was leaned against his side,
And he had felt the body cold
That Joseph in fine linen rolled.
They asked him of the Crucified:
Stained with the water and the blood,
His spear was leaned against his side,
And he had felt the body cold
That Joseph in fine linen rolled.
“Now swear thee, dog, thou didst not break
The legs of Him who hung with three—
Worst malefactor—for the sake
Of bribe to set this Jesus free.
They spear but grazed, it gave no wound,
Swear that this Christ not died but swooned.”
The legs of Him who hung with three—
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Of bribe to set this Jesus free.
They spear but grazed, it gave no wound,
Swear that this Christ not died but swooned.”
“Cæsar, I swear,” the soldier said,
“But all the world that came to see
Knows well this Christ was good as dead
Before we nailed Him to the tree;
He drank no cup to dull the pain,
Who swears He swooned but swears in vain.”
“But all the world that came to see
Knows well this Christ was good as dead
Before we nailed Him to the tree;
He drank no cup to dull the pain,
Who swears He swooned but swears in vain.”
Then crafty Caiaphas began,
“Nay, sirs, He died, talk not of swound,
Nacdimon is a careful man,
He would not waste a hundred pound
To spice a body but in faint
And save it from corruption's taint!
“Nay, sirs, He died, talk not of swound,
Nacdimon is a careful man,
He would not waste a hundred pound
To spice a body but in faint
And save it from corruption's taint!
“Say, while the watch lay right and left,
Deep drugged, friends came, the seal was broke,
Rolled the great stone far up its cleft,
And as this poor Pretender spoke,
Made Him arise the promised day,
And bore His corpse by stealth away.
Deep drugged, friends came, the seal was broke,
Rolled the great stone far up its cleft,
And as this poor Pretender spoke,
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And bore His corpse by stealth away.
“Better this word than as at first,
With larger monies spread the tale,
For that wild fisher, mad, accursed,
Doth with the people much prevail,
And dares the priests bring forth the Lord
Unrisen, and so make vain his word.”
With larger monies spread the tale,
For that wild fisher, mad, accursed,
Doth with the people much prevail,
And dares the priests bring forth the Lord
Unrisen, and so make vain his word.”
There Pilate smiled, “The people know
Your priests were fearful He should rise;
Peter's bold challenge doth allow
No answer but your craven lies.
Methinks it doth more Roman seem
To say Christ comes, but comes in dream.
Your priests were fearful He should rise;
Peter's bold challenge doth allow
No answer but your craven lies.
Methinks it doth more Roman seem
To say Christ comes, but comes in dream.
“Mine own wife, Procula, who sent
To bid me nothing have to do
With that just Man and innocent,
Has dreamed she sees Him come and go:
Down the deep Tyropean way
He seemed to walk this very day.”
To bid me nothing have to do
With that just Man and innocent,
Has dreamed she sees Him come and go:
Down the deep Tyropean way
He seemed to walk this very day.”
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Ah! how “that Fox's” face grew white,
That Idumæan Sadducee!
“Dreams cannot hurt us though they fright,
Yea, let Him come in dream to me,
And do the marvels He refused
When in mine hall He stood accused.”
That Idumæan Sadducee!
“Dreams cannot hurt us though they fright,
Yea, let Him come in dream to me,
And do the marvels He refused
When in mine hall He stood accused.”
Thereon the soldier blunt replied,
“Masters, I know one who hath thrust
His hand into that Vision's side,
And I have heard from him, I trust,
How this same dream can break wheat-bread
And by the food of men be fed.
“Masters, I know one who hath thrust
His hand into that Vision's side,
And I have heard from him, I trust,
How this same dream can break wheat-bread
And by the food of men be fed.
“Yea, can speak words so men may hear,
Talks Galilæan roughly still,
But, like a dream, doth disappear,
Appears, when doors are closed, at will;
Walked to Emmaus without pain,
Though feet were pierced as plain as plain.”
Talks Galilæan roughly still,
But, like a dream, doth disappear,
Appears, when doors are closed, at will;
Walked to Emmaus without pain,
Though feet were pierced as plain as plain.”
Lo! even as he ended, came
A sigh of silence on the air,
And with His wondrous eyes aflame,
For love, not hate, the Christ was there!
None spake—thereafter nought was said
Of Christ, dream—risen—swooned—or dead!
A sigh of silence on the air,
185
For love, not hate, the Christ was there!
None spake—thereafter nought was said
Of Christ, dream—risen—swooned—or dead!
186
ELIJAH AT THE BROOK CHERITH.
He stood in presence of the King—
His soul in presence of the Lord—
He said, “The brooks shall no more sing,
No more the flowers and grass shall spring,
For dew shall fail from off the lea,
And rain for years shall only be
According to my word!”
His soul in presence of the Lord—
He said, “The brooks shall no more sing,
No more the flowers and grass shall spring,
For dew shall fail from off the lea,
And rain for years shall only be
According to my word!”
Proud Ahab's lips were curled with scorn,
And Jezebel, with serpent hiss,
Cried, “Now, by Baal, and the horn
Of Sidon's altar, we have sworn,
The clouds shall rain, the springs shall flow.
Or, Prophet of Jehovah, know
Thy head shall fall for this!”
And Jezebel, with serpent hiss,
Cried, “Now, by Baal, and the horn
Of Sidon's altar, we have sworn,
The clouds shall rain, the springs shall flow.
Or, Prophet of Jehovah, know
Thy head shall fall for this!”
187
Then forth from Ahab's presence went
That dark-eyed man whose hair was long;
The people wondered, women bent
Forth from their lattices, men sent
Long glances after him—he dared
Curse the King's land, and yet is spared!—
But he passed through the throng.
That dark-eyed man whose hair was long;
The people wondered, women bent
Forth from their lattices, men sent
Long glances after him—he dared
Curse the King's land, and yet is spared!—
But he passed through the throng.
He left the city; beast and man
Were glad; full fountains spouted clear;
Long strings of camels to the Khan
Brought clover green; the caravan
Told of the miles of emerald grain,
The former and the latter rain
Seemed sure, no drought was near!
Were glad; full fountains spouted clear;
Long strings of camels to the Khan
Brought clover green; the caravan
Told of the miles of emerald grain,
The former and the latter rain
Seemed sure, no drought was near!
The people turned them to the west,
The sun sank down, the soft dew fell,
They only saw on Carmel's crest
Fires burn to Baal; he, God's guest,
Went eastward underneath the moon,
And thought him of the sultry noon,
Ahab and Jezebel.
The sun sank down, the soft dew fell,
They only saw on Carmel's crest
Fires burn to Baal; he, God's guest,
Went eastward underneath the moon,
And thought him of the sultry noon,
Ahab and Jezebel.
188
And, as he went, he heard the Lord
Say, “Get thee to the torrent bed
Before the Jordan! Deeply stored,
There shall the water drink afford,
Yea, even in drought; there at thy need
By hungry ravens that I feed
My prophet shall be fed.”
Say, “Get thee to the torrent bed
Before the Jordan! Deeply stored,
There shall the water drink afford,
Yea, even in drought; there at thy need
By hungry ravens that I feed
My prophet shall be fed.”
Then down by gulfy Cherith's side
Elijah, with his shepherd crook,
Passed fearless, there did he abide;
At morning and at eventide
He heard the rush of wings, and saw
The birds that brought with beak and claw
Flesh; and he drank the brook.
Elijah, with his shepherd crook,
Passed fearless, there did he abide;
At morning and at eventide
He heard the rush of wings, and saw
The birds that brought with beak and claw
Flesh; and he drank the brook.
Forth as he gazed, he watched the noon
Scorch into dust the grass and grain;
Barren as salt beneath the swoon
Of that unending fierce simoon,
Right from the sea of salt to where
White Hermon's ridges rose in air
Lay yellow, Jordan's plain.
Scorch into dust the grass and grain;
Barren as salt beneath the swoon
Of that unending fierce simoon,
Right from the sea of salt to where
White Hermon's ridges rose in air
Lay yellow, Jordan's plain.
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The land grew iron underneath,
The heavens were brass from day to day,
Proud Ahab, with his scornful breath,
Cursed the bold Prophet to his death,
But every morn and eventide
The brook its constant gift supplied,
And birds brought food alway.
The heavens were brass from day to day,
Proud Ahab, with his scornful breath,
Cursed the bold Prophet to his death,
But every morn and eventide
The brook its constant gift supplied,
And birds brought food alway.
The lion met him eye to eye,
And pawed the torrent bed, athirst;
At morn and evening from the sky
Fell shadows where the brook was dry,
Then bread, and to the Prophet's hand
From out the cool of Cherith's sand
The fountains upward burst.
And pawed the torrent bed, athirst;
At morn and evening from the sky
Fell shadows where the brook was dry,
Then bread, and to the Prophet's hand
From out the cool of Cherith's sand
The fountains upward burst.
And since that time both man and beast,
The bird that flies, the brook that sings,
Have come together to one feast,
Love hath in common need increased.
Still in the desert God prepares
A table for the man who dares
To speak the Truth to kings.
The bird that flies, the brook that sings,
Have come together to one feast,
Love hath in common need increased.
Still in the desert God prepares
A table for the man who dares
To speak the Truth to kings.
