Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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LADY JANET, MAY JEAN.
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1
LADY JANET, MAY JEAN.
'Tween sleeping and waking, 'tween fever and fear,
The lady Janet, May Jean,
Felt her mothering hour draw near;
So wearily dreaming 'tween fever and fear;
The shards have cut the shoeless feet.
May Jean she was with the snood on her head,
Lady Janet she would be were she wed,
But she locked herself in on her lonely bed.
The housel is borne along the street.
The lady Janet, May Jean,
Felt her mothering hour draw near;
So wearily dreaming 'tween fever and fear;
The shards have cut the shoeless feet.
2
Lady Janet she would be were she wed,
But she locked herself in on her lonely bed.
The housel is borne along the street.
Was it the wise-woman on the bower-stair
From lady Janet, May Jean?
Wrapt in her thin arms what doth she bear
Against her hard bosom; why speeds she and where
The wind is about in the crow's nest.
It was the wise-woman no one knew
Came down as the dark night mottled grew,
And, groping her way, to the postern flew.
The stream doth every cranny quest.
From lady Janet, May Jean?
Wrapt in her thin arms what doth she bear
Against her hard bosom; why speeds she and where
The wind is about in the crow's nest.
It was the wise-woman no one knew
Came down as the dark night mottled grew,
And, groping her way, to the postern flew.
The stream doth every cranny quest.
To shoot back the bar and make no sound,
O lady Janet, May Jean!
She laid down the fardel on the ground,
And the in-rushing cold wind swept all round;—
Long willow leaves are white below.
But the house dog's near, his scent is keen,
The fardel and wise-wife he ran between,
He snatched and ran and was no more seen.
Black are the berries of nightshade and sloe.
O lady Janet, May Jean!
She laid down the fardel on the ground,
And the in-rushing cold wind swept all round;—
Long willow leaves are white below.
But the house dog's near, his scent is keen,
The fardel and wise-wife he ran between,
He snatched and ran and was no more seen.
Black are the berries of nightshade and sloe.
On the carven bed in the lighted bower
Turned lady Janet, May Jean,
Waiting it seemed to her, hour on hour,
Hearing the wind creak the vane on the tower;—
The tide-wave breathes by sink and swell.
Why is she watching with eye and ear,
Shadowed and restless in fever and fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Sees she or hears she anything
Except the lamp's flame and the moth's wing?
Sea-foam seethes the empty shell.
Turned lady Janet, May Jean,
Waiting it seemed to her, hour on hour,
Hearing the wind creak the vane on the tower;—
The tide-wave breathes by sink and swell.
3
Shadowed and restless in fever and fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Sees she or hears she anything
Except the lamp's flame and the moth's wing?
Sea-foam seethes the empty shell.
Yes, yes, she hears now a small faint cry,
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees on the hearth the fardel lie,
And the shaggy-limbed house dog standing by;—
The brain swims when the hot winds blow.
Her fair-tressed weak head she lifted then,
And she cried, ‘I am lost, oh, never again
Shall I know peace or be honoured of men!’
The bare breast shrinks beneath the snow.
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees on the hearth the fardel lie,
And the shaggy-limbed house dog standing by;—
The brain swims when the hot winds blow.
Her fair-tressed weak head she lifted then,
And she cried, ‘I am lost, oh, never again
Shall I know peace or be honoured of men!’
The bare breast shrinks beneath the snow.
Her fair hair swept the bolster white,
The lady Janet's, May Jean's;
And faintly she called, ‘Old witch of the night,
You have played me false, you've deceived me quite!’
The way to hell's by stepping-stones.
At once that wise-woman no one knew
Out of the carven bedstead grew;
Like a real thing came she clear to view.
The raven is over the dead lamb's bones.
The lady Janet's, May Jean's;
And faintly she called, ‘Old witch of the night,
You have played me false, you've deceived me quite!’
The way to hell's by stepping-stones.
At once that wise-woman no one knew
Out of the carven bedstead grew;
Like a real thing came she clear to view.
The raven is over the dead lamb's bones.
‘The dog he followed me as I ran,
My lady Janet, May Jean,
And snatched it and stole it when I began
To gather the dry leaves and finish our plan;’—
The eyes of the dying shine I know.
‘But hide it again, thou leman of Night,
Wise-woman, witch-woman, make me right;
Hide it in safety before daylight!’
