 | Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac |  |
71
LADY AND SERVANT.
Hannah, with her coarse clean apron,
With her rough bare arms and hands,
Coming up into the parlour
To receive your high commands;
In her homely frock of cotton,
In the cap that servants wear—
Spacious cap of simple muslin,
Hiding all her soft brown hair;
So she meekly stands before you,
Whilst you tell her what to do;
Curtsying low when you dismiss her:
Hannah is the maid for you!
With her rough bare arms and hands,
Coming up into the parlour
To receive your high commands;
In her homely frock of cotton,
In the cap that servants wear—
Spacious cap of simple muslin,
Hiding all her soft brown hair;
So she meekly stands before you,
Whilst you tell her what to do;
Curtsying low when you dismiss her:
Hannah is the maid for you!
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She is tall, robust, and comely;
Full of vigour, full of power;
Strong to lift and heave and carry,
Strong to sweep and scrub and scour:
Nothing in her humble calling
Comes amiss to one like her—
Born to be a strenuous servant
And a silent labourer.
Full of vigour, full of power;
Strong to lift and heave and carry,
Strong to sweep and scrub and scour:
Nothing in her humble calling
Comes amiss to one like her—
Born to be a strenuous servant
And a silent labourer.
Yes; for each well-order'd kitchen
Is a sternly silent one:
Those who labour, stay their talking
Till the task they do is done.
Blacking boots or washing dishes,
Cleaning knives or grates or stairs—
She who does such work, must do it
Silent as the Fates do theirs.
Is a sternly silent one:
Those who labour, stay their talking
Till the task they do is done.
Blacking boots or washing dishes,
Cleaning knives or grates or stairs—
She who does such work, must do it
Silent as the Fates do theirs.
Thus, she has no conversation—
Not a single word to say,
Save an answer to your questions,
Or a promise to obey:
‘Yes, Sir,’ if you tell her something;
No, Sir,' if you wish for No:
Who can guess the thoughts and feelings
Of a maid that speaks but so?
Not a single word to say,
Save an answer to your questions,
Or a promise to obey:
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No, Sir,' if you wish for No:
Who can guess the thoughts and feelings
Of a maid that speaks but so?
Ah, then, place her with her equals,
On a Sunday afternoon,
By the kitchen fire in winter,
Or among the lanes in June;
She will flirt with Tom the baker,
She will chat with Betsy Jane,
Just as full of life and laughter
As the vainest of the vain.
On a Sunday afternoon,
By the kitchen fire in winter,
Or among the lanes in June;
She will flirt with Tom the baker,
She will chat with Betsy Jane,
Just as full of life and laughter
As the vainest of the vain.
No! Though many a serving damsel
Only cares for joys like these,
Hannah is a graver creature—
She has higher sympathies.
Think upon her face—so handsome,
So expressive, so refined!
Such a face should be the symbol
Of a cultivated mind.
Only cares for joys like these,
Hannah is a graver creature—
She has higher sympathies.
Think upon her face—so handsome,
So expressive, so refined!
Such a face should be the symbol
Of a cultivated mind.
74
If she has no cultivation,
If her rustic speech and ways
Fit her for a lower level,
Keep her on it, all her days;
Yet a man who can regard her
With an educated eye,
Sees at once, that he could make her
Just as good as you or I.
If her rustic speech and ways
Fit her for a lower level,
Keep her on it, all her days;
Yet a man who can regard her
With an educated eye,
Sees at once, that he could make her
Just as good as you or I.
Better not, you say? For Nature
Wisely put her where she is:
She may help poor Tom the baker
To a nobler life than his;
She may teach her vulgar fellows
How to dignify their trade;
How to find a soul superior
Even in a kitchen-maid.
Wisely put her where she is:
She may help poor Tom the baker
To a nobler life than his;
She may teach her vulgar fellows
How to dignify their trade;
How to find a soul superior
Even in a kitchen-maid.
But, for us, for such as we are,
Maidens of a different sphere,
Train'd on purpose to allure us,
Most conveniently appear:
Far above the world of labour
Do they soar and sing and shine;
Faultless are their feet, their manners—
They can dance, and they can dine.
Maidens of a different sphere,
Train'd on purpose to allure us,
Most conveniently appear:
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Do they soar and sing and shine;
Faultless are their feet, their manners—
They can dance, and they can dine.
They know all the newest fashions,
All the latest, loosest lore
Of the philosophic thinker,
Of the novel-reading bore;
They can talk on any subject;
They have culture, they have coin:
Surely, such congenial creatures
Love and we are bound to join!
All the latest, loosest lore
Of the philosophic thinker,
Of the novel-reading bore;
They can talk on any subject;
They have culture, they have coin:
Surely, such congenial creatures
Love and we are bound to join!
If they have not Hannah's beauty,
Hannah's lips and eyes and hair,
They have gifts she cannot rival,
Graces she may never share:
Grace of pose, and grace of movement;
Grace of utterance, to beguile
Every fancy, every feeling,
With an educated smile.
Hannah's lips and eyes and hair,
They have gifts she cannot rival,
Graces she may never share:
Grace of pose, and grace of movement;
Grace of utterance, to beguile
Every fancy, every feeling,
With an educated smile.