The camels bring into Eastern cities each day great loads of green bersim or clover as provender for horses and cattle.
190
A LIBEL.
Coom, wenches, git to work!
Now, Keziah, theer's thy fork,
And the waggin's in the corn!
When the craws tum-poäke that waäy
And are yawlin' soä, they saäy
It 'ull chaänge befoor the morn.
Now, Keziah, theer's thy fork,
And the waggin's in the corn!
When the craws tum-poäke that waäy
And are yawlin' soä, they saäy
It 'ull chaänge befoor the morn.
Howr Betsey got a plaäce,
But she pulled an awkard faäce—
Nivver 'lowed howt to the Fair—
And they've silver laäid fur dinner,
And sez graäce! If she graws thinner
Work weänt hurt—she's flesh to spare.
But she pulled an awkard faäce—
Nivver 'lowed howt to the Fair—
And they've silver laäid fur dinner,
And sez graäce! If she graws thinner
Work weänt hurt—she's flesh to spare.
But Jemima—she's at home;
We was foorced to let her come,
She was dithery of her 'ead.
Poor lass! she hed a stroäke—
Let the teä-things down—they broäke—
Wasn't saäfe i' hand, they sed.
We was foorced to let her come,
She was dithery of her 'ead.
191
Let the teä-things down—they broäke—
Wasn't saäfe i' hand, they sed.
And they meant kind when they sacked her,—
Gev the gell a good charācter,—
Quoite content, they told our Ben;
But when squoire's wife coomed by
And axed questions—mebbe I
Was'nt saäfe i' hand mysen.
Gev the gell a good charācter,—
Quoite content, they told our Ben;
But when squoire's wife coomed by
And axed questions—mebbe I
Was'nt saäfe i' hand mysen.
Fur she saäys, sez she, “I hear
Your Jemima's head is queer,
And Jemima she hes fits.”
And I pulls mysen oop straight,
Reight i' front of my oarn grate,
Fit to teear her into bits.
Your Jemima's head is queer,
And Jemima she hes fits.”
And I pulls mysen oop straight,
Reight i' front of my oarn grate,
Fit to teear her into bits.
“Marm,” I sez, “it is a shaäme
Fur to naäme the very naäme!
Howr Jemima maäy be weeäk,
And when silver cooms to taäble,
Not honwillin but honhaäble—
Unheppen, soä to speeäk.
Fur to naäme the very naäme!
Howr Jemima maäy be weeäk,
And when silver cooms to taäble,
Not honwillin but honhaäble—
Unheppen, soä to speeäk.
192
“If the gell weänt wesh a plaäte,
If she ligs till hoäver laäte,
Can't sarve pigs nor milk a cow—
Why, then, marm, I've nowt to saäy
When you taäke her naäme awaäy
By the things you've menshuned now.
If she ligs till hoäver laäte,
Can't sarve pigs nor milk a cow—
Why, then, marm, I've nowt to saäy
When you taäke her naäme awaäy
By the things you've menshuned now.
“No, marm, noä! we maäy be poor,
And my maister sez, what's moor,
We are poor as rats, and wuss!
And he sez theer's noä disgraäce—
He would tell it to your faäce—
In bein' poor like hus.
And my maister sez, what's moor,
We are poor as rats, and wuss!
And he sez theer's noä disgraäce—
He would tell it to your faäce—
In bein' poor like hus.
“But howr famly nivver hed
Fits! it niver shall be sed
Fits howr gell from sarvice sent.
Noä, Jemima in 'er wits
Maäy be weeäk—she doänt hev fits!
And the squoire's wife she went.”
Fits! it niver shall be sed
Fits howr gell from sarvice sent.
Noä, Jemima in 'er wits
Maäy be weeäk—she doänt hev fits!
And the squoire's wife she went.”
193
A WOMAN SAVIOUR.
God from man's forge sends ministers of flame
Who gird the earth, returning whence they came;
In Heaven's great forge, the heart, He mouldeth still
The angel spirits sent to do His will.
Who gird the earth, returning whence they came;
In Heaven's great forge, the heart, He mouldeth still
The angel spirits sent to do His will.
You know White Mountains, and the rail
That runs by Wakefield, Boston way?
A woman saved the home-bound mail
The other day.
That runs by Wakefield, Boston way?
A woman saved the home-bound mail
The other day.
A woman, not a strong one, mind,
Her babe still clinging to her breast
But thro' the storm of hail and wind
She did her best.
Her babe still clinging to her breast
But thro' the storm of hail and wind
She did her best.
Beyond the curve a whirlwind blast
Had rooted up the wall of pine,
She heard the cars come thundering fast
Along the line.
Had rooted up the wall of pine,
194
Along the line.
Death round the curve! Death round the curve!
The driver's eyes are blind with sleet,—
That woman, with a strong man's nerve,
Leapt to her feet.
The driver's eyes are blind with sleet,—
That woman, with a strong man's nerve,
Leapt to her feet.
Left child and fire, thro' storm and wrack,
Thro' roar of wind and rattling rain
She dashed along the deadly track
To stop the train.
Thro' roar of wind and rattling rain
She dashed along the deadly track
To stop the train.
Stood firm, and like an angel's wing
The white scarf o'er her head she waved!
Stood firm, and did the only thing
That could have saved.
The white scarf o'er her head she waved!
Stood firm, and did the only thing
That could have saved.
For lo! the engine's eyes have caught
Sight of the signal in her hands;
And at her feet to stillness brought
The swift train stands.
Sight of the signal in her hands;
And at her feet to stillness brought
The swift train stands.
Harsh voices cried in anger then,
“Why stop us in our hot career?”
“I came, because the lives of men
To God are dear.
“Why stop us in our hot career?”
195
To God are dear.
“I came though voices called me back—
Mine own babe's voice—I came to say
The trees are strewn across the track
And bar your way.
Mine own babe's voice—I came to say
The trees are strewn across the track
And bar your way.
“I came, mine infant, four weeks old—
And storms like this can slay a man,
But pity seemed my babe to fold
Warm as I ran.
And storms like this can slay a man,
But pity seemed my babe to fold
Warm as I ran.
“I came, for Heaven gave strength and nerve,
I snatched this scarf from out the room,
I heard you thundering to the curve,
I knew your doom.”
I snatched this scarf from out the room,
I heard you thundering to the curve,
I knew your doom.”
Then fell a hush, then rose a prayer,
Warm hearted hands her brave hand prest:
The saviour woman, silent there,
Had done her best.
Warm hearted hands her brave hand prest:
The saviour woman, silent there,
Had done her best.
196
Boston, August 1, 1890.—The Boston bound White Mountain express on the Boston and Maine railroad was 20 minutes late when it passed through North Wakefield, N.H., about 4.45 p.m. yesterday. A storm of wind and rain was raging, but despite the murky atmosphere the heavy train was rushing onward at high speed in the endeavour to make up the lost time. Hardly had it left the North Wakefield station when the engineer saw a woman on the track frantically waving a white cloth. Evidently there was danger ahead. A push at the throttle shut off the motive power, and a quick twist of the air-brake lever was instantly responded to by a slackening of speed. The train stopped with the cowcatcher of the great locomotive almost in front of the woman.
“What's the matter?”
“The track around the curve is all covered with trees. I came to warn you.”
Just ahead there was a curve, a sharp turn, so sharp that after an obstruction upon it had come into the engineer's view no human power could have prevented a calamity. The woman was Mrs. Emily Branson. From her house near the track she saw the wind hurl several huge trees across the rails. She was alone with her two little children.
“I hated to leave my children alone in the storm,” said she, “but I knew there was nothing else to be done. So I caught up a towel, the first thing that was handy, and ran up to meet the train. I'm glad I got here in time.” —New York Tribune.
197
A FARM-YARD SOLILOQUY.
Owr parson 'e called one daäy, he wur straängen fond o' the breeäd,
Kep' 'em hissen he did, 'e 'd a deäl o' bairns to feeäd:
“Wants to be kilt,” sez he, and 'e dobs his stick at the sty;
“It wudn't be wuss, my friend, if we wur as fit to die.”
Kep' 'em hissen he did, 'e 'd a deäl o' bairns to feeäd:
“Wants to be kilt,” sez he, and 'e dobs his stick at the sty;
“It wudn't be wuss, my friend, if we wur as fit to die.”
“Parson,” I sez, “you're reight, I nivver larnt nowt at school
An' doänt tend reglar in choorch, but I maäs it a gineral rule
Nivver to gev yon critter it swill wi'out scrattin 'is 'eäd,
And thinkin' a deäl o' that vuss about ‘Giv us our daäily bread.’
An' doänt tend reglar in choorch, but I maäs it a gineral rule
Nivver to gev yon critter it swill wi'out scrattin 'is 'eäd,
And thinkin' a deäl o' that vuss about ‘Giv us our daäily bread.’
“And he oops wi' his eye does the critter, quite knawin' and grunts, ‘Amen,’
Just like a clerk he does, and I thinks, thinks I, wi' myssen,
Theer's a many as grunts a deäl wi' a deäl better stuff to yeät,
But noän ov 'em does theer duty by dooin' so well by theer meät.
Just like a clerk he does, and I thinks, thinks I, wi' myssen,
198
But noän ov 'em does theer duty by dooin' so well by theer meät.
“Fur nivver a daäy sin' I threatened yon critter fur pork in the spring,—
Sow laäid upo' six ov its brothers, the laäzy lumberin' thing,—
Nivver a daäy nor a meäl but God O'mighty he knaws
It's done it best by it vittel, and still'e spreeads and graws.
Sow laäid upo' six ov its brothers, the laäzy lumberin' thing,—
Nivver a daäy nor a meäl but God O'mighty he knaws
It's done it best by it vittel, and still'e spreeads and graws.
“Nivver looked back it hesn't i' feeädin' from fust to last—
‘Man's life,’ so it sez i' the Psalms, ‘is nobbut a shadder that's past,’
Daävid nivver sed nowt o' the pigs, they wur cloave-footed things—but it's queer,
Pigs to coom oop like a flower, o'moast, and die i' a year.
‘Man's life,’ so it sez i' the Psalms, ‘is nobbut a shadder that's past,’
Daävid nivver sed nowt o' the pigs, they wur cloave-footed things—but it's queer,
Pigs to coom oop like a flower, o'moast, and die i' a year.
“Yees, and theer quoite content is pigs, content to die,
It's nobbut an owry world and narrer an all, is the sty;
And gentlemen quoite is pigs, they'll lig i' the straw till they're fed,
And they weänt coom clatterin' in like the bairns to clam their bread.
It's nobbut an owry world and narrer an all, is the sty;
And gentlemen quoite is pigs, they'll lig i' the straw till they're fed,
And they weänt coom clatterin' in like the bairns to clam their bread.
199
“Parson, I've offens thowt it wur all along o' the swine,
That young man coomed to hissen as hed been so gentleman-fine:
Doesn't thou think when they gethered the hacorns theer i' the yard,
He knawed that they nivver complained thoff the husks wur terrible hard?
That young man coomed to hissen as hed been so gentleman-fine:
Doesn't thou think when they gethered the hacorns theer i' the yard,
He knawed that they nivver complained thoff the husks wur terrible hard?
“When you wur a preeäching in choorch tother daäy o' the Prodigal son,
I wur back here siver i' thowt whoäle toime along o' this 'un;
Thinks I, 'twur the pigs as turned 'im, they gev 'im the ring that was gilt,
And took off his clatty owd yanks —I wur glad 'twas a caulf as they kilt.
I wur back here siver i' thowt whoäle toime along o' this 'un;
Thinks I, 'twur the pigs as turned 'im, they gev 'im the ring that was gilt,
And took off his clatty owd yanks —I wur glad 'twas a caulf as they kilt.
“Kilt! why I'm happen a sinner and rough and tough i' the heart,
And I leaves the owd mare to hersen now and then i' the market cart,
But theer's one thing I nivver could doä sin' I hed taäils to my cwoät,
I nivver could coax it, and feed it, and then laäy knife to it throät.
And I leaves the owd mare to hersen now and then i' the market cart,
But theer's one thing I nivver could doä sin' I hed taäils to my cwoät,
I nivver could coax it, and feed it, and then laäy knife to it throät.
200
“To my waäy o' thinkin' it's moast loike killin' a bairn o' your oän—
Pigs cries like a woman can cry, and groäns like a man can groän;
Not that they knaws afoorhand, Him as maäde 'em 'ull seeä to that,
Cudn't doä noäways else, sin' they work so well to git fat.
Pigs cries like a woman can cry, and groäns like a man can groän;
Not that they knaws afoorhand, Him as maäde 'em 'ull seeä to that,
Cudn't doä noäways else, sin' they work so well to git fat.
“I doänt so much mind when they're deäd, I can scraäpe and scald wi' the best;
Husk 'em, and wesh 'em, and hing 'em, and git 'em reight famoushly drest—
Deäd! we mun all on us die, so I sooän gits reconciled,
Besides, I'm a bit pork-proud, when I've browt it oop fro' a child.
Husk 'em, and wesh 'em, and hing 'em, and git 'em reight famoushly drest—
Deäd! we mun all on us die, so I sooän gits reconciled,
Besides, I'm a bit pork-proud, when I've browt it oop fro' a child.
“But as sewer as the daäy o' condemnation gits round agaäin—
Yon's under sentence o' death come Monday next to be slaän:—
I'm hoff to the field or market when he's gotten the last on 'is meeäls,
And missus she superintens—for women thinks nowt o' their squeeäls.
Yon's under sentence o' death come Monday next to be slaän:—
I'm hoff to the field or market when he's gotten the last on 'is meeäls,
And missus she superintens—for women thinks nowt o' their squeeäls.
201
“But I maäs it a law, poor thing, to soften it hoff at the hend,
Scrats his 'eäd a bit longer, and talks to 'im saäme as a friend;
And the last few meeäls ov his life I reckon it's Christian kind
To stir him in extra stuff and sugar 'is swill to 'is mind.
Scrats his 'eäd a bit longer, and talks to 'im saäme as a friend;
And the last few meeäls ov his life I reckon it's Christian kind
To stir him in extra stuff and sugar 'is swill to 'is mind.
“Fwoäks may talk as they like, but I've fun that theer's pigs and pigs,
I've larnt a deeäl fro' that un as theer i' the crew-yard ligs,
‘Doä your best by your master's meeät,' I 'ears him saäy,
‘Noä world's too small fur content, git ready ageän the daäy.’”
I've larnt a deeäl fro' that un as theer i' the crew-yard ligs,
‘Doä your best by your master's meeät,' I 'ears him saäy,
‘Noä world's too small fur content, git ready ageän the daäy.’”
202
THE BRAVE PIT LADS OF PENICUICK.
We can march to death or glory
When the sun is shining over,
And the daylight shall discover
All our deeds' heroic story.
When the sun is shining over,
And the daylight shall discover
All our deeds' heroic story.
But with spade and plain pickaxes
At the cannon's mouth to labour—
Neighbour hardly seen of neighbour
For the gloom—our courage taxes.
At the cannon's mouth to labour—
Neighbour hardly seen of neighbour
For the gloom—our courage taxes.
Penicuick!
now praise the mother
Of the lads who proved the proudest,
When earth's cannon roared its loudest
And the pit was filled with smother.
Of the lads who proved the proudest,
When earth's cannon roared its loudest
And the pit was filled with smother.
203
Who knew now was time or never—
Who flew back through fume and stifle
Deeming risk of life a trifle,
Daring death to crown endeavour.
Who flew back through fume and stifle
Deeming risk of life a trifle,
Daring death to crown endeavour.
Boys to whistle, laugh, and sing,
Bare-legged laddies like the rest,
Boys to dance a Highland fling,
Boys to find the falcon's nest.
Bare-legged laddies like the rest,
Boys to dance a Highland fling,
Boys to find the falcon's nest.
Boys impatient of their books—
So the Dominie would say—
Merry-hearted as the brooks,
When the cuckoo calls in May.
So the Dominie would say—
Merry-hearted as the brooks,
When the cuckoo calls in May.
But we loved them up above
And we loved them down beneath,
Such brave lads the “corves” to shove—
Never tired nor out of breath.
And we loved them down beneath,
Such brave lads the “corves” to shove—
Never tired nor out of breath.
If a brattice-cloth went wrong,
If a pit prop wanted bringing,
Robbie sure would come along,
Set all right, and go off singing.
If a pit prop wanted bringing,
Robbie sure would come along,
Set all right, and go off singing.
204
If a trolley rail had “scattered,”
Or a waggon wouldn't run—
Tam was there, and nothing mattered,
All was whistle, all was fun.
Or a waggon wouldn't run—
Tam was there, and nothing mattered,
All was whistle, all was fun.
And, when air was well nigh spent,
And we gasped our blows between,
Through the gloom young Mitchell went,
Glad as up on Shottstown green.
And we gasped our blows between,
Through the gloom young Mitchell went,
Glad as up on Shottstown green.
In your heart such laddies grow
If you have a heart to love,
Ah! we loved them here below—
Now we love them up above.
If you have a heart to love,
Ah! we loved them here below—
Now we love them up above.
I but heard the muffled thunder,
And the fiery blast flew by,—
God save all the poor men under
There in that far gallery!
And the fiery blast flew by,—
God save all the poor men under
There in that far gallery!
Then towards me, bruised and bleeding,
From bewildering darkness ran
Two brave boys, of nothing heeding—
“Help our comrades all you can!”
From bewildering darkness ran
Two brave boys, of nothing heeding—
“Help our comrades all you can!”
205
Help whom? Death, no longer lurking,
Reigns; again earth's guns will roar—
Flame will flash from work to working,
After it the reek will pour.
Reigns; again earth's guns will roar—
Flame will flash from work to working,
After it the reek will pour.
Stand still, laddies! who draw breath
Know their doom, and they who fell
In that sulphur-wind of Death
Know not—all with them is well.
Know their doom, and they who fell
In that sulphur-wind of Death
Know not—all with them is well.
“Nay!” they cried, “though death we meet;
Comrades sealed to certain doom
Shall—if we but keep our feet—
Hear our voices through the gloom.
