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147
OTHER POEMS.
Thistle and Nettle.
'Twas on a night, with sleet and snow
From out the north a tempest blew,
When Thistle gathered nerve to go
The little Nettle's self to woo.
From out the north a tempest blew,
When Thistle gathered nerve to go
The little Nettle's self to woo.
Within her father's cottage soon
He found the ever-dreaded maid;
She then was knitting to a tune
The wind upon the window played.
He found the ever-dreaded maid;
She then was knitting to a tune
The wind upon the window played.
His errand known, she, with a frown,
Up from the oaken table sprung,
Down took the broom and swept the room,
While like a bell her clapper rung.
Up from the oaken table sprung,
Down took the broom and swept the room,
While like a bell her clapper rung.
“Have I not seen enough to be
Convinced for ever, soon or late,
The maid shall rue the moment she
Attendeth to a wooer's prate?
Convinced for ever, soon or late,
The maid shall rue the moment she
Attendeth to a wooer's prate?
“How long ago since Phemie Hay
To Harry at the Mill fell wrong?
How long since Hall a prank did play
On silly Nelly Brown?—how long?
To Harry at the Mill fell wrong?
How long since Hall a prank did play
On silly Nelly Brown?—how long?
150
“How long ago since Adam Smith
Wooed Annie on the Moor, and left
The lassie with a stain? yea, with
A heart of every hope bereft?
Wooed Annie on the Moor, and left
The lassie with a stain? yea, with
A heart of every hope bereft?
“But what need instance cases? lo!
Have I not heard thee chaunt the lay,
‘The fraud of men was ever so
Since summer first was leafy?’ eh?
Have I not heard thee chaunt the lay,
‘The fraud of men was ever so
Since summer first was leafy?’ eh?
“When men are to be trusted, then,
—But never may that time befall;
Of five times five-and-twenty men,
There's barely five are men at all.
—But never may that time befall;
Of five times five-and-twenty men,
There's barely five are men at all.
“Before the timid maid they'll fall,
And smile and weep and sigh and sue,
Till once they get her in their thrall,
And then she's doomed her lot to rue.
And smile and weep and sigh and sue,
Till once they get her in their thrall,
And then she's doomed her lot to rue.
“For her a subtle snare they weave,
And when the bonny bird is caught,
Then, then they giggle in their sleeve;
Then laugh to scorn the ill they've wrought.
And when the bonny bird is caught,
Then, then they giggle in their sleeve;
Then laugh to scorn the ill they've wrought.
“As other weary winds, they woo
The bloom its treasures to unfold;
Extract its wealth—their way pursue,
And leave her pining on the wold.
The bloom its treasures to unfold;
Extract its wealth—their way pursue,
And leave her pining on the wold.
151
“When poppies fell like lilies smell,
When cherries grow on brambles, when—
When grapes adorn the common thorn,
Then women may have faith in men.
When cherries grow on brambles, when—
When grapes adorn the common thorn,
Then women may have faith in men.
“Then may we hear what they may swear;
Till then, sir, know I'm on my guard,
And he, the loon that brings me down,
He, he'll be pardoned, on my word.”
Till then, sir, know I'm on my guard,
And he, the loon that brings me down,
He, he'll be pardoned, on my word.”
Thus for an hour her tongue was heard;
By this, her words grown faint and few,
She raised the broom at every word,
And thumped the floor to prove it true.
By this, her words grown faint and few,
She raised the broom at every word,
And thumped the floor to prove it true.
In ardent words the youth replied:—
“Dread hollow-hearted guile thou must;
But deem not all of honour void,
Nor punish all with thy mistrust.
“Dread hollow-hearted guile thou must;
But deem not all of honour void,
Nor punish all with thy mistrust.
“A few, not all, the lash have earn'd,
Let but that few the lash assail;
The world were topsy-turvy turned,
Did not some sense of right prevail.
Let but that few the lash assail;
The world were topsy-turvy turned,
Did not some sense of right prevail.
“Destroy the weed, but spare the flower;
Consume the chaff, but keep the grain;
Nor harry one who'd die before
He'd give thy little finger pain.”
Consume the chaff, but keep the grain;
Nor harry one who'd die before
He'd give thy little finger pain.”
152
On hearing this, she sat her down,
Took up her needlework again,
And tho' she strove to wear a frown
Made answer in a milder strain.
Took up her needlework again,
And tho' she strove to wear a frown
Made answer in a milder strain.
“Forego thy quest. Deceitful words
May yet, as they have been, may be
A fatal lure to lighter birds;
They'll never prove the like to me.
May yet, as they have been, may be
A fatal lure to lighter birds;
They'll never prove the like to me.
“Still by my chastity I vow,
As I have kept the cheat at bay,
So, should I keep my senses, so
I'll keep him till my dying day.
As I have kept the cheat at bay,
So, should I keep my senses, so
I'll keep him till my dying day.
“The best that man can do or say,
The love of gold or rubies rare,—
Not all that wealth can furnish, may
Once lure to leave me in a snare.
The love of gold or rubies rare,—
Not all that wealth can furnish, may
Once lure to leave me in a snare.
“So end thy quest.” He only prest
His ardent suit the more, while she
At every word he uttered, garr'd
Her fleeing needles faster flee.
His ardent suit the more, while she
At every word he uttered, garr'd
Her fleeing needles faster flee.
“My quest by honour's justified;
I long have eyed and found thee still
The maid I'd like to be my bride;
Would I could say the maid that will.
I long have eyed and found thee still
The maid I'd like to be my bride;
Would I could say the maid that will.
153
“Hadst thou but been a daffodil
That with the breezes sport and play,
For all thy suitor valued, still
Thou so hadst danced thy life away.
That with the breezes sport and play,
For all thy suitor valued, still
Thou so hadst danced thy life away.
“But thou so fair art chaste.” Thus he
Unto her answer answers e'er,
And that too in a way that she
Must will or nill his answer hear.
