Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] With Portrait engraved by E. Stodart ... in two volumes |
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THE DORMOUSE.
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 | Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |  |
154
THE DORMOUSE.
(INSCRIBED TO SOPHY.)
Lonely as Adam in his earliest hour,
Or Alexander Selkirk on his isle,
The Dormouse lay, beside a goodly pile
Of nuts and seeds, within his latticed bow'r
All snugly nested round with wool and hay.
Or Alexander Selkirk on his isle,
The Dormouse lay, beside a goodly pile
Of nuts and seeds, within his latticed bow'r
All snugly nested round with wool and hay.
He slept his long protracted Winter-sleep,—
A portly sleeper,—sleek, and fat, and full
From Summer feasting, but nor hay nor wool
Nor comfortable coverlid, could keep
His body warm; 'twas thus the Dormouse lay.
A portly sleeper,—sleek, and fat, and full
From Summer feasting, but nor hay nor wool
Nor comfortable coverlid, could keep
His body warm; 'twas thus the Dormouse lay.
“The Dormouse!” . . These two simple words unfold
His piteous story! Wrested from his kind
While yet a mouseling, ere his tender mind
Could frame a wish; whence loneliness and cold;
He was the only Dormouse in the place!—
His piteous story! Wrested from his kind
While yet a mouseling, ere his tender mind
Could frame a wish; whence loneliness and cold;
He was the only Dormouse in the place!—
155
A lonely orphan Dormouse, celibate,
And banish'd from the beauteous world of bough
And bud and blooming spray, and seeming now
Albeit unconscious of his hapless fate,
Like the survivor of some vanish'd race.
And banish'd from the beauteous world of bough
And bud and blooming spray, and seeming now
Albeit unconscious of his hapless fate,
Like the survivor of some vanish'd race.
Oh, what a wonderland he does not know
Who has not heard the little rustling things
That fill the forest with their whisperings,
Or watch'd the scarlet foam-fleck'd toadstools grow,
Or 'spied the barr'd blue feather of the jay!
Who has not heard the little rustling things
That fill the forest with their whisperings,
Or watch'd the scarlet foam-fleck'd toadstools grow,
Or 'spied the barr'd blue feather of the jay!
The Dormouse knew not these; all unreveal'd
Were Nature's choicest secrets, tho' his mind
Knew no regret. Thus “cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,”
And e'en as one encompass'd and congeal'd
In Winter's cruel thrall, the Dormouse lay.
Were Nature's choicest secrets, tho' his mind
Knew no regret. Thus “cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,”
And e'en as one encompass'd and congeal'd
In Winter's cruel thrall, the Dormouse lay.
And oftentimes, at night, with slipper'd feet
The fair Sophia of the golden locks
Would softly rise, and take him from his box,
And listen if his lonely heart still beat,
Her young brow clouded with anxiety;—
The fair Sophia of the golden locks
Would softly rise, and take him from his box,
And listen if his lonely heart still beat,
Her young brow clouded with anxiety;—
156
Fearing the very worst, because so cold]
And death-like was his slumber, and his mien
So absolutely placid and serene
And purged of earthly passion. He seem'd roll'd
Into a ball of pulseless apathy.
And death-like was his slumber, and his mien
So absolutely placid and serene
And purged of earthly passion. He seem'd roll'd
Into a ball of pulseless apathy.
Thus did his uneventful days go by
Till Christmas came again,—the time of jests
And merry-making. With it came two guests
Of whom one brought a gift, which silently
He slipp'd in Sophy's eager outstretch'd hand.
Till Christmas came again,—the time of jests
And merry-making. With it came two guests
Of whom one brought a gift, which silently
He slipp'd in Sophy's eager outstretch'd hand.
Oh, gift acceptable and long desired
Yet seeming, on account of last year's frost,
A thing obtainable at too great cost
To be by one of modest means acquired
Thro' all the breadth and compass of the land! . . .
Yet seeming, on account of last year's frost,
A thing obtainable at too great cost
To be by one of modest means acquired
Thro' all the breadth and compass of the land! . . .
And still the Dormouse slept, and if a thrill
Pass'd thro' him in a dream, she knew it not
Who, stealing to his dwelling, brought him—what? . . .
This precious gift, and left it, lying still
Next to his heart, amongst the wool and hay!
Pass'd thro' him in a dream, she knew it not
Who, stealing to his dwelling, brought him—what? . . .
This precious gift, and left it, lying still
Next to his heart, amongst the wool and hay!
157
Anon a change came over Nature's face,
And e'en as our first parent woke, of old,
The Dormouse thaw'd and waken'd, and behold!
Still all unconscious,—in his limp embrace
A lovely little lady-Dormouse lay!
And e'en as our first parent woke, of old,
The Dormouse thaw'd and waken'd, and behold!
Still all unconscious,—in his limp embrace
A lovely little lady-Dormouse lay!
1891.
| Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] | |