Comrades sealed to certain doom
Shall—if we but keep our feet—
Hear our voices through the gloom.
“Hear us bid them up and follow,
Break their dark imprisonment!”
So into Death's dreadful hollow,
Back the gallant laddies went.
Break their dark imprisonment!”
So into Death's dreadful hollow,
Back the gallant laddies went.
After the first terrific explosion in the Penicuick Pit, when volumes of smoke were pouring down the shaft, and the cry, “The pit's afire,” had struck terror into the stoutest heart, three pit lads—Robert Tolmie, Thomas Foster, and Mitchell Hamilton— refused to avail themselves of the comparative safety that their nearness to the upcast shaft gave them, and against the advice of the older men, insisted on running back into the workings with the hope of warning comrades in a further part of the pit. They perished on their brave errand.
206
A HERO'S CROWN.
Basil! that name demands a kingly deed,And thou hast set a crown on it, to shine
As bright as the Equator's burning line;
For while the stars in heaven alone could plead,
The stars that bend o'er all—though the sharks' greed
Made terror of the deep, thou didst divine
A drowner asked for life, yea, even for thine,
And in the darkness, springing to his need,
Thou didst forget thy happy English home—
Thy mother's yearning and thy father's face,
Didst only see the fierce wave break to flame
About a dying man of unknown race,
And thou didst gather diamonds of the foam
To sparkle ever round a hero's name.
207
Basil Thomson, son of the Archbishop of York, has just received The Humane Society's Medal for an act of gallantry off the coast of New Guinea. Two men quarrelled in a boat that was coming off to his ship, and the cry of “Man overboard!” was heard. Thomson could only make out by the sparkling of the phosphorescence on the water where the drowning man was, but, regardless of the fact That it was dark, and that the water was infested with sharks, he knew his duty and did it. He dashed in to succour the poor fellow, and was able to support him till the boat could come to the rescue. —September, 1890.
208
CATHERINE WATSON.
Catherine Watson bravely run
To the rescue! long as sun
Floods the Firth with gold, your name
Shall be golden as your fame;
Never boy in yonder bay
But shall feel above his play
Towering up the granite cross
Mindful of our love and loss;
Never fisherman shall ride
Homewards on the swelling tide
But shall dream beside his boat
That he sees your body float,
With those hands that stretched to save
Drifting helpless on the wave;
And when tempests cease to roar
They who gather by the shore,
That wild ocean-forest thing
Whose strong roots do clutch and cling
Round the stones, shall haply find
Branches of the weed that twined
Round your hair in Berwick Bay,
Lest the tides should steal away
All that we, who loved you dear,
Held in veneration here.
To the rescue! long as sun
Floods the Firth with gold, your name
Shall be golden as your fame;
Never boy in yonder bay
But shall feel above his play
Towering up the granite cross
Mindful of our love and loss;
Never fisherman shall ride
Homewards on the swelling tide
But shall dream beside his boat
That he sees your body float,
With those hands that stretched to save
Drifting helpless on the wave;
And when tempests cease to roar
They who gather by the shore,
209
Whose strong roots do clutch and cling
Round the stones, shall haply find
Branches of the weed that twined
Round your hair in Berwick Bay,
Lest the tides should steal away
All that we, who loved you dear,
Held in veneration here.
Catherine Watson! you but saw
Boys who played beneath the “Law”
Strip and run to meet the tide,
Then you heard how voices cried,
And with not a look behind,
With your loose hair on the wind
Of your speed, you raced across
Sand and shallow to our loss,
Entered boldly to the wave
That roared at you, calm and brave,
Strong to die or strong to save.
Boys who played beneath the “Law”
Strip and run to meet the tide,
Then you heard how voices cried,
And with not a look behind,
With your loose hair on the wind
Of your speed, you raced across
Sand and shallow to our loss,
Entered boldly to the wave
That roared at you, calm and brave,
Strong to die or strong to save.
Catherine Watson! though no more
You are seen upon the shore,
Never more with brush in hand
At our fisher huts you stand,
Smiling on our children's faces,
Catching all their pretty graces
With your pencil, laughing free,
Dandling babes upon your knee,
Talking to our wives at home
Of the boats that sure will come
Round by Fidra laden well,—
Still we fishers feel your spell,
And at times we hear your brave
Voice sound cheerly o'er the wave,
Saying that you still can love
Berwick Law, and Berwick Cove,—
Still for children in the Bay
Glad would give your life away.
You are seen upon the shore,
210
At our fisher huts you stand,
Smiling on our children's faces,
Catching all their pretty graces
With your pencil, laughing free,
Dandling babes upon your knee,
Talking to our wives at home
Of the boats that sure will come
Round by Fidra laden well,—
Still we fishers feel your spell,
And at times we hear your brave
Voice sound cheerly o'er the wave,
Saying that you still can love
Berwick Law, and Berwick Cove,—
Still for children in the Bay
Glad would give your life away.
211
On the shore of East Bay, North Berwick, stands a very beautiful granite cross of Celtic design. At its base are engraved the words: “Erected by public subscription to the memory of Catherine Watson of Glasgow, aged 19, who was drowned in the East Bay, 27th July, 1889, while rescuing a drowning boy. The child was saved—the brave girl was taken.”
A fisherman standing near gave me the following account of this heroic attempt at rescue:—
“Well you see, sir, she was just a hot favourite with us all; came down year after year; a grand swimmer, and such a painter! would come and stand by hours watching our bairnies and would paint the boys and girls, and call in and chat at the doors, and take the babies into her arms, and talk on about the boats and nets just as if she was one of us. Well, she had just been in the water herself and had gone up to the house, Forth Lodge, I think they call it, that faces right on to the beach; and she looked out of the room where she was dressing and saw the boys run out to the tide for a bathe, and heard a cry, and knew they had got out of their depth. So she just dashed out of the house and away across the sand and into the sea as bold as a lion. There was a great sea running and the boy told us he heard her say, “Now put your hand on my shoulder and all will be right,” and then she sank like a stone. A boat came up and saved the boys and not a body knew she had gone under; forgot all about her in the rescue of the lads. Eh man! but it was a sair pity for we loved her all of us.
“And then we could not find the poor body; dragged and dragged and dragged, and at last one Monday morning very early, when the boats were just going out, I said I felt sure she would be found somewhere at the point there, and they said the tide would have carried her up the Firth; and I remember well the boat rounded the rocks, and I heard them sing out and knew they had found her, and they brought her in. Eh man! I was just beside myself—and there in her hair, long grand hair, was one of those great sea-weeds strong as iron with a big stone at its root; and I cut the stem and let the stone fall on the beach, for I was sair put out of the way. I would have gi'en a hundred pounds to have kept the stone; for you ken it was the stone that kept her in the bay. Eh! she was a hot favourite, as brave a leddy as ever drew breath.” And the rough man's eyes filled with tears.
212
A GALLANT QUARRYMAN.
Forth from the quarry drag the largest stone,
And bid the sculptor grave his name, his deed,
So that each village babe may grow to read—
Each grandsire tell—each father show his son,
And let these simple words be writ thereon—
“A stone fell rail-wards, and he knew the need,
He recked not of the engine's roaring speed,
But for a hundred lives he gave his one.
And bid the sculptor grave his name, his deed,
So that each village babe may grow to read—
Each grandsire tell—each father show his son,
And let these simple words be writ thereon—
“A stone fell rail-wards, and he knew the need,
He recked not of the engine's roaring speed,
But for a hundred lives he gave his one.
“Honour the man whom love and labour brought
To live so well he could so nobly die!
In the hard school of ‘drill and hammer’ taught,
He helped his brothers' hand continually,
When duty called he dashed aside the thought
Of self—left pick, left barrow, leapt to die.”
To live so well he could so nobly die!
In the hard school of ‘drill and hammer’ taught,
He helped his brothers' hand continually,
When duty called he dashed aside the thought
Of self—left pick, left barrow, leapt to die.”
213
John Chiddy, a quarryman at Hanham, near Bristol, saw that a block of stone had fallen upon the rails, heard the roar of the “Flying Dutchman,” and knew that unless that stone was removed the express would be wrecked. He leapt down the bank, seized the stone, flung it clear of the line, but was caught by the engine and killed instantaneously, April 2, 1878.
214
THE FOX AND HOUND.
“I hears the wheeals o' the market cart coom lumberin' round,
They'll stop this side o' the corner, fur twenty thousand pound,
Fur nivver a herse but 'e knaws he may baäte at the Fox and Hound:
Fox's earth! but it's men, not dogs, as follers him into the ground.
They'll stop this side o' the corner, fur twenty thousand pound,
Fur nivver a herse but 'e knaws he may baäte at the Fox and Hound:
Fox's earth! but it's men, not dogs, as follers him into the ground.
“Theer's a shackulty noise in carts when carts is droonk—tha can tell.
Yeës, yeës, they've chaänged the sign, it 'ed used to be called the Bell;
Corps-bell, I reckon's reight naäme, but the Spotted Dog hings as well—
For wheerivver the liquor is laäid fur a scent, it 'ull hunt a man to hell.
Yeës, yeës, they've chaänged the sign, it 'ed used to be called the Bell;
Corps-bell, I reckon's reight naäme, but the Spotted Dog hings as well—
For wheerivver the liquor is laäid fur a scent, it 'ull hunt a man to hell.