Unto her answer answers e'er,
And that too in a way that she
Must will or nill his answer hear.
And then a chair he'd ta'en, his chair
Unto her side he nearer drew;
Recurr'd to memories sweet and rare,
And in a softer key did woo.
Unto her side he nearer drew;
Recurr'd to memories sweet and rare,
And in a softer key did woo.
“Must all the passion which I've sought
So long to hide be paid with scorn?
A heart with pure affection fraught
Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn?
So long to hide be paid with scorn?
A heart with pure affection fraught
Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn?
“And must thou still its homage spurn?
And must thou still my suit reject?
And be to me this cruel thorn?
Reflect upon the past, reflect!
And must thou still my suit reject?
And be to me this cruel thorn?
Reflect upon the past, reflect!
“A time there was, and time shall pass
To me ere that forgotten be,
When side by side from tide to tide
We played and sported on the lea.
To me ere that forgotten be,
When side by side from tide to tide
We played and sported on the lea.
154
“Ay, then have I not chased the bee
From bloom to bloom—oft chased and caught,
And having drawn its sting in glee,
To thee the little body brought?
From bloom to bloom—oft chased and caught,
And having drawn its sting in glee,
To thee the little body brought?
“Then when a bloom of rarer dyes
Into my busy fingers fell,
To whom was reached the lucky prize?
Can not thy recollection tell?
Into my busy fingers fell,
To whom was reached the lucky prize?
Can not thy recollection tell?
“As oft away as summer went,
Who pulled with thee the haw, bright, brown—
Brown as thy own bright eyes—and bent
For thee the richest branches down?
Who pulled with thee the haw, bright, brown—
Brown as thy own bright eyes—and bent
For thee the richest branches down?
“With blooms I've graced thy yellow hair,
With berries filled thy lap, thy hand,—
That hand as alabaster fair,
Had every gift at my command.
With berries filled thy lap, thy hand,—
That hand as alabaster fair,
Had every gift at my command.
“Nay, tho' to others dour, yet meek
I ever was to thee, and kind;
And when we played at hide-and-seek,
I hid where thou would'st seek to find.
I ever was to thee, and kind;
And when we played at hide-and-seek,
I hid where thou would'st seek to find.
“Upon the playground still unmatched
Was I, unless my loved one played;
And then it seem'd to those who watched
My failures were on purpose made.
Was I, unless my loved one played;
And then it seem'd to those who watched
My failures were on purpose made.
155
“As sure as e'er a race began,
The palm was mine unless she joined,
And then I always was out-ran,
For still with her I lagged behind.
The palm was mine unless she joined,
And then I always was out-ran,
For still with her I lagged behind.
“The ball I drove to others, mocked
Their efforts to arrest its flight;
But when my ball to her was knocked,
It would upon her lap alight.
Their efforts to arrest its flight;
But when my ball to her was knocked,
It would upon her lap alight.
“None, up and down so well I bobbed,
To skip the rope with me would try;
Did she attempt? my skill was robbed;
Another skipped her out—not I.
To skip the rope with me would try;
Did she attempt? my skill was robbed;
Another skipped her out—not I.
“At play thus was't; but childhood past,
And ere the lasses reach their teens,
Atween them and the lads a vast
Mysterious distance intervenes.
And ere the lasses reach their teens,
Atween them and the lads a vast
Mysterious distance intervenes.
“They seldom on the green appear
In careless sport and play; and if
They join the throng erect they wear
Their head, and still their air is stiff—
In careless sport and play; and if
They join the throng erect they wear
Their head, and still their air is stiff—
“They ail they know not what. And such
The change that on my lassie fell;
Then would she shrink my hand to touch,
And I half feared her touch as well.
The change that on my lassie fell;
Then would she shrink my hand to touch,
And I half feared her touch as well.
156
“Had I changed too? This, I can tell,—
That touch o'er me a spell would cast;
And did I pass her in the dell,
With slow and snail-like pace I pass'd.
That touch o'er me a spell would cast;
And did I pass her in the dell,
With slow and snail-like pace I pass'd.
“Her voice had lost its former ring,
Yet, in that voice such power was flung,
I better liked to hear her sing,
Than when of old to me she sung.
Yet, in that voice such power was flung,
I better liked to hear her sing,
Than when of old to me she sung.
“Her touch, her tone, would make or mar
My bliss, and tho' with all my skill
I strove to please, and please but her,
I in her presence blundered still.
My bliss, and tho' with all my skill
I strove to please, and please but her,
I in her presence blundered still.
“When by the hearth she sewing sat,
Did I to thread her needle try?
Still, still my heart played pit-a-pat,
And still I miss'd the needle's eye.
Did I to thread her needle try?
Still, still my heart played pit-a-pat,
And still I miss'd the needle's eye.
“As with the needle-threading, so
We with the skein a-winding fared,
And Auntie's dreaded tongue would go
Before the dancing end appeared.
We with the skein a-winding fared,
And Auntie's dreaded tongue would go
Before the dancing end appeared.
“‘What ails the lass?’ she often said—
‘She's sound asleep!’ once said, and flew,
And snatched and snapt the tangled thread,
While I—I know not how—withdrew.
‘She's sound asleep!’ once said, and flew,
And snatched and snapt the tangled thread,
While I—I know not how—withdrew.
157
“Away, too, fled those hours! Alack!
They came and went like visions rare,
To mock the heart, delude and wrack,
And leave the gazer in despair.
They came and went like visions rare,
To mock the heart, delude and wrack,
And leave the gazer in despair.
“Ah, less—tho' sun-illumed—less fair
The blobs that dance adown the burn,
And let them burst they'll re-appear
Ere those delightsome hours return.
The blobs that dance adown the burn,
And let them burst they'll re-appear
Ere those delightsome hours return.
“Yet they may live in thought, and could
They live in Nettle's thought again,
Would she not change her bearing? would—
Would she not change this bitter strain?