The warning cock three times will crow.
My lady Janet, May Jean,
And snatched it and stole it when I began
4
The eyes of the dying shine I know.
‘But hide it again, thou leman of Night,
Wise-woman, witch-woman, make me right;
Hide it in safety before daylight!’
The warning cock three times will crow.
They are gone, that wise-woman has the power;
And lady Janet, May Jean,
Again is alone in that lone bower,
Her whole soul listening beyond the tower;—
The dead are safe i' their graves we say.
Why is her life in her eye and ear,
Writhing and striving in fever and fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Sees she or hears she anything
Saving the lamp and the moth's quick wing?
They cannot leave till the judgment day.
And lady Janet, May Jean,
Again is alone in that lone bower,
Her whole soul listening beyond the tower;—
The dead are safe i' their graves we say.
Why is her life in her eye and ear,
Writhing and striving in fever and fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Sees she or hears she anything
Saving the lamp and the moth's quick wing?
They cannot leave till the judgment day.
Yes, she hears again that cry!
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees by the bedside the fardel lie,
With a gentle-faced grey ghost standing by;—
Are they not really gone who die?
She shakes back her tresses, she lifts her hand,
For holy water she had at command,
To scald the wicked like hot sand.
There's no lamp-light where spirits lie.
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees by the bedside the fardel lie,
With a gentle-faced grey ghost standing by;—
Are they not really gone who die?
She shakes back her tresses, she lifts her hand,
For holy water she had at command,
To scald the wicked like hot sand.
There's no lamp-light where spirits lie.
‘Receive it back,’ the grey ghost cried,
‘Sweet lady Janet, May Jean!
I too, long ago, before I died,
Threw the loud-tongued new life from my side;’—
Once the clock strikes, never more.
‘Begone!’ sore troubled, she tried to say,
‘Sweet-tongued ghost-woman, hide it away,
Hide it for ever before it is day!’
Voices pass from shore to shore.
‘Sweet lady Janet, May Jean!
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Threw the loud-tongued new life from my side;’—
Once the clock strikes, never more.
‘Begone!’ sore troubled, she tried to say,
‘Sweet-tongued ghost-woman, hide it away,
Hide it for ever before it is day!’
Voices pass from shore to shore.
Again she's alone, and within that bower,
The lady Janet, May Jean,
Lays down her head for another hour,
Listens and looks through the walls of the tower;—
The bell-ringer mounts the spire-stair.
Why is her heart in her eye and ear,
Whence is the fever, and whence the fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Hears she or sees she anything?
The moth at last hath burned its wing:
Clang o' the matin is heard i' the air.
The lady Janet, May Jean,
Lays down her head for another hour,
Listens and looks through the walls of the tower;—
The bell-ringer mounts the spire-stair.
Why is her heart in her eye and ear,
Whence is the fever, and whence the fear,
When the bolt is drawn and no one near?
Hears she or sees she anything?
The moth at last hath burned its wing:
Clang o' the matin is heard i' the air.
She hears still nearer that new-born cry,
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees close to her the fardel lie,
With Mary the Blessèd May standing by,
In an arbour of white lilies great and high;—
The light should burn bright on the altar.
Then Mary the Blest bent down and undid
The swathes of linen that were its bed,
And took in her hand the small child's head
Now the quire-leader opens the psalter.
Hears lady Janet, May Jean;
She sees close to her the fardel lie,
With Mary the Blessèd May standing by,
In an arbour of white lilies great and high;—
The light should burn bright on the altar.
Then Mary the Blest bent down and undid
The swathes of linen that were its bed,
And took in her hand the small child's head
Now the quire-leader opens the psalter.
6
‘Welcome!’ said she, ‘my son's young brother;
Dear lady Janet, May Jean,
Here is the God's-gift, His and no other,
To be thine for ever, thou May and yet mother!’
The new day's dawning spreadeth wide.
Dear lady Janet, May Jean,
Here is the God's-gift, His and no other,
To be thine for ever, thou May and yet mother!’
The new day's dawning spreadeth wide.
Is it but now that her eyes unclose,
That she first sees the small face like a rose
Upon her own white breast repose?
Sunrise clouds have gold inside.
That she first sees the small face like a rose
Upon her own white breast repose?
Sunrise clouds have gold inside.
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