215
“Now, giv' it a naäme!
I beg! Two fourpennies, cold wi'out?”
“Cold wi'in, tha should saäy.” “Noa, thankee!” “A pint o' stout?
Giv' it a naäme, luvvy, doä.” “Much luvv in the cup, noä doubt!
Yon man was mad wi' his missus this morn, and still she's hall of a pout.
“Cold wi'in, tha should saäy.” “Noa, thankee!” “A pint o' stout?
Giv' it a naäme, luvvy, doä.” “Much luvv in the cup, noä doubt!
Yon man was mad wi' his missus this morn, and still she's hall of a pout.
“Giv' it a naäme! Ay, do; it's just what it wants is a naäme!
A pot of poison! a pint of murder! a gill of flaäme!
It's my opinion if fwoaks ud nobbut christen it saäme
As they doä theer bairns i' the choorch once an' all, theer 'ud be a deäl less o' the gaäme.
A pot of poison! a pint of murder! a gill of flaäme!
It's my opinion if fwoaks ud nobbut christen it saäme
As they doä theer bairns i' the choorch once an' all, theer 'ud be a deäl less o' the gaäme.
“I was oop at the Sessions to-year mysen along o' the swill,
Fur Bogg had been to the Stattis and gotten a solid fill;
An' Bogg, he scrawmed my faäce, and treated me shaämeful ill,
But he hired a barrister chap—one o' them as can fooarce ya to saäy what he will.
Fur Bogg had been to the Stattis and gotten a solid fill;
An' Bogg, he scrawmed my faäce, and treated me shaämeful ill,
But he hired a barrister chap—one o' them as can fooarce ya to saäy what he will.
216
And the monkey theer wi' his powdery heäd, he maäde me a hass:
Didn't I take a pint mysen? and droonk? Bogg had nobbut a glass.
A glass! well he might be fresh—fresheesh if it came to that pass,
But droonk!—the jurymen knew a man droonk was in quoite a different class.’
Didn't I take a pint mysen? and droonk? Bogg had nobbut a glass.
A glass! well he might be fresh—fresheesh if it came to that pass,
But droonk!—the jurymen knew a man droonk was in quoite a different class.’
“So I paäid; but they classed him wrong, and for want of a naäme an' all.
Pshaw! ‘fresheesh!’ ‘took a glass!’ ‘looked in at the Golden Ball!’
Give it a naäme, I beg! Let the Fieënd wi' owr land i' thrall
Be naämed Fieënd clear to 'is faäce—we are men—and the droonkard a droonkard call!”
Pshaw! ‘fresheesh!’ ‘took a glass!’ ‘looked in at the Golden Ball!’
Give it a naäme, I beg! Let the Fieënd wi' owr land i' thrall
Be naämed Fieënd clear to 'is faäce—we are men—and the droonkard a droonkard call!”
217
DEAD MAN'S POOL.
Do you know the pool in the Dead Man's field
At the top of the hill right over the wood?
It was there that I who had sinned was healed—
The Lord is good.
At the top of the hill right over the wood?
It was there that I who had sinned was healed—
The Lord is good.
I am only a simple labouring man,
I was wild in my day, I wasted my youth,
But a preacher came in a caravan,
He spoke God's truth.
I was wild in my day, I wasted my youth,
But a preacher came in a caravan,
He spoke God's truth.
And I turned to the Lord as a friend to a friend;
It is forty years since I made my vow,
He has followed me on to the daylight's end,
He is with me now.
It is forty years since I made my vow,
He has followed me on to the daylight's end,
He is with me now.
Our minister says, I need have no shame
Of telling how spirit can body renew,
How the soul is more than this mortal frame
Of flesh and thew.
Of telling how spirit can body renew,
218
Of flesh and thew.
I took to ditching—was never a shirk—
But the cold got into my marrow bones,
The pains grew bad, then I went to the work
Of breaking stones.
But the cold got into my marrow bones,
The pains grew bad, then I went to the work
Of breaking stones.
I hammered away and the square heap grew,
But hope grew less, and at every stroke
A piece right out of my body flew—
My heart was broke.
But hope grew less, and at every stroke
A piece right out of my body flew—
My heart was broke.
But I limped to my task and struggled on,
And then, for I felt I was not worth pay,
I left the job, my strength it was done;
She toiled away.
And then, for I felt I was not worth pay,
I left the job, my strength it was done;
She toiled away.
Slaved for us both, but the bread grew hard,
On Sunday never a butter pat,
And butter is any day better than lard!
She was fond of the cat,—
On Sunday never a butter pat,
And butter is any day better than lard!
She was fond of the cat,—
But we parted with her, for milk was dear,
And the dog I had loved as a child of my own,
He lies at the root of the rose tree there,
For ‘no meat! no bone!’
And the dog I had loved as a child of my own,
219
For ‘no meat! no bone!’
Then the Hall folks went, I was growing weak,
We heard the bell at the Union chime,
I saw the tear on my old wife's cheek,
It was workhouse time.
We heard the bell at the Union chime,
I saw the tear on my old wife's cheek,
It was workhouse time.
And the doctor came and he shook his head,
He brought another who thumped and stared,
And all the words that that other said
Were—“Be prepared.”
He brought another who thumped and stared,
And all the words that that other said
Were—“Be prepared.”
I laughed in his face! Prepared to die?
For forty years I have lived and striven
To meet my God continually
On earth, in heaven.
For forty years I have lived and striven
To meet my God continually
On earth, in heaven.
And I think that as surely here on earth
As up in heaven He sends His grace
To the souls who are ready through pain or mirth
To see His face.
As up in heaven He sends His grace
To the souls who are ready through pain or mirth
To see His face.
But, however, I lay in pain on my bed,
And my wife she moaned in her sleep all night,
And the Bible bits came into my head
As clear as light.
And my wife she moaned in her sleep all night,
220
As clear as light.
I remembered how Jesus cured the blind,
And healed the halt and maimed with a word;
Then somehow the woman came to mind
Who besought the Lord
And healed the halt and maimed with a word;
Then somehow the woman came to mind
Who besought the Lord
And took the place of a dog beneath
The table, and asked for a crumb as dole,
And heard the blessing, “Great is thy faith,
Thy child is whole.”
The table, and asked for a crumb as dole,
And heard the blessing, “Great is thy faith,
Thy child is whole.”
Then I minded the great man there with his Lord—
In the Book of Kings, it is plain to be seen—
He was angry, but went to the Jordan's ford,
Washed and was clean;
In the Book of Kings, it is plain to be seen—
He was angry, but went to the Jordan's ford,
Washed and was clean;
Dipped seven times, he did, in the flood
And his flesh came soft as the flesh of a child,
And I thought of the pool on the hill o'er the wood
And I fairly smiled.
And his flesh came soft as the flesh of a child,
And I thought of the pool on the hill o'er the wood
And I fairly smiled.
Then a voice said, “Great is thy faith and go,
Wash seven times in the Dead Man's pool!”
Another, the Devil's voice, cried, “No!
Lie still, poor fool!”
Wash seven times in the Dead Man's pool!”
221
Lie still, poor fool!”
And never a word to my wife I said,
But at dawn when the valley was wrapped in grey
I crept on my knees to the door from my bed
And crawled away.
But at dawn when the valley was wrapped in grey
I crept on my knees to the door from my bed
And crawled away.
Crawled and prayed to God in my pain,
Grant me the pool on the moor to win!
And a voice said mocking, “Thy faith is vain,
Great was thy sin.”
Grant me the pool on the moor to win!
And a voice said mocking, “Thy faith is vain,
Great was thy sin.”
And the way was long and the hill was steep,
And the sin of my youth was a heavy weight,
And home that day I was forced to creep
Disconsolate.
And the sin of my youth was a heavy weight,
And home that day I was forced to creep
Disconsolate.
A friend came to me, the carpenter's son,
He brought me crutches—I spoke no word,
But I felt the good deed that the lad had done
Was meant by the Lord.
He brought me crutches—I spoke no word,
But I felt the good deed that the lad had done
Was meant by the Lord.
And up next morn and away to the spring,
In the power of prayer, I stumbled slow,
How the lark in the heaven for joy did sing!
How the sun did glow!
In the power of prayer, I stumbled slow,
222
How the sun did glow!
I reached the pool, though the hill was hard
I felt God's presence was at my side,
I cast myself on the silent sward
And prayed and cried:
I felt God's presence was at my side,
I cast myself on the silent sward
And prayed and cried:
“Oh, Lord of pity for men who are poor,
And men who in pain for their bread must strive,
Bless Thou this Dead Man's pool on the moor
To make alive.”
And men who in pain for their bread must strive,
Bless Thou this Dead Man's pool on the moor
To make alive.”
Knelt on my handkerchief there on the soil—
Knelt and prayed till I felt the beads
Drop from my brow, for prayer is toil
When a man's soul needs.
Knelt and prayed till I felt the beads
Drop from my brow, for prayer is toil
When a man's soul needs.
But the pool on the moor had little of grace,
The wild birds verily passed it by,
It lay as white as a dead man's face
Beneath the sky.
The wild birds verily passed it by,
It lay as white as a dead man's face
Beneath the sky.
No lilies bloomed and no marish-bean
Stood out in its feathery loveliness,
No cinque-foils glittered, nor sparkled green
The water-cress.
Stood out in its feathery loveliness,
223
The water-cress.
But I bethought me of him who was loth
To change his Damascus rivers clear
For the Jordan's yellow tide, and wroth
Still turned to hear.
To change his Damascus rivers clear
For the Jordan's yellow tide, and wroth
Still turned to hear.
And well I knew it was God, my Guide,
Who led me on to that lonely pool,
Though the Voice in muffled mockery cried,
“Believe not, Fool!”
Who led me on to that lonely pool,
Though the Voice in muffled mockery cried,
“Believe not, Fool!”
Then I doffed my clothes and I said the grace,
“Father and Son and the Holy Ghost”;
I minded the man in the leper's case,
Lord of the host.
“Father and Son and the Holy Ghost”;
I minded the man in the leper's case,
Lord of the host.
He dipped seven times and I too dipped seven;
He in the valley, I on the hill—
And I felt new wonderful strength was given
By God's good will.
He in the valley, I on the hill—
And I felt new wonderful strength was given
By God's good will.
He dipped seven times in the Jordan's flood
And his flesh like a child's flesh came again,
And there in the pool on the hill o'er the wood
I left my pain.
And his flesh like a child's flesh came again,
224
I left my pain.
And the sun shone fairer, the flowers more sweet,
New melody thrilled in the blue above,
For I stood once more like a man on my feet
To labour and love.
New melody thrilled in the blue above,
For I stood once more like a man on my feet
To labour and love.
I sang as the lark sang, joy had come,
And health and hope, each step that I trod
On earth seemed heaven, and heaven seemed home.
I praised my God.
And health and hope, each step that I trod
On earth seemed heaven, and heaven seemed home.
I praised my God.
Ah, still the two Voices are in debate
By the live man's spring and the dead's man's pool—
One cries, “Be whole, for thy faith is great!”
The other, “Believe not, Fool!”
By the live man's spring and the dead's man's pool—
One cries, “Be whole, for thy faith is great!”
The other, “Believe not, Fool!”
225
226
227
I am indebted to Miss F. P. Cobbe for the story of Thomas Odell's faith and healing, and have by her kind leave extracted from a proof of her article on Faith-healing and Fear Killing, which appeared in the Contemporary Review of 1887, the account she had intended to give of it, but withdrew from publication on hearing that Odell was still at that time alive. “I recorded,” she wrote, “my interview with the man the next day, and shall here print my memorandum as it stands, merely omitting names and places. The simple-hearted faith of the good fellow as he told me his story was to me exceedingly touching.
“When we reached the village Thomas O. was absent. On our return down the road we saw him striding over a low hedge and walking firmly across the field to meet us. On my expressing respectful curiosity about his case, he invited us into his cottage: a small one, but very tidy. He sat down with us at a little table and told his story.
“‘You know, sir,’ O. began, turning to the rector, ‘how dreadful ill I was, and how you found me the last time you called, lying in great pain on a mat before the fire.’ This the rector had already told me. ‘Well, ma'am, the doctors they gave me up. Dr. S. of this parish, and Dr. G. of B. who was called in, said there was no hope for me, and I must prepare myself. Well, I could have laughed at them, for I've been trying to prepare myself nigh these forty years; and I don't fear to go whenever God calls me. But I was thinking of all this one night, a fortnight ago—a Thursday night; and I went over in my mind all the miracles that Christ did when He was on earth: how He cured the blind man; and how, when the woman came to Him about her daughter, He said: “It is not meet to take the children's bread and give it to dogs.” And she said: “Truth, Lord; yet the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master's table.” And Christ said to her: “O woman! great is thy faith.” And I thought what wonderful things faith could do, and then I thought of Naaman, and how he was cured by dipping seven times in Jordan.”
“‘Ay,’ I interrupted, ‘I have dipped seven times in Jordan too.’
“‘Lord bless you, ma'am, did you? Well, I couldn't, you see, because I don't know where Jordan is; but I do know where the spring is in Dead Man's field. You know, sir, where it is—on the top of the hill over the wood.’ (It is a remarkable-looking pool on the summit of a hill, which I had noticed by chance the previous day in my walk. It has never hitherto been supposed to have any healing quality.) ‘And so a Voice said to me, “Go and wash in that spring, and you will be cured.” And I thought and thought about it all night. And then another Voice said, “Don't go; the cold water will do you harm.” And I knew very well whose voice that was. It was the voice of the Devil. He wanted to stop me going. And so I was determined to try to get up the hill. And I tried hard the first day, but I had to turn back: I couldn't get on, I was so bad. And the next day was the same. Oh! I was terrible weak and bad. And the next day my neighbour here’—(the carpenter, I think he said)—‘came in the evening, and brought with him a pair of crutches which he said he had made for me, thinking they would help me to go about the village. And I knew the Lord had put it into his head to make the crutches, to help me to get to the spring; and I was thankful.
“‘Well, next mornin' I says to my missis: “What sort of day is it?” And she says, “It is a very fine day.” And I took my crutches and set off, but I didn't tell her, nor nobody, where I was going. It was terrible hard work to walk all the way, and I often thought I should never get there; but at last I did get up to the side of the spring. And then I took out my handkerchief, and I knelt down upon it, and prayed God to bless the water to me and cure me of my disease, if it was His will. And I washed myself seven times, and I said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” and then I knelt down again and thanked God.
“‘Well, when I got up I was like another man. The pain was gone, and I felt ever so much stronger. And I first took up my crutches and carried them home; and from that day to this I have been getting better every day, and have got no pain. And I'm getting fine and strong, and am able to set potatoes and go about a little; and I hope I may get quite well. Anyway I'm very thankful to the Lord for the relier; but I'm ready to live or die as He pleases.’”
228
NEW FANGLEDY WAÄYS.
She.
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
Ya can hardlings git hoaver the raäil
Wi'owt the blessed owd traäin
Coomin' bustin' aback o' the cart;
And toimes when it's silin o' raäin,
The chap at the gaäte-house saäys,
“Tha mun just waäit theer fur the maäil!”
I haätes 'em wi' all my 'art.
Ya can hardlings git hoaver the raäil
Wi'owt the blessed owd traäin
Coomin' bustin' aback o' the cart;
And toimes when it's silin o' raäin,
The chap at the gaäte-house saäys,
“Tha mun just waäit theer fur the maäil!”
I haätes 'em wi' all my 'art.
Theer's not haäfe the corn as wur sown,
It's moostard fur moiles i' the fen,
Yaller as gowd, but howdaäcious
Fur robbin' the naäter o' land.
And miller 'es gotten oop town,
A steämer and bit o' band,
Wind's nowt now; my graäcious!
Where will it stop and when?
It's moostard fur moiles i' the fen,
Yaller as gowd, but howdaäcious
Fur robbin' the naäter o' land.
And miller 'es gotten oop town,
A steämer and bit o' band,
229
Where will it stop and when?
He.
Not toaner
doänt trubble meä, wife,
Not steäm i' the raäil or the mill,
But gigs beänt belt so brooäd,
Doan't run i' the ruts as they shud;
One can't wi' a middlinish fill
Cum cumfrable saäme as one cud,
Thoff th' erse may quarter the roaäd,
One's amoäst shaäked owten one's life.
Not steäm i' the raäil or the mill,
But gigs beänt belt so brooäd,
Doan't run i' the ruts as they shud;
One can't wi' a middlinish fill
Cum cumfrable saäme as one cud,
Thoff th' erse may quarter the roaäd,
One's amoäst shaäked owten one's life.
Fwoäks 'es grawed soa deshedly fine,
Whoy, Squoire's oänsèn i' howr daäys,
Thoff 'is missus wur maäzin' smart,
Went hoäm i' a “booby-hutch.”
Now hall the wheeals 'es a line,
And the dooär 'es a beeäst i' a smutch,
It's dog-cart not market-cart!
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
Whoy, Squoire's oänsèn i' howr daäys,
Thoff 'is missus wur maäzin' smart,
Went hoäm i' a “booby-hutch.”
Now hall the wheeals 'es a line,
And the dooär 'es a beeäst i' a smutch,
It's dog-cart not market-cart!
I haätes the new-fangledy waäys!
230
It's not nobbut gigs 'es gone proud,
It's gells is altered an' all,
Brooäches atop o' theer gowns
And bonnets wi' fancicul wings.
I'll up'owd it them lassies at Brown's
Nivver hentered a milkin' stall,
Plaäys the pianner, poor things,
And sings like laädies aloud.
It's gells is altered an' all,
Brooäches atop o' theer gowns
And bonnets wi' fancicul wings.
I'll up'owd it them lassies at Brown's
Nivver hentered a milkin' stall,
Plaäys the pianner, poor things,
And sings like laädies aloud.
And look at the work i' the choorch,
It's minister's moäst to blaäme,
Sich minchin' and graäcin' ways
Wi' petticuts down to 'is toäs.
Theer's a halminak putten i' poorch
Wi' shillins and pence i' roäs,
And sarvice a heäp o' new days—
I doan't like noän o' the gaäme.
It's minister's moäst to blaäme,
Sich minchin' and graäcin' ways
Wi' petticuts down to 'is toäs.
Theer's a halminak putten i' poorch
Wi' shillins and pence i' roäs,
And sarvice a heäp o' new days—
I doan't like noän o' the gaäme.
He.
Naäy, naäy, let parson aloän,
I nivver wur parson-sweet,
But he's puttin' the gleëbe rent lower,
Wot's sarvice to likes o' hus?
Moäst men hes a fad o' theer oän;
Choorch bells maäs a sight o' fuss
And skeers the birds from the tower,
Them starnells the plaägue o' the wheat!
I nivver wur parson-sweet,
But he's puttin' the gleëbe rent lower,
Wot's sarvice to likes o' hus?
231
Choorch bells maäs a sight o' fuss
And skeers the birds from the tower,
Them starnells the plaägue o' the wheat!
Not but wot it wur summat sivver,
When we went one daäy owt o' seven
In a hat and owr Soondaäy cloäs,
Them daäys it wur gooin' to choorch;
Workadaäys beänt nothink to Heaven,
But wife, I contend, them as goäs
Toä sarvice a workadaäy nivver
Shud leäve theer guns i' the poorch.
When we went one daäy owt o' seven
In a hat and owr Soondaäy cloäs,
Them daäys it wur gooin' to choorch;
Workadaäys beänt nothink to Heaven,
But wife, I contend, them as goäs
Toä sarvice a workadaäy nivver
Shud leäve theer guns i' the poorch.
She.
Then “braämes,”
one hes 'em to buy,
And shops 'low nowt fur good luck,
And threäd, theer's nobbut no moor
Nor haäfe of a skein o' the reëls.
Fwoäks dresses and goäs to choorch high,
And 'es silver spoons to theer meäls,
But they maäs not a mossel o' “pluck”
To be gi'en at the Christmas door.
And shops 'low nowt fur good luck,
And threäd, theer's nobbut no moor
Nor haäfe of a skein o' the reëls.
Fwoäks dresses and goäs to choorch high,
And 'es silver spoons to theer meäls,
But they maäs not a mossel o' “pluck”
To be gi'en at the Christmas door.
232
And as fur a pig-feäst daäy,
Ya can scarce git one fur ya swill,
We 'ed used to beä axed fur miles
Wi'owt once naämin' the stuff;
And we'd yeät the whoäle pig thruff,
Fro' his head to his hocks, as they saäy;
Sich drinkin' o' healths, sich smiles,
And “Be sewer tha cooms when we kill!”
Ya can scarce git one fur ya swill,
We 'ed used to beä axed fur miles
Wi'owt once naämin' the stuff;
And we'd yeät the whoäle pig thruff,
Fro' his head to his hocks, as they saäy;
Sich drinkin' o' healths, sich smiles,
And “Be sewer tha cooms when we kill!”
He.
I doän't soa much moind fur the feäst,
We got moor nor wur good fur the gittin',
Noä soort o' kind o' use
Next daäy, a-feeäld or a-fowd;
Fur a belly bangful's the deuce,
And what wi' the hot an' the cowd
One got blowed owt like a beäst,
And the pig gone cleän at a sittin'.
We got moor nor wur good fur the gittin',
Noä soort o' kind o' use
Next daäy, a-feeäld or a-fowd;
Fur a belly bangful's the deuce,
And what wi' the hot an' the cowd
One got blowed owt like a beäst,
And the pig gone cleän at a sittin'.
But samples they beänt the saäme,
Things is grawed fra wuss to wuss
Sin' toime o' the Roosian war,
When the chaps coomed cadgin' around,
When farmers, which wur fur a shaäme,
Maäde weight wi' a hiron bar
Or a deäd lamb hid i' the truss,
And haäy bein' selled by the pound.
Things is grawed fra wuss to wuss
Sin' toime o' the Roosian war,
When the chaps coomed cadgin' around,
233
Maäde weight wi' a hiron bar
Or a deäd lamb hid i' the truss,
And haäy bein' selled by the pound.
She.
Ay, and choorchin's different done:
When I wur a noorsin', fwoäk
As 'ud goä upo' weëk daäy dobbut
Got “liberty” hunawares;
But now the parson he nobbut
'Lows Sundaäy afoor the prayers,
Wi' quolity lookin' hon,
And the clerk's paäy put i' a poäke.
When I wur a noorsin', fwoäk
As 'ud goä upo' weëk daäy dobbut
Got “liberty” hunawares;
But now the parson he nobbut
'Lows Sundaäy afoor the prayers,
Wi' quolity lookin' hon,
And the clerk's paäy put i' a poäke.
And sarvice beä altered quite,
Wi' his dancin' hither and thither,
And kneelin' fur Litany theer,
And the Lessons aback ov a bird!
I'm all of a sweät and dither
Wi' 'is oops and 'is downs; and heär?—
Hummin' but nivver a word!
And boys in theer bedgowns white!
Wi' his dancin' hither and thither,
And kneelin' fur Litany theer,
And the Lessons aback ov a bird!
I'm all of a sweät and dither
Wi' 'is oops and 'is downs; and heär?—
Hummin' but nivver a word!
And boys in theer bedgowns white!
234
He maäy minch and graäce as 'e likes,
But I howds to a pew wi' a door;
It's sa blaämedly cowd fur one kneäs
And neckhole, as things is now;
And as fur the singin'—it's moor
Like a fair-daäy branglement row;
One can't git a noäte th' orgin strikes,
And the psalm 's like a swarmin' o' beäs.
But I howds to a pew wi' a door;
It's sa blaämedly cowd fur one kneäs
And neckhole, as things is now;
And as fur the singin'—it's moor
Like a fair-daäy branglement row;
One can't git a noäte th' orgin strikes,
And the psalm 's like a swarmin' o' beäs.
When I wur a boy the clerk gaäve
The noäte wi' 'is pick-poipe plaäin:
Eh, dear! dost 'e moind that daäy
When he puffed and the whistle wur stuck?
And “John,” sed the parson, quoite graäve,
“Wot's 'oop?” an' we 'eard 'im saäy
Loud howt, “It's along o' the raäin,
Pick-poipe weant speäk fur the muck!”
The noäte wi' 'is pick-poipe plaäin:
Eh, dear! dost 'e moind that daäy
When he puffed and the whistle wur stuck?
And “John,” sed the parson, quoite graäve,
“Wot's 'oop?” an' we 'eard 'im saäy
Loud howt, “It's along o' the raäin,
Pick-poipe weant speäk fur the muck!”
She.
I'd nivver noä horgin pride,
And them munkeys i' white as sings
I can't abeer to see 'em,
It maäs 'em as peërt as daws;
And gells brings civigates
wi' 'em
To staäy to the Supper, tha knaws,
And goäs to the raäils alongside
O' theer missus, the himperent things!
And them munkeys i' white as sings
I can't abeer to see 'em,
It maäs 'em as peërt as daws;
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To staäy to the Supper, tha knaws,
And goäs to the raäils alongside
O' theer missus, the himperent things!
Just look at the maäsk o' holly
They weär! The owd choorch beänt dressed
I' a weeäk: we did it in one daäy,
Stook hivvery pew hend wi' a bough:
And tunnops i' harvest, the folly!
Fur shaäme! but it's hall chaänged now,
Why fwoäks upo' funeral Sundaäy
Stands oop i' the praäyers wi' the rest!
They weär! The owd choorch beänt dressed
I' a weeäk: we did it in one daäy,
Stook hivvery pew hend wi' a bough:
And tunnops i' harvest, the folly!
Fur shaäme! but it's hall chaänged now,
Why fwoäks upo' funeral Sundaäy
Stands oop i' the praäyers wi' the rest!
He.
Yees, chaänges sewerloy theer beä:
Tha knaws when a man goäs deäd
We puts howr hats o' is coffin
I' choorch, to shew owr respec,
But t' parson he shaäkes 'is 'eäd,
'E objecs: whoy doant 'e objec
To the getherins coomin' soä offin
Fur the blackamoors hoaver the seä?
Tha knaws when a man goäs deäd
We puts howr hats o' is coffin
I' choorch, to shew owr respec,
But t' parson he shaäkes 'is 'eäd,
'E objecs: whoy doant 'e objec
To the getherins coomin' soä offin
Fur the blackamoors hoaver the seä?
236
Parson he meäns noä harm,
Thoff he doänt knaw wots fro' the wheät;
I've nowt ageän my friend,
But his sarmon's soa deshedly quick
I can nivver git round whoäle farm
And back to the threeä-haäcre rick
Befoor he's gotten to hend,
And weä stannin' oop on howr feeät.
Thoff he doänt knaw wots fro' the wheät;
I've nowt ageän my friend,
But his sarmon's soa deshedly quick
I can nivver git round whoäle farm
And back to the threeä-haäcre rick
Befoor he's gotten to hend,
And weä stannin' oop on howr feeät.
She.
Ay, ay! but ya sooner back
Fur the baäcon and taätes, tha knaws,
And mebbe the chaänge is best,
And mebbe howrsens is to blaäme;
And as long as we're hunder the thack
What matters which waäy wind blaws,
If nobbut howr moinds is at rest
And howr 'arts is still the saäme.