They live in Nettle's thought again,
Would she not change her bearing? would—
Would she not change this bitter strain?
“Would she her lover still disdain?
Would she continue thus to gall
And put him to this cruel pain?
—Recall to mind the past, recall!”
Would she continue thus to gall
And put him to this cruel pain?
—Recall to mind the past, recall!”
Thus onward, on, his ditty flows,
Until—her ruffled brow is sleek,—
Till, lo! the lily drives the rose,
The rose the lily from her cheek.
Until—her ruffled brow is sleek,—
Till, lo! the lily drives the rose,
The rose the lily from her cheek.
And now the iron, sparkling hot,
Around with might and main he swings,
And down upon the proper spot
With bang on bang the hammer brings!
Around with might and main he swings,
And down upon the proper spot
With bang on bang the hammer brings!
158
“O, be my suit but undenied,
And, ere the moon is on the wane,
A knot shall by the priest be tied,
The priest shall never loose again.
And, ere the moon is on the wane,
A knot shall by the priest be tied,
The priest shall never loose again.
“In heart and hand excell'd by none,
Henceforth I'd front the ills of life;
And every victory I won
Should be a jewel for my wife.
Henceforth I'd front the ills of life;
And every victory I won
Should be a jewel for my wife.
“So should the people of the dell,
When they convened to gossip, say
For harmony we bore the bell,
And bore it with a grace away.
When they convened to gossip, say
For harmony we bore the bell,
And bore it with a grace away.
“Nay, lift thy head, be not ashamed,
If thus to feel—and thus, and—O!
As matters sinful might be blamed,
Our saints were sinners long ago.”
If thus to feel—and thus, and—O!
As matters sinful might be blamed,
Our saints were sinners long ago.”
Deep silence here ensued. The cat,
That lately to the nook had crept
To mark the sequel of their chat,
Came forth—lay on the hearth and slept.
That lately to the nook had crept
To mark the sequel of their chat,
Came forth—lay on the hearth and slept.
The needles bright, that left and right,
As if with elfish glee possest,
Had gleamed and glanced, and frisked and danced,
In quiet on her apron rest.
As if with elfish glee possest,
Had gleamed and glanced, and frisked and danced,
In quiet on her apron rest.
159
In concert with the storm within,
The storm without forbears to blow;
And 'tween the sailing clouds, begin
The joyous stars to come and go.
The storm without forbears to blow;
And 'tween the sailing clouds, begin
The joyous stars to come and go.
O'er all delight and silence brood,
While to her wooer's bosom prest,
Poor Nettle's heart beats, beats aloud
The tune that pleases lovers best.
While to her wooer's bosom prest,
Poor Nettle's heart beats, beats aloud
The tune that pleases lovers best.
And Thistle's pleased and Thistle's blest,
And Thistle's is a joy supreme;
Ay! now of Nettle's smiles possest,
He revels in a golden dream.
And Thistle's is a joy supreme;
Ay! now of Nettle's smiles possest,
He revels in a golden dream.
Dream on, brave youth:—An hour like this
Annuls an age of cark and strife,
And turns into a drop of bliss
The bitter cup of human life.
Annuls an age of cark and strife,
And turns into a drop of bliss
The bitter cup of human life.
The tear is by a halo gilt,
The thorns of life are turned to flowers,
The dirge into a merry lilt,
When love returned for love is ours.
The thorns of life are turned to flowers,
The dirge into a merry lilt,
When love returned for love is ours.
“I've heard,” in language low and soft,
Now Nettle's heart begins to flow;—
“I've heard of honey'd tongues full oft,
But never felt their force till now.
Now Nettle's heart begins to flow;—
“I've heard of honey'd tongues full oft,
But never felt their force till now.
160
“Still would I fume, as day by day
I've seen the lasses bought and sold
By some I'd scorn'd to own, had they
Outweighed their very weight in gold.
I've seen the lasses bought and sold
By some I'd scorn'd to own, had they
Outweighed their very weight in gold.
“My hour of triumph's o'er. In vain
Did I my fellow-maids abuse;
I've snatched the cup, and drank the bane
Which sets me in their very shoes;
Did I my fellow-maids abuse;
I've snatched the cup, and drank the bane
Which sets me in their very shoes;
“That turns a heart of adamant
To pliant wax; and, in my turn,
Subjects me to the bitter taunt,
The vanquished victor's ever borne;
To pliant wax; and, in my turn,
Subjects me to the bitter taunt,
The vanquished victor's ever borne;
“That leaveth Nettle satisfied
To leave her kith and kin, and by
Her ever-faithful Thistle's side,
To shelter till the day they die.”
To leave her kith and kin, and by
Her ever-faithful Thistle's side,
To shelter till the day they die.”
161
To W. R.
A Friend in Australia.
O wily Willie Reay, I've read
Your book of rhymes, and be it said
Few sweeter rhymes were ever made
To grace our tongue
Since Burns, with Scotia's Muse's aid,
His ditties sung.
Your book of rhymes, and be it said
Few sweeter rhymes were ever made
To grace our tongue
Since Burns, with Scotia's Muse's aid,
His ditties sung.
The bonnie banks of Wanie's burn,
With Bothal's Castle, old and stern,
And fane revered where in an urn
Of fame's yet shown,
Engage your charming muse in turn
With scenes less known.
With Bothal's Castle, old and stern,
And fane revered where in an urn
Of fame's yet shown,
Engage your charming muse in turn
With scenes less known.
The coy bell-blooms in purple dark,—
Shade-loving mays that seem to hark
To what the skyward soaring lark
May o'er them sing,—
You in the wood with pleasure mark
Return each Spring.
Shade-loving mays that seem to hark
To what the skyward soaring lark
May o'er them sing,—
You in the wood with pleasure mark
Return each Spring.
Delighted, too, you see unclose
The petals of the pale primrose;
The sweetest flower that comes and goes,
While—life to hear!
