Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] With Portrait engraved by E. Stodart ... in two volumes |
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AN “OLD, OLD STORY.”
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 | Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |  |
133
AN “OLD, OLD STORY.”
“Let me die with this ring on my finger, then fold my hands, so, on my bosom,
I had never the heart to pawn it, tho' it wasn't a wedding ring;
I have said how I came by it now: Last year, when the broom was in blossom,
Down by the low-lying lands where the very first nightingales sing,
When the lilacs were thick on the bough, but ere ever the hawthorn was over,
When the evening shadows grew long, and the river seemed all in a glow,
Whilst the grasshopper chirped under foot and the moths were aflit in the clover,
Down by the low-lying lands—there is no use denying it now!
I had never the heart to pawn it, tho' it wasn't a wedding ring;
I have said how I came by it now: Last year, when the broom was in blossom,
Down by the low-lying lands where the very first nightingales sing,
When the lilacs were thick on the bough, but ere ever the hawthorn was over,
When the evening shadows grew long, and the river seemed all in a glow,
Whilst the grasshopper chirped under foot and the moths were aflit in the clover,
Down by the low-lying lands—there is no use denying it now!
134
Ah! if ever your sweetheart, your Will, had said anything half so tender,
Had he pleaded thus night after night, and press'd you thus day after day—
But, no! I may do you a wrong; you might never have made surrender,
So, sister, forgive me my words, you might always have said him nay!
But then, we were never alike, no more than the rose and the bramble,
You were always so sweet and sedate, whilst I was accounted so wild,
Ever ripe for a romp in the hay, or awake for a moonlight ramble,
And with never a fear of aught since the day that I grew from a child.
Had he pleaded thus night after night, and press'd you thus day after day—
But, no! I may do you a wrong; you might never have made surrender,
So, sister, forgive me my words, you might always have said him nay!
But then, we were never alike, no more than the rose and the bramble,
You were always so sweet and sedate, whilst I was accounted so wild,
Ever ripe for a romp in the hay, or awake for a moonlight ramble,
And with never a fear of aught since the day that I grew from a child.
And Will—I mean not to offend, for you know it as well as another—
Had courted me nigh two years, had been trying to make me tame;
Will, who seem'd like a schoolmaster then—your husband since, and my brother—
Had ask'd me to share his home, and had ask'd me to bear his name.
So a good man cared for me once; surely this is a thought I may cling to,
He took me for honest and true, tho' a trifle light-hearted and wild,
A pupil to preach to and teach, or a playmate to fondle and sing to,
Having no more notion of guile than might lurk in the heart of a child.
Had courted me nigh two years, had been trying to make me tame;
Will, who seem'd like a schoolmaster then—your husband since, and my brother—
Had ask'd me to share his home, and had ask'd me to bear his name.
135
He took me for honest and true, tho' a trifle light-hearted and wild,
A pupil to preach to and teach, or a playmate to fondle and sing to,
Having no more notion of guile than might lurk in the heart of a child.
But my heart was away at the Hall, with its tapestry hangings and armour,
With its banner that waved from the tow'r over-looking the half of the Shire;
I had drunk of the poison'd cup and bent low to the voice of the charmer,
To the tempter that came to me clothed in the form of our brave young Squire.
“What is Willy, in spite of his worth?” I said to myself, in my blindness,
As I look'd at his gamekeeper's coat, and toss'd up my head in my pride;
Tho' I knew, for the matter of that, that for honesty, wisdom, and kindness,
He'd have beaten the very best husband that breathed in the country side.
With its banner that waved from the tow'r over-looking the half of the Shire;
I had drunk of the poison'd cup and bent low to the voice of the charmer,
To the tempter that came to me clothed in the form of our brave young Squire.
“What is Willy, in spite of his worth?” I said to myself, in my blindness,
As I look'd at his gamekeeper's coat, and toss'd up my head in my pride;
Tho' I knew, for the matter of that, that for honesty, wisdom, and kindness,
He'd have beaten the very best husband that breathed in the country side.
136
As I look from this hospital window, it all seems so long pass'd over,
And more like a dream than a truth that I never may look on him more,
That my bed must be under the turf, with only the worm for a lover,
I'm glad, though I cried so at first, that the baby has gone before,
For I mayn't feel so lonesome and lost in the great, grand heavenly palace;
And mother may welcome me, too, that was taken a year last June;
She will wonder at seeing me, her mad little venturesome Alice;
And I shan't like to tell her, at first, how I come to be there so soon!
And more like a dream than a truth that I never may look on him more,
That my bed must be under the turf, with only the worm for a lover,
I'm glad, though I cried so at first, that the baby has gone before,
For I mayn't feel so lonesome and lost in the great, grand heavenly palace;
And mother may welcome me, too, that was taken a year last June;
She will wonder at seeing me, her mad little venturesome Alice;
And I shan't like to tell her, at first, how I come to be there so soon!
Why should Love, that God set in our hearts, that was none of our own inventing,
Bring so often a curse to us girls and plant such a thorn in our breasts?
Did the robins and ring-doves at home, limp about broken-wing'd and lamenting,
Just because, when the season came round, they pair'd off and built themselves nests?
I know I'm a sinner; I know I scarce hope to go quite unforgiven;
I bow to the dust, in my shame, in the sight of the Father above,
But I seem to feel, somehow, quite sure, if I'm counted too wicked for heaven,
That it won't be because when on earth I had learnt what it was to love!
Bring so often a curse to us girls and plant such a thorn in our breasts?
Did the robins and ring-doves at home, limp about broken-wing'd and lamenting,
Just because, when the season came round, they pair'd off and built themselves nests?
137
I bow to the dust, in my shame, in the sight of the Father above,
But I seem to feel, somehow, quite sure, if I'm counted too wicked for heaven,
That it won't be because when on earth I had learnt what it was to love!
Let me die with this ring on my finger, then fold my hands, so, on my bosom,
I had never the heart to pawn it, tho' it wasn't a wedding ring;
I have said how I came by it now: Last year, when the broom was in blossom,
Down by the low-lying lands where the very first nightingales sing,
When the lilacs were thick on the bough, but ere ever the hawthorn was over,
When the evening shadows grew long, and the river seem'd all in a glow,
Whilst the grasshopper chirp'd at our feet and the moths were aflit in the clover,
Down by the low-lying lands—there is no use denying it now!”
I had never the heart to pawn it, tho' it wasn't a wedding ring;
I have said how I came by it now: Last year, when the broom was in blossom,
Down by the low-lying lands where the very first nightingales sing,
When the lilacs were thick on the bough, but ere ever the hawthorn was over,
When the evening shadows grew long, and the river seem'd all in a glow,
Whilst the grasshopper chirp'd at our feet and the moths were aflit in the clover,
Down by the low-lying lands—there is no use denying it now!”
| Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] | |