Fur the baäcon and taätes, tha knaws,
And mebbe the chaänge is best,
And mebbe howrsens is to blaäme;
And as long as we're hunder the thack
What matters which waäy wind blaws,
If nobbut howr moinds is at rest
And howr 'arts is still the saäme.
And God O'mighty abuvv
Is o'mighty on herth as well,
And happen chaänges is fitten
Howrsens fur a chaänge o' staäte.
Howr John's a-coortin' the gell!
I reckons, like cat like kitten,—
We boäth on us knaw ony-raäte
One thing doänt chaänge, and that's luvv.
Is o'mighty on herth as well,
And happen chaänges is fitten
Howrsens fur a chaänge o' staäte.
237
I reckons, like cat like kitten,—
We boäth on us knaw ony-raäte
One thing doänt chaänge, and that's luvv.
238
THE ENGINE-DRIVER.
On the Pennsylvanian Railway.
It may seem a simple thing—
Just one eye upon the gauge,
And another on the glancing semaphore—
But the man who wins his wage
By the engine's furnace-door
Needs a heart that ne'er looks back,
As he flies along the track,
With his demon of a fire-drake on the wing.
Just one eye upon the gauge,
And another on the glancing semaphore—
But the man who wins his wage
By the engine's furnace-door
Needs a heart that ne'er looks back,
As he flies along the track,
With his demon of a fire-drake on the wing.
Leaping gulf and piercing hill,
Into tunnels with a scream,
Where the reek it chokes the breath and blinds the eye,
Neath the cloud of his own steam,
Under stars that upward fly
To mingle with the stars
That flash their colours at the cars,
Goes the driver thro' the night-time with a will.
Into tunnels with a scream,
Where the reek it chokes the breath and blinds the eye,
Neath the cloud of his own steam,
Under stars that upward fly
To mingle with the stars
That flash their colours at the cars,
Goes the driver thro' the night-time with a will.
239
Daring heart at night it needs,
But by day the heights appal—
Dizzy height above, below him dreadful hollow.
You may almost hear Death call,
You may almost see Death follow,
As he roars along with thunder,
And the great piles quiver under,
While the echo of his coming after speeds.
But by day the heights appal—
Dizzy height above, below him dreadful hollow.
You may almost hear Death call,
You may almost see Death follow,
As he roars along with thunder,
And the great piles quiver under,
While the echo of his coming after speeds.
What a school for heart and head!
Head and hand and eye as one!
On the Pennsylvanian road our very cars
Make us gallants as they run,
Light the track with hero stars,
Take our mortal clay and give
Immortality to live
When our flesh like ash is scattered cold and dead!
Head and hand and eye as one!
On the Pennsylvanian road our very cars
Make us gallants as they run,
Light the track with hero stars,
Take our mortal clay and give
Immortality to live
When our flesh like ash is scattered cold and dead!
It seems gone a month at most,
I was engine-mate with Bill—
He the driver, I the fireman, comrades true,
Proud of “Rocket” standing still,
Proud of “Rocket” as she flew.
Talk of sweethearts, men and wives!
Why, the man who fires or drives
Loves his engine! We were making up time lost.
I was engine-mate with Bill—
He the driver, I the fireman, comrades true,
Proud of “Rocket” standing still,
Proud of “Rocket” as she flew.
240
Why, the man who fires or drives
Loves his engine! We were making up time lost.
We had had an awkward ride,
For the cars were full behind,
Slope against us, rails all slippery with rain;
Bill was troubled in his mind,
Snapped his watch and coiled the chain
To a knot—“Ten minutes late!”
As we entered on the straight,
And I looked at him and set the fire doors wide.
For the cars were full behind,
Slope against us, rails all slippery with rain;
Bill was troubled in his mind,
Snapped his watch and coiled the chain
To a knot—“Ten minutes late!”
As we entered on the straight,
And I looked at him and set the fire doors wide.
How we hissed along that mile!
How the wires beside the track
Dipped and danced, and rushed behind us out of sight!
How the great cars at our back
Swung to left and swung to right,
As with thunderclaps we ran
Under bridge and over span,
Till my mate's face beamed and broadened to a smile!
How the wires beside the track
Dipped and danced, and rushed behind us out of sight!
How the great cars at our back
Swung to left and swung to right,
As with thunderclaps we ran
Under bridge and over span,
Till my mate's face beamed and broadened to a smile!
Fate was swifter than our pace,
For I sudden heard a cry,
And the engine shook and shuddered in its gear—
God have mercy! on we fly
To our doom in hot career!
For a switch set hard aback
Has turned us from the track,
And like lightning thro' the siding points we race!
For I sudden heard a cry,
241
God have mercy! on we fly
To our doom in hot career!
For a switch set hard aback
Has turned us from the track,
And like lightning thro' the siding points we race!
Then my mate set teeth and said,
“Will our coupling give or hold?”
And I felt the cars make sudden backward pull;
For with spirit lion-bold
He put steam to fiercest full,
On the cars set fiercest brake,
“Jump,” he cried, “Jim, for God's sake!”
So I jumped—but Bill the driver shot ahead—
“Will our coupling give or hold?”
And I felt the cars make sudden backward pull;
For with spirit lion-bold
He put steam to fiercest full,
On the cars set fiercest brake,
“Jump,” he cried, “Jim, for God's sake!”
So I jumped—but Bill the driver shot ahead—
Never turned nor waved a hand,
Like an arrow from the bow,
Straight to death the gallant engine-driver dashed;
But the heavy cars stopped slow,
While the “Rocket” leapt and crashed
Through the siding to its fate,
Dust to dust—and Bill went straight
To the glory of the Saviour's hero-land.
Like an arrow from the bow,
Straight to death the gallant engine-driver dashed;
But the heavy cars stopped slow,
While the “Rocket” leapt and crashed
Through the siding to its fate,
Dust to dust—and Bill went straight
To the glory of the Saviour's hero-land.
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Well and nobly had he driven!
And I saw him 'neath the pile—
Twisted axles, rails like serpents, blood and grime—
Smiling just as he would smile
When his engine made up time,
On his face no sign of fear—
He had found the road all clear,
As he raced along the track right into Heaven.
And I saw him 'neath the pile—
Twisted axles, rails like serpents, blood and grime—
Smiling just as he would smile
When his engine made up time,
On his face no sign of fear—
He had found the road all clear,
As he raced along the track right into Heaven.
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My thanks are due to my friend Mr. Mather, M.P., for the motive of this ballad. He was visiting the engineering shops of the Pennsylvanian Railroad at Altona, and spoke of the courage and coolness that must be needed by the engine-drivers on that line. One of the Managers assented and said: “We keep a note of all the plucky things done by our servants, and one of the most heroic and one of the most remarkable, as showing how minds trained to face danger and to think of others can resolve in a moment to act for the best, is the following:—
“A driver of an express with heavy cars behind him suddenly found that without any signal he had been turned off the main line into a siding. The one hope of escape for his train was that it should be brought to a standstill before he had gone the full length of the siding, but he saw that there were trucks in the way, and that he could not possibly bring the whole train to a stand in time to prevent collision. His only chance of saving the train was to break the couplings between his engine and the cars. Swift as thought he resolved, applied the brakes hard all to the cars and simultaneously put on full steam ahead. The sudden strain asunder thus procured snapped the couplings. The cars came to a standstill, while he and his released engine flew forward with double speed to destruction. His stoker who had jumped just at the right moment, was saved to tell the story of his mate's heroic deed.”
244
AT THE RAM-SHOW DINNER.
After the Member's Speech.
“Gentlemen all, you hev heard
What the Parliament-man hes sed,
And I weänt gaäin-saäy but it's trew;
But, gentlemen, doän't be led
By the Parliament-man, or my word
—If ya taäke my word—you'll rew.
What the Parliament-man hes sed,
And I weänt gaäin-saäy but it's trew;
But, gentlemen, doän't be led
By the Parliament-man, or my word
—If ya taäke my word—you'll rew.
For he sed he 'ed knawed of men
Boorn upo tunnops and taätes
As 'ed raäised theersens oop fast,
As 'ed got to maäke law for the staätes,
Chaänged to a wig fro' the pen,
Sat on the wool-sack at last.
Boorn upo tunnops and taätes
As 'ed raäised theersens oop fast,
As 'ed got to maäke law for the staätes,
Chaänged to a wig fro' the pen,
Sat on the wool-sack at last.
Tories the boys for my school,
Nivver wur sweeät upo' Whigs,
Now moind, it's trewth thoff I tell it,
We mun raäise beast, herses and pigs,
And graw good mutton and wool,
Not sit on the wool-sack, but sell it.”
Nivver wur sweeät upo' Whigs,
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We mun raäise beast, herses and pigs,
And graw good mutton and wool,
Not sit on the wool-sack, but sell it.”
246
VALEDICTORY.
Father, to you who taught meTo care for the wold and the fen,
Father, to you who brought me
Love of the Lincoln men,
These poor songs—in a tongue
That is dying, homely and harsh—
To you who are dead I have sung
From the fen and the wold and the marsh.
| Poems, Ballads and Bucolics | |