Yet down the glen the blackbird blows
His whistle clear.
The petals of the pale primrose;
The sweetest flower that comes and goes,
While—life to hear!
Yet down the glen the blackbird blows
His whistle clear.
162
E'en so your heart dirls to behold
The little daisy's charms unfold,
As when with me in days of old,
Its blooms among,
You heard the linnet's love-tale told
In many a song.
The little daisy's charms unfold,
As when with me in days of old,
Its blooms among,
You heard the linnet's love-tale told
In many a song.
O'er these and scenes like these you brood;
And when wrapt in a higher mood,
The aidance of the muse is sued,
Then, then behold;
Their living pictures many-hued
Your lines unfold.
And when wrapt in a higher mood,
The aidance of the muse is sued,
Then, then behold;
Their living pictures many-hued
Your lines unfold.
Nor less to you than Wanie rare,
The banks of Wear, beyond compare,
For castles grand, whose towers yet wear
The airs they wore,
When steel-girt enemies drew near,
In days of yore.
The banks of Wear, beyond compare,
For castles grand, whose towers yet wear
The airs they wore,
When steel-girt enemies drew near,
In days of yore.
There Lumley bold to Lambton shows
A front that almost threatens blows;
And Lambton up the valley throws
A look at him,
With which her lords once answered foes
In battle grim.
A front that almost threatens blows;
And Lambton up the valley throws
A look at him,
With which her lords once answered foes
In battle grim.
But scenes of war and war's alarms,
Proud prancing steeds and knights at arms,
And other founts of human harms,
Ah, let us fly
To scenes of peace;—still, these have charms
For you and I.
Proud prancing steeds and knights at arms,
And other founts of human harms,
Ah, let us fly
To scenes of peace;—still, these have charms
For you and I.
163
Away, away then let us steer
Our courses higher up the Wear,
To where old Finchale's ruins dear,
For ages vast,
Have looked into the waters clear,
That gurgle past.
Our courses higher up the Wear,
To where old Finchale's ruins dear,
For ages vast,
Have looked into the waters clear,
That gurgle past.
Beneath yon trees once grim and stern—
Which seem in fancy's ken to yearn
For days that were when they would spurn
And backward beat
The fiercest blast that blew—we'll turn
And take a seat.
Which seem in fancy's ken to yearn
For days that were when they would spurn
And backward beat
The fiercest blast that blew—we'll turn
And take a seat.
Upon the crispy fern we'll rest
And gaze upon the scene possest
Of what is sweetest, dearest, best,
To souls like ours;
The winding slopes in verdure drest—
The trees and flowers.
And gaze upon the scene possest
Of what is sweetest, dearest, best,
To souls like ours;
The winding slopes in verdure drest—
The trees and flowers.
Hard by in shade the foxglove dwells,
And rears on high her purple bells,
From which, when wind-a-dangled, wells
In fancy's ear
An air no mortal air excels,
Nor yet can peer.
And rears on high her purple bells,
From which, when wind-a-dangled, wells
In fancy's ear
An air no mortal air excels,
Nor yet can peer.
There may one see the poppy burn
Amid the yet green waving corn;
And when the yellow grain is shorn,
We yet may see
This black-eyed crimson queen adorn
In tufts the lea.
Amid the yet green waving corn;
And when the yellow grain is shorn,
We yet may see
This black-eyed crimson queen adorn
In tufts the lea.
164
Blue-bottles too, whose tender hue
Will match the sky's own lovely blue,
Upon an early morn, we'll view,
A pleasure rare:
But how can I describe to you
What we'll see there?
Will match the sky's own lovely blue,
Upon an early morn, we'll view,
A pleasure rare:
But how can I describe to you
What we'll see there?
There, there upon a holiday,
Will toilers in their best array,
Come with their little ones to play,
A pleasant sight;
And many a prank is played ere day
Hath taken flight.
Will toilers in their best array,
Come with their little ones to play,
A pleasant sight;
And many a prank is played ere day
Hath taken flight.
There, on some bonnie afternoon,
While bees awake a drowsy tune;
Or, later on, while cushats croon
A heartfelt lay,
And o'er them hangs the yellow moon,
Will lovers stray.
While bees awake a drowsy tune;
Or, later on, while cushats croon
A heartfelt lay,
And o'er them hangs the yellow moon,
Will lovers stray.
In such an hour it were a treat
To hear our minstrel's self repeat
His May Morning, in accents meet;
That carol true,
And one more musical and sweet,
I never knew.
To hear our minstrel's self repeat
His May Morning, in accents meet;
That carol true,
And one more musical and sweet,
I never knew.
The gift to warble such a song
Can but to Nature's bards belong,
With whom we'd rather dree the prong
Of Want's grim self,
Than revel with you gilded throng
That worship pelf.
Can but to Nature's bards belong,
With whom we'd rather dree the prong
Of Want's grim self,
Than revel with you gilded throng
That worship pelf.
165
Ah! never crony let us fash
Our heads about a lot of cash;
Nor seek with sparks to cut a dash;
Compared, I say,
What are the gauds they prize but trash
To one sweet lay.
Our heads about a lot of cash;
Nor seek with sparks to cut a dash;
Compared, I say,
What are the gauds they prize but trash
To one sweet lay.
This, when away yon castles proud
Have vanished like some ragged cloud,
That nor'-land winds a-piping loud
Have o'er them blown,
May yet to hearts by labour bowed
A joy be known.
Have vanished like some ragged cloud,
That nor'-land winds a-piping loud
Have o'er them blown,
May yet to hearts by labour bowed
A joy be known.
And such a lay let me aver
Will prove “May Morning” or I err;
And “Jenny,” too, tho' I prefer
To this a third;
E'en that wherein you curse the cur
That shot the bird.
Will prove “May Morning” or I err;
And “Jenny,” too, tho' I prefer
To this a third;
E'en that wherein you curse the cur
That shot the bird.
All these are very sweet and fine,
And to my palate, precious wine,
And every stanza, every line,
As water clear,
Awakes a melody divine
To charm the ear.
And to my palate, precious wine,
And every stanza, every line,
As water clear,
Awakes a melody divine
To charm the ear.
But end I must; awhile adieu
To you and those so dear to you;
And hinney, Willie, kiss them, do,
Your bairns and wife,
In kind remembrance of your true,
Fond friend for life.
To you and those so dear to you;
And hinney, Willie, kiss them, do,
Your bairns and wife,
In kind remembrance of your true,
Fond friend for life.
166
The Rydal Trip.
Dear Willy, now the March hath blown
His last wild blast once more and flown,
And April, like my muse yet prone
To change, comes in,
Again, to thee my rhyming crone,
A rhyme I'd spin.
His last wild blast once more and flown,
And April, like my muse yet prone
To change, comes in,
Again, to thee my rhyming crone,
A rhyme I'd spin.
I'm brimming o'er with things to say,
Could I but only find the way
My thoughts and feelings to convey
In language clear,
About a visit I did pay
The Lakes last year.
Could I but only find the way
My thoughts and feelings to convey
In language clear,
About a visit I did pay
The Lakes last year.
Then up, Muse up, this task profound,
Up, up and do! with bound on bound,
Away to England's Pleasure Ground,
Away and ring,
And to thy Northern harp's wild sound,
Its glories sing!
Up, up and do! with bound on bound,
Away to England's Pleasure Ground,
Away and ring,
And to thy Northern harp's wild sound,
Its glories sing!
First on to sacred Grasmere—Why,
Why what a giddy goose am I,
Away before my tale to fly!
On Rapture horsed,
We'll come to Grasmere by-and-by—
But Keswick first!
Why what a giddy goose am I,
Away before my tale to fly!
On Rapture horsed,
We'll come to Grasmere by-and-by—
But Keswick first!
167
From there we'll in the day-dawn go
And o'er the clear, cool Derwent row;
Then scale Lodore, tho' e'er so slow,
Which having done,
Thro' Watendlith with mop and mow,
To Rosthwaite run!
And o'er the clear, cool Derwent row;
Then scale Lodore, tho' e'er so slow,
Which having done,
Thro' Watendlith with mop and mow,
To Rosthwaite run!
Next to the Druid Cirque we'll fare,
And dream an hour o'er days that were;
And dreams will often show more clear
Life's issues than
The Daily Press from year to year
Read daily can.
And dream an hour o'er days that were;
And dreams will often show more clear
Life's issues than
The Daily Press from year to year
Read daily can.
—The D. P.? La! what wizen'd witch
Hath popt my nose into this ditch,
To smell the—pah!—the filth, the pitch
With which the drab,
The pimp and lackey of the Rich,
The Poor bedaub?
Hath popt my nose into this ditch,
To smell the—pah!—the filth, the pitch
With which the drab,
The pimp and lackey of the Rich,
The Poor bedaub?
Help! help me out of this! then you
Sweet Elves may pinch me black and blue';
That's if you—Mercy!—how I rue—
Help, help, and O!
Let's fly to Rydal as we flew
One year ago!
Sweet Elves may pinch me black and blue';
That's if you—Mercy!—how I rue—
Help, help, and O!
Let's fly to Rydal as we flew
One year ago!
To pitch and spite, cry we, Good Night!
Nor let Helvellyn in his might
Of magic to arrest one's flight,
A counter count,
Ere we with love a-glow alight
On Rydal Mount!
Nor let Helvellyn in his might
Of magic to arrest one's flight,
A counter count,
Ere we with love a-glow alight
On Rydal Mount!
168
No sooner said than done: and there,
How wags the world, what need we care?
The men will at each other swear
Till they are blue;
The women tear each other's hair;
And let them! Pooh!
How wags the world, what need we care?
The men will at each other swear
Till they are blue;
The women tear each other's hair;
And let them! Pooh!
Are all not born to err? and worse—
But you can tell them that, of course,
Not I—I'm but a man of verse
That needeth bread,
And to put money in my purse
I must be read.
But you can tell them that, of course,
Not I—I'm but a man of verse
That needeth bread,
And to put money in my purse
I must be read.
“Lo! from what height on which agog
You rode, down thro' what dense, dark fog,
Into what deep Serbonian bog
Have you been drawn,
Thus at Fate's feet a very dog
To whine and fawn?
You rode, down thro' what dense, dark fog,
Into what deep Serbonian bog
Have you been drawn,
Thus at Fate's feet a very dog
To whine and fawn?
“Up, up, for shame, thou wretch! and let
Thy face against the False be set;
Tho' harder lot be thine than yet
Thou once hast known,
Up, up, and let in hues of jet
The truth be shown!
Thy face against the False be set;
Tho' harder lot be thine than yet
Thou once hast known,
Up, up, and let in hues of jet
The truth be shown!
“A bran new pen this moment grasp,
Not dipt in spue of toad or asp,
Not tipt with sting of critic-wasp,
But in, with what
May thy thought-burdened heart unclasp”—
To whom? “Whom not?
Not dipt in spue of toad or asp,
Not tipt with sting of critic-wasp,
But in, with what
May thy thought-burdened heart unclasp”—
To whom? “Whom not?
169
“To one and all show, show”—But then,
What needs this fuss about a pen
To picture to my fellow-men
How very low
The masks in which they revel, when
This truth they know?
What needs this fuss about a pen
To picture to my fellow-men
How very low
The masks in which they revel, when
This truth they know?
'Tis not so much from lack of light
To know the wrong, to know the right,
Nor yet from lack of feeling quite,
But want of will,
They chase the phantoms that delight
To cheat them still.
To know the wrong, to know the right,
Nor yet from lack of feeling quite,
But want of will,
They chase the phantoms that delight
To cheat them still.
Their brains with fancies frantic teem,
At which their eyes with rapture gleam;
They seek to grasp their idols—seem
To grasp, anon,
To find each jewel but a dream—
Yet they dream on.
At which their eyes with rapture gleam;
They seek to grasp their idols—seem
To grasp, anon,
To find each jewel but a dream—
Yet they dream on.
Yet with a glamour o'er them, they
Still play to lose, yet losers play
A game which, won, would not repay
A moment lost
Of but one golden summer day,
Its winning cost.
Still play to lose, yet losers play
A game which, won, would not repay
A moment lost
Of but one golden summer day,
Its winning cost.
Ah, what is worse, the spell that binds,
Oft saps the very best of minds,
Nor leaves its victim till he finds
His love of all—
All good hath vanished with the winds,
Beyond recall!
Oft saps the very best of minds,
Nor leaves its victim till he finds
His love of all—
All good hath vanished with the winds,
Beyond recall!
170
Then lo, the plight of such; henceforth
Their natures change; then real worth
Becomes to them a theme for mirth;
While baubles small,
As oft in turn to praise give birth:
—Nor is that all.
Their natures change; then real worth
Becomes to them a theme for mirth;
While baubles small,
As oft in turn to praise give birth:
—Nor is that all.
Not all that one might say, and would,
Had we been in the cue, and could;
Then we must on, and leave or should,
This flowing fount
Of solemn thought—this neighbourhood
Of Rydal Mount.
Had we been in the cue, and could;
Then we must on, and leave or should,
This flowing fount
Of solemn thought—this neighbourhood
Of Rydal Mount.
A holy something in the air,
Yet makes the merry Muse forbear
Her quips and cranks; an inner prayer,
And thoughts of God,
Are mine, as I thro' pathways fare,
That Wordsworth trod.
Yet makes the merry Muse forbear
Her quips and cranks; an inner prayer,
And thoughts of God,
Are mine, as I thro' pathways fare,
That Wordsworth trod.
You little tinkling waterfall,
That scented flower upon the wall,
That doth the ear and eye enthrall,
May once have warmed
And charmed a soul whose eye saw all,
As mine is charmed.
That scented flower upon the wall,
That doth the ear and eye enthrall,
May once have warmed
And charmed a soul whose eye saw all,
As mine is charmed.
Upon this very garden seat,
Where now I sit with feelings meet,
I see him sit in spirit sweet,
With upward gaze,
And some grand song new-born repeat,
With glowing face.
Where now I sit with feelings meet,
I see him sit in spirit sweet,
With upward gaze,
And some grand song new-born repeat,
With glowing face.
171
Where'er I turn, his form appears
In fancy's eyes; in fancy's ears
One hears thy voice, enraptured hears,
Thou great Song-child,
Upon whose hopes thro' long, lone years
Thou mightst have smiled!
In fancy's eyes; in fancy's ears
One hears thy voice, enraptured hears,
Thou great Song-child,
Upon whose hopes thro' long, lone years
Thou mightst have smiled!
Thou mightst have grasped him by the hand,
And bid his heart with joy expand;
Thou mightst his flame of song have fann'd,
For thou wert strong
In human love, as thou wert grand
And great in song.
And bid his heart with joy expand;
Thou mightst his flame of song have fann'd,
For thou wert strong
In human love, as thou wert grand
And great in song.
Yea, as thy brother in renown,
That Prince of Song in London Town,
Just ere his sun of life went down,
With thy regard
Thou mightst have stoopt this hour, to crown
The rustic bard.
That Prince of Song in London Town,
Just ere his sun of life went down,
With thy regard
Thou mightst have stoopt this hour, to crown
The rustic bard.
Like him to—me?—In every limb,
I shake—I shake!—My senses swim—
What did I say? Thou memory grim,
What hast thou done?
Was ever bard, to me, like him
Beneath the sun?
I shake—I shake!—My senses swim—
What did I say? Thou memory grim,
What hast thou done?
Was ever bard, to me, like him
Beneath the sun?
Ah, why recall that moment, why,
That only came, anon, to fly
Before a day so dark?—I sigh—
While I have breath,
I'll mourn the wrench I suffered by
Rossetti's death!
That only came, anon, to fly
Before a day so dark?—I sigh—
While I have breath,
I'll mourn the wrench I suffered by
Rossetti's death!
172
“And yet, fond heart, no vain regret;
Our path's not all by thorns beset;
We mourn the lily vanished, yet
Oft fail to prize
Some little golden violet
Before our eyes.
Our path's not all by thorns beset;
We mourn the lily vanished, yet
Oft fail to prize
Some little golden violet
Before our eyes.
“And with such boons thrice-blest art thou—
And woe betide the black-wind, woe!
Would turn, or lay their sweet heads low,
And so away
Its glory and its perfume blow
From thy life's day!
And woe betide the black-wind, woe!
Would turn, or lay their sweet heads low,
And so away
Its glory and its perfume blow
From thy life's day!
“Oft in the coal-pit's murky gloom
Would come that glory and perfume,
To cheer thee, sweeten, and illume,
What else had ne'er
Been other than a cruel doom
For bard to bear.
Would come that glory and perfume,
To cheer thee, sweeten, and illume,
What else had ne'er
Been other than a cruel doom
For bard to bear.
“With music sweeter than the trill
Of warbling bird, or gurgling rill,
Will memories dear the heart-strings thrill,
Or soon or late;
And thine are such, and will be still,
In spite of Fate!”
Of warbling bird, or gurgling rill,
Will memories dear the heart-strings thrill,
Or soon or late;
And thine are such, and will be still,
In spite of Fate!”
But this, of this, too much, and now
To Rydal we will make our bow,
“From Rydal you're afar, sir, now—
Down, you came down
So swift—Ah, slipt you not somehow,
And crack'd your crown?”
To Rydal we will make our bow,
“From Rydal you're afar, sir, now—
Down, you came down
So swift—Ah, slipt you not somehow,
And crack'd your crown?”
173
I crack'd my— Well, of this we'll crack
As we to Coaly Tyne go back;
And not to hold you on the rack,
One look we'll throw
At Windermere, pack up, off pack,
And back we'll go.
As we to Coaly Tyne go back;
And not to hold you on the rack,
One look we'll throw
At Windermere, pack up, off pack,
And back we'll go.
—The more the haste the less the speed,
As sang the tailor to his thread;
And this we'd find in very deed,
Unto our woe,
Did we to Memory give heed;
But—back we'll go.
As sang the tailor to his thread;
And this we'd find in very deed,
Unto our woe,
Did we to Memory give heed;
But—back we'll go.
“Come, come,” she cries, “and I will show
You sights will charm your senses so;
Scolfell the huge and Silverhow,
And”—But our track
Is backward bent, and back we'll go;
Yes, we'll go back!
You sights will charm your senses so;
Scolfell the huge and Silverhow,
And”—But our track
Is backward bent, and back we'll go;
Yes, we'll go back!
“A passing blink you'll not refuse
To Hunting Stile at least; nor choose
But yield the grace and worth one views
Thereat”—Just so;
Now would this charmer charm the Muse;
But—back we'll go!
To Hunting Stile at least; nor choose
But yield the grace and worth one views
Thereat”—Just so;
Now would this charmer charm the Muse;
But—back we'll go!
Yes, we'll go back; yet had we power,
A song would be yon lady's dower,
As sweet as e'er in midnight hour,
To bugle-ring,
Did Echo from her airy tower
In rapture sing!
A song would be yon lady's dower,
As sweet as e'er in midnight hour,
To bugle-ring,
Did Echo from her airy tower
In rapture sing!
174
Ay, could the deed the will display,
Then, then were sung what thou, mad fay,
Sweet Echo, to its spells a prey,
Would yet prolong,
Till all the world had pass'd away
In one wild song!
Then, then were sung what thou, mad fay,
Sweet Echo, to its spells a prey,
Would yet prolong,
Till all the world had pass'd away
In one wild song!
So would we, could we; but between
This would and could doth intervene
A gulph, from which the Muse in teen
Must turn and—O!
That sudden jerk! What can it mean?
Where are we now?
This would and could doth intervene
A gulph, from which the Muse in teen
Must turn and—O!
That sudden jerk! What can it mean?
Where are we now?
“By Coaly Tyne, sir, and 'tis plain
Not on a hack, but in a Train,
Which you must out!” Well, I've a brain!
—Well, I may Work
Myself into myself again
Thro' that same jerk.
Not on a hack, but in a Train,
Which you must out!” Well, I've a brain!
—Well, I may Work
Myself into myself again
Thro' that same jerk.
Meanwhile, my friend, for heart and fun
Unmatched, Good Night! Our task is done;
The Muse is off—her rhyme is spun—
Her zig-zag flight
Has ended where it was begun—
Good Night! Good Night!
Unmatched, Good Night! Our task is done;
The Muse is off—her rhyme is spun—
Her zig-zag flight
Has ended where it was begun—
Good Night! Good Night!
175
To W. R.
A Friend in Australia.
To you, on you, my Willy Reay,
To you, on you, so many a day,
Out o'er the seas and far away,—
A word or two,
A wee to ease my heart, I'd say
A word on you.
To you, on you, so many a day,
Out o'er the seas and far away,—
A word or two,
A wee to ease my heart, I'd say
A word on you.
In this my wifie's thought's express'd,
For well I know within her breast
She ranks you with the truest, best
Of friends that I
Possess, or ever yet possest
In days gone by.
For well I know within her breast
She ranks you with the truest, best
Of friends that I
Possess, or ever yet possest
In days gone by.
We've had our troubles great and small
Since last we met you, but 'mid all
We've thought of you and yours, and shall,
While life endures,
With rapture sweet the names recall
Of you and yours.
Since last we met you, but 'mid all
We've thought of you and yours, and shall,
While life endures,
With rapture sweet the names recall
Of you and yours.
And often in the night-tide hours,
When, toil-relieved, and memory pours
Into our souls her sweetest showers,
Her healing dew,
Distilled from joy and sorrow's flowers,
We'll talk of you.
When, toil-relieved, and memory pours
Into our souls her sweetest showers,
Her healing dew,
Distilled from joy and sorrow's flowers,
We'll talk of you.
176
Of all the funny tales you'd tell
About the folks upon the Fell,
Where Teams flows onward yet to swell
Our own dear Tyne,
We'll talk as if beneath a spell
Almost divine.
About the folks upon the Fell,
Where Teams flows onward yet to swell
Our own dear Tyne,
We'll talk as if beneath a spell
Almost divine.
The twinkle of your eye when aught
Grotesque or sweet your fancy caught,
And ended in some happy thought,
Or feeling deep;
Of this with painful pleasure fraught,
We'll talk and weep.
Grotesque or sweet your fancy caught,
And ended in some happy thought,
Or feeling deep;
Of this with painful pleasure fraught,
We'll talk and weep.
Your jokes that never left a sting,
Of your bright laugh, whose merry ring
Told of the pureness of its spring,
The hours away,
We'll talk, talk, talk of every thing
You'd do or say.
Of your bright laugh, whose merry ring
Told of the pureness of its spring,
The hours away,
We'll talk, talk, talk of every thing
You'd do or say.
Nor only of the joys that were,
But what the golden hour will bear
When you return, we'll talk; for ne'er,
Befall what may,
Can we of your return despair,
Nay, never! nay.
But what the golden hour will bear
When you return, we'll talk; for ne'er,
Befall what may,
Can we of your return despair,
Nay, never! nay.
That cruel thought we could not dree,
That cruel thought we'll flee and flee,
Till you again have cross'd the sea;
For come you will,
And with your heart-inspiring glee,
Our feelings thrill.
That cruel thought we'll flee and flee,
Till you again have cross'd the sea;
For come you will,
And with your heart-inspiring glee,
Our feelings thrill.
177
Then will we mock at curst mischance,
And sing our song and dance our dance;
And on our native hobbies prance,
Unlike yon crew
Who merely ape the apes of France
In all they do.
And sing our song and dance our dance;
And on our native hobbies prance,
Unlike yon crew
Who merely ape the apes of France
In all they do.
A little fun will oft engage
The moments of the deepest sage;
And tho' we're somewhat touched with age,
Our jokes we'll crack,—
Nay, Glee on Care a war will wage
When you come back.
The moments of the deepest sage;
And tho' we're somewhat touched with age,
Our jokes we'll crack,—
Nay, Glee on Care a war will wage
When you come back.
As wont, we'll ramble up and down
Our smoky and yet rare old town;
Most rare I say, and with a frown—
What! Willy, what!
Would we not face a king or clown,
Would say it's not?
Our smoky and yet rare old town;
Most rare I say, and with a frown—
What! Willy, what!
Would we not face a king or clown,
Would say it's not?
We'll down and see the castle grand,
So firmly built, so nobly planned;
And at whose feet two bridges stand,
Of rare design,
By which from bank to bank is spann'd,
Our Coaly Tyne.
So firmly built, so nobly planned;
And at whose feet two bridges stand,
Of rare design,
By which from bank to bank is spann'd,
Our Coaly Tyne.
We'll see St. Nicholas as of old,
For beauty worth its weight in gold,
Nor heed if others suns behold,
In fanes afar,
To which compared our own, we're told,
Is but a star.
For beauty worth its weight in gold,
Nor heed if others suns behold,
In fanes afar,
To which compared our own, we're told,
Is but a star.
178
Confound the carpers who compare
The virtues of our jewels fair,
As if they loved away to scare
Some vision which
Might otherwise with magic rare
Our lives enrich!
The virtues of our jewels fair,
As if they loved away to scare
Some vision which
Might otherwise with magic rare
Our lives enrich!
Have we not ills enough and more,
But we must keep a bolted door,
Lest some stray fay from Beauty's shore,
Of Love begot,
Glide in to charm us evermore?
La! have we not?
But we must keep a bolted door,
Lest some stray fay from Beauty's shore,
Of Love begot,
Glide in to charm us evermore?
La! have we not?
But whither flies the Muse? A throng
Of feelings hurries her along;
Yet like the tinkler in the song,
In all her flight,
Just when she seems to go most wrong,
She goes most right!
Of feelings hurries her along;
Yet like the tinkler in the song,
In all her flight,
Just when she seems to go most wrong,
She goes most right!
Your nags so hide-bound, stiff, and tough,
May suit old hags, gaunt, grim, and gruff,
But not the gipsy elves, enough,
Whose spirits high
Would into airy nothing puff
The world they fly!
May suit old hags, gaunt, grim, and gruff,
But not the gipsy elves, enough,
Whose spirits high
Would into airy nothing puff
The world they fly!
On winged steeds they'd go; nor will
Our Muse less swift scour onward still,
When thrill our heart-strings as they thrill,
Nay, almost crack,
At thought of how the time we'll kill
When you come back!
Our Muse less swift scour onward still,
When thrill our heart-strings as they thrill,
Nay, almost crack,
At thought of how the time we'll kill
When you come back!
179
We'll then, as I have said and say,
The glories of our town survey;
A visit to the Dene we'll pay;
Then down the burn
We'll link ho! ho! we'll link that day,
When you return.
The glories of our town survey;
A visit to the Dene we'll pay;
Then down the burn
We'll link ho! ho! we'll link that day,
When you return.
Away to canny Shields will we,
And bonny Whitley-by-the-Sea,
Then up to Hexham in our glee;
Nay, rest we'll spurn
Till all the country-side we see,
When you return.
And bonny Whitley-by-the-Sea,
Then up to Hexham in our glee;
Nay, rest we'll spurn
Till all the country-side we see,
When you return.
That will we view, and many a thing
To which our sweetest feelings cling,
And from our harps shall flow a spring
From rapture born,
That many a lad and lass shall sing,
When you return.
To which our sweetest feelings cling,
And from our harps shall flow a spring
From rapture born,
That many a lad and lass shall sing,
When you return.
When you return; when Mary Jane
And you come sailing o'er the main,
No storm will blow the ship to strain—
Each charm-bound wave
Will duck its head down till you gain
Our harbour safe.
And you come sailing o'er the main,
No storm will blow the ship to strain—
Each charm-bound wave
Will duck its head down till you gain
Our harbour safe.
That day of days?—Run, Sally, run!
And stop the tune in love begun,
Or I shall harp till I'm undone,
And have, alack!
No strength to hug our cronies, none!
When they come back.
And stop the tune in love begun,
Or I shall harp till I'm undone,
And have, alack!
No strength to hug our cronies, none!
When they come back.
180
Not, not so fast. Ah, there, now there,
You've bumped your chin against the chair
And bit your tongue—well I declare!
That tongue that's rung
Me many a curtain song so rare,
Since we were young.
You've bumped your chin against the chair
And bit your tongue—well I declare!
That tongue that's rung
Me many a curtain song so rare,
Since we were young.
“Ha, ha!” you cry: well, darling, well,
I'm glad that naught occurr'd to quell
The music of that golden bell,
And that its clack
May help my welcome cry to swell
When Will comes back.
I'm glad that naught occurr'd to quell
The music of that golden bell,
And that its clack
May help my welcome cry to swell
When Will comes back.
Till then, again, adieu, my friend,
And when you have an hour to spend
On rhyme, a rhyme thy crony send:
Do, Willy do;
Meanwhile, believe me to the end,
A brother true.
And when you have an hour to spend
On rhyme, a rhyme thy crony send:
Do, Willy do;
Meanwhile, believe me to the end,
A brother true.
THE END.
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