76
Smiles, indeed! A wench like Hannah
Shows her white teeth with a grin,
While she holds the hall door open
Just to let your worship in:
When she carries down your luggage,
'Tis to her a double bliss,
If your worship chance to give her
Both a shilling and a kiss.
Shows her white teeth with a grin,
While she holds the hall door open
Just to let your worship in:
When she carries down your luggage,
'Tis to her a double bliss,
If your worship chance to give her
Both a shilling and a kiss.
Or, if she be less compliant,
She is rustic still, and poor;
Glad to earn a servant's wages,
And content to do no more:
For her arms are big and ruddy,
And her hands are rough and hard—
Goodness gracious, what an object
For a gentleman's regard!
She is rustic still, and poor;
Glad to earn a servant's wages,
And content to do no more:
For her arms are big and ruddy,
And her hands are rough and hard—
Goodness gracious, what an object
For a gentleman's regard!
Nay—give me the tender touches
That can melt one's heart to love;
Velvet palms and supple fingers
Softer than their own soft glove;
Snowy arms, just bared for beauty
In the light of some gay room—
Not such arms as wield the shovel
And the bucket and the broom!
That can melt one's heart to love;
Velvet palms and supple fingers
Softer than their own soft glove;
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In the light of some gay room—
Not such arms as wield the shovel
And the bucket and the broom!
So? I bow to your decision;
And I hear it with respect,
Though the maiden I would favour
Is the one whom you reject:
You are right; a well-born lady,
With her breeding and her brains,
Is a better wife for most men
Than the pink of Betsy Janes.
And I hear it with respect,
Though the maiden I would favour
Is the one whom you reject:
You are right; a well-born lady,
With her breeding and her brains,
Is a better wife for most men
Than the pink of Betsy Janes.
But there is a combination,
If it only could succeed,
Of the lady and the servant,
That were exquisite indeed:
Could we find a peasant maiden
Simply nurtured, simply drest,
Used to lowliness and labour—
Yet as noble as the best!
If it only could succeed,
Of the lady and the servant,
That were exquisite indeed:
Could we find a peasant maiden
Simply nurtured, simply drest,
Used to lowliness and labour—
Yet as noble as the best!
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Surely, work—the common service
Of the household or the farm—
Work that makes the hand laborious
And gives muscle to the arm—
Surely, this is not ignoble;
Surely, this may well combine
With so much of education
As shall soften and refine?
Of the household or the farm—
Work that makes the hand laborious
And gives muscle to the arm—
Surely, this is not ignoble;
Surely, this may well combine
With so much of education
As shall soften and refine?
Men have tried it: many a workman
At the factory or the forge,
Though he does not leave his calling,
And is still but Jack or George,
Yet, by thinking and by reading
On the higher themes of life,
Rises to a mental platform
Far above his working wife.
At the factory or the forge,
Though he does not leave his calling,
And is still but Jack or George,
Yet, by thinking and by reading
On the higher themes of life,
Rises to a mental platform
Far above his working wife.
Why should she be left behind, then?
'Tis her own fault, if she is;
For her nature fits such training
Far more easily than his:
He may gain a deal of knowledge,
He may spout it everywhere,
Yet his manners are no softer,
And he still can drink and swear.
'Tis her own fault, if she is;
For her nature fits such training
Far more easily than his:
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He may spout it everywhere,
Yet his manners are no softer,
And he still can drink and swear.
But a woman, if she rises,
Rises wholly, not in part;
With her brains, her tastes are better'd,
And her feelings, and her heart.
Yes; and that way lies the danger:
If she finds herself improved,
She forsakes the lowly labour
Which she never really loved.
Rises wholly, not in part;
With her brains, her tastes are better'd,
And her feelings, and her heart.
Yes; and that way lies the danger:
If she finds herself improved,
She forsakes the lowly labour
Which she never really loved.
Foolish shame! For coarse in body
Need not suffer coarse in mind:
I have known a score of maidens
Pure as any womankind,
Though their hands were hard and horny
And their faces black with coal:
Safe within its strong rude fortress
Sate each calm unsullied soul.
Need not suffer coarse in mind:
I have known a score of maidens
Pure as any womankind,
Though their hands were hard and horny
And their faces black with coal:
Safe within its strong rude fortress
Sate each calm unsullied soul.
80
Then, let her too love her labour:
'Tis her birthright; 'tis her own:
Should a working wife and mother
Think it grand to be a drone?
Need she wish to ape the ladies,
Or suppose it very hard,
That she still must go on scrubbing
In the kitchen and the yard?
'Tis her birthright; 'tis her own:
Should a working wife and mother
Think it grand to be a drone?
Need she wish to ape the ladies,
Or suppose it very hard,
That she still must go on scrubbing
In the kitchen and the yard?
If she loved her work and service
As her husband loves his trade,
She might give us, in her daughters,
Many a noble servant maid;
Strong and artless like your Hannah,
Yet refined enough to be
A companion—aye, a sweetheart—
For such men as you and me.
As her husband loves his trade,
She might give us, in her daughters,
Many a noble servant maid;
Strong and artless like your Hannah,
Yet refined enough to be
A companion—aye, a sweetheart—
For such men as you and me.
| Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac | |