 | Poems (1845) |  |
16
[Day Dreams]
‘Again the sun is hot and high in heaven;
The rustic sweats beneath the sultry ray;
The idler seeks the shady walk; and I,
With shaken frame and slow returning strength,
Upon the sloping bank, beneath the trees,
Have sat me down to ruminate a while,
And dream away the hours till health return.
These trees which spread their branches o'er my head,
And shade me from the sultry summer sun
Were young when I was young—we grew together:
I was a boy, and they were paltry shrubs.
Even then, this was a pleasant place to me,
And here I loitered many an hour away,
And dreamed as pertinaciously as now;
But then my dreams did differ far from those
Which now I may indulge at this dim distance.
The scene hath changed its aspect—I am changed;
Yet now I would recall the shadowy trace
Which memory holds of those departed years,
And live again a moment in their light.
The rustic sweats beneath the sultry ray;
The idler seeks the shady walk; and I,
With shaken frame and slow returning strength,
Upon the sloping bank, beneath the trees,
Have sat me down to ruminate a while,
And dream away the hours till health return.
These trees which spread their branches o'er my head,
And shade me from the sultry summer sun
Were young when I was young—we grew together:
I was a boy, and they were paltry shrubs.
17
And here I loitered many an hour away,
And dreamed as pertinaciously as now;
But then my dreams did differ far from those
Which now I may indulge at this dim distance.
The scene hath changed its aspect—I am changed;
Yet now I would recall the shadowy trace
Which memory holds of those departed years,
And live again a moment in their light.
‘The mournful ballad was my earliest lore,
And long ere I could read it for myself,
'Twas music to my soul; and I would sit
With a pleased melancholy, such as steals
Over the heart when day dies in the west,
To hear it warbled. Then the strain of Burns
Touched a strange chord in my yet boyish bosom,
Which thrilled beneath the magic of his words;
And when more years had added to my stock—
My little stock of knowledge, then I learned
That Nature's poet in his early day
Was but a peasant boy, as poor as I.
Then I went on to fill the picture up,
With all the colouring fancy could devise:—
Ragged he was, perchance, as I had been,
And sauntered far by wood or lonely stream
To muse and meditate—a sun-burnt wanderer;
Or slid with desperate skill the frozen lake,
Till the big snow-flakes, drifting through the rents
Of his long worn and sorely wasted raiment,
Which opened to receive them, had transform'd
Him almost to an icicle; or plunged,
By a rash venture, as I oft had done,
Through the frail pavement over which he glided,
And almost drowned, trembled with cold and terror,
And durst not venture home for being whipped.
Yet when he grew to manhood, and had learned
To write and spell the words he wrote aright,
He made a book, and gained nine hundred pounds!
That was a monarch's treasure!—When I grew
A man, I'd learn to write and spell like him!
Then what might hinder me to make a book,
Which men would buy, and marvel how I made it.
What he had done, sure, I might learn to do!
Though rags and poverty were all my portion:
He too was poor; and I had made him ragged,
That we might be alike [OMITTED]
In the beginning of life's weary journey—
It seemed not weary then, but a rich walk
Which glittered with a thousand glowing charms—
And then my book!—that was the mighty shadow
Which filled my day-dream with unnumbered schemes.
Nine hundred pounds! oh, what a mighty sum!
Had I a hundred, ay or even fifty,
I never could exhaust it—it would serve
To make a nation happy.—Then the boys
Who, clad in tatters, and with battered feet,
In winter slid like me the frozen lake,
Should all have better jackets from my store,
And clothes to keep them from the pinching cold—
New shoes too, with a hundred tackets each
And iron heels, I would bestow upon them:
Then I would give them shillings for their mothers.
(I got a shilling once, which gave me joy,
Such as I know not that I felt before.
It was from a kind-hearted man, whose horse
I held a while; and when I brought it home,
My mother blessed him so, and said so much,
And seem'd so happy, that, to earn such blessing
From those poor mothers whom I would befriend,
Appeared the acme of all earthly good.)
Their fathers too, when sickness came upon them,
Should have for dinner wheaten bread and milk—
That was a luxury I, for once, had tasted,
And longed to do again, although it came not
Within the clutches of my ravening jaw
A second time; still I remembered well,
And deemed it daintiest of earth's dainty things.
Tea, too, should grace their boards on Sabbath-days,
And the coarse bannocks baken from the bean,
(Which last I never liked, although compelled
To take them for my dinner many a day,)
Should be exchanged for those of barley bread.
And I would buy them cows to yield them milk;
And give them meal when that was waxing scarce.
A hundred pounds would do all this and more,
Ay, twice as much, or may be twenty times.
And when my paradise was made complete
In this department, there was one old man,
Whom I had seen draining a hilly field—
That was when I was very young, but still
His picture was before me undecayed;
My memory had the scene in all its parts:—
The noonday sun was beating fierce upon him;
His coat and vest were doffed, and thrown aside,
His worn-out shirt, in rags, was black and wet
With the warm moisture which suffused his skin;
His bald head was uncovered, and his locks,
His thin gray locks, dripping and drenched with sweat;
His face was soiled, his joints were stiff, and he
Appeared to ply his weary task with pain.
I saw him once again by a road-side—
The wind was cold—it was the winter time;
And snows lay deep on hill and valley round.
Beside him lay his staff and sundry hammers;
For he was breaking stones. But it was plain
That he had seen misfortune since I saw him;
A splinter from his hammer had cut out
One eye—it was the best—and left a hollow,
Dark, rayless, tenantless, where once it shone;
And penury and sickness, blent together,
Had set their stamp upon his meagre face.
My heart bled as I paused to look upon him,
And summed up all his miseries with an eye
Which held a boyish tear although it flowed not.
And long ere I could read it for myself,
'Twas music to my soul; and I would sit
With a pleased melancholy, such as steals
Over the heart when day dies in the west,
To hear it warbled. Then the strain of Burns
Touched a strange chord in my yet boyish bosom,
Which thrilled beneath the magic of his words;
And when more years had added to my stock—
My little stock of knowledge, then I learned
That Nature's poet in his early day
Was but a peasant boy, as poor as I.
Then I went on to fill the picture up,
With all the colouring fancy could devise:—
Ragged he was, perchance, as I had been,
And sauntered far by wood or lonely stream
To muse and meditate—a sun-burnt wanderer;
Or slid with desperate skill the frozen lake,
Till the big snow-flakes, drifting through the rents
Of his long worn and sorely wasted raiment,
Which opened to receive them, had transform'd
Him almost to an icicle; or plunged,
By a rash venture, as I oft had done,
Through the frail pavement over which he glided,
18
And durst not venture home for being whipped.
Yet when he grew to manhood, and had learned
To write and spell the words he wrote aright,
He made a book, and gained nine hundred pounds!
That was a monarch's treasure!—When I grew
A man, I'd learn to write and spell like him!
Then what might hinder me to make a book,
Which men would buy, and marvel how I made it.
What he had done, sure, I might learn to do!
Though rags and poverty were all my portion:
He too was poor; and I had made him ragged,
That we might be alike [OMITTED]
In the beginning of life's weary journey—
It seemed not weary then, but a rich walk
Which glittered with a thousand glowing charms—
And then my book!—that was the mighty shadow
Which filled my day-dream with unnumbered schemes.
Nine hundred pounds! oh, what a mighty sum!
Had I a hundred, ay or even fifty,
I never could exhaust it—it would serve
To make a nation happy.—Then the boys
Who, clad in tatters, and with battered feet,
In winter slid like me the frozen lake,
Should all have better jackets from my store,
And clothes to keep them from the pinching cold—
New shoes too, with a hundred tackets each
And iron heels, I would bestow upon them:
Then I would give them shillings for their mothers.
(I got a shilling once, which gave me joy,
Such as I know not that I felt before.
19
I held a while; and when I brought it home,
My mother blessed him so, and said so much,
And seem'd so happy, that, to earn such blessing
From those poor mothers whom I would befriend,
Appeared the acme of all earthly good.)
Their fathers too, when sickness came upon them,
Should have for dinner wheaten bread and milk—
That was a luxury I, for once, had tasted,
And longed to do again, although it came not
Within the clutches of my ravening jaw
A second time; still I remembered well,
And deemed it daintiest of earth's dainty things.
Tea, too, should grace their boards on Sabbath-days,
And the coarse bannocks baken from the bean,
(Which last I never liked, although compelled
To take them for my dinner many a day,)
Should be exchanged for those of barley bread.
And I would buy them cows to yield them milk;
And give them meal when that was waxing scarce.
A hundred pounds would do all this and more,
Ay, twice as much, or may be twenty times.
And when my paradise was made complete
In this department, there was one old man,
Whom I had seen draining a hilly field—
That was when I was very young, but still
His picture was before me undecayed;
My memory had the scene in all its parts:—
The noonday sun was beating fierce upon him;
His coat and vest were doffed, and thrown aside,
His worn-out shirt, in rags, was black and wet
With the warm moisture which suffused his skin;
His bald head was uncovered, and his locks,
His thin gray locks, dripping and drenched with sweat;
20
Appeared to ply his weary task with pain.
I saw him once again by a road-side—
The wind was cold—it was the winter time;
And snows lay deep on hill and valley round.
Beside him lay his staff and sundry hammers;
For he was breaking stones. But it was plain
That he had seen misfortune since I saw him;
A splinter from his hammer had cut out
One eye—it was the best—and left a hollow,
Dark, rayless, tenantless, where once it shone;
And penury and sickness, blent together,
Had set their stamp upon his meagre face.
My heart bled as I paused to look upon him,
And summed up all his miseries with an eye
Which held a boyish tear although it flowed not.
‘Oft had his shadow flitted o'er my mind,
And damped my happiness, like a dark cloud;
For it was painful to behold him thus,
And still more painful that I could do nothing
(For I was penniless) to make him better.
But brighter images now crowded on me:—
He too should be a sharer of my fortune
When it grew fine! And I would build a house—
A house for him:—I could do this myself;
For I used to repair our kail-yard dyke,
And make it stand without or clay or mortar;
And I should then have both. Sticks I would gather
To kindle up his fire, and bring him coals
To keep him warm throughout the winter day.
My heart danced at the thought;—how happy then!
And for the crust of ill-baked oaten bread,
Unsavoury and unseasoned, dry, yet mouldy,
Which I had seen him labour to consume,
As he sat resting on the frozen bank,—
And the cold beverage from the way-side stream,
From which he broke the ice that he might drink,—
I would provide a comfortable meal;—
It should be new potatoes in the season,
And porridge when I could not come at these.
I never thought of slaying sheep and oxen,
To feed him with their flesh. That was a word
Of which I scarcely understood the meaning.
But then I should take care he had a yard,
With goose-berries a-plenty growing in it.
Of gooseberries I reckoned not a little,
For I had bought a pennyworth and ate them,—
And oh how sweet!—I never could forget it.
Of apples also I could tell the flavour,
For I had once ate two on the same day,
And found that they were pleasant to my taste;
And therefore he should have an apple-tree:—
O what a treasure it would be to him
To go and take an apple when he pleased!
And then if he should chance to have too many,
Why! he might sell them for a drink of ale,
To do him good when harvest days were hot.
Ale did not make men drunk—he might do this.
Then I would help him too to dig his yard,
And plant his kail, and hoe his cabbages;
For I was growing strong, and would be stronger
When I became a man.—My spirit drew
Nectar from these delusions, as the bee
Draws honey from the flowers on summer days.
It was a boyish weakness which the world
May laugh at and forgive, though slow to pardon
Such flagrant follies found in one so young.
And damped my happiness, like a dark cloud;
For it was painful to behold him thus,
And still more painful that I could do nothing
(For I was penniless) to make him better.
But brighter images now crowded on me:—
He too should be a sharer of my fortune
When it grew fine! And I would build a house—
A house for him:—I could do this myself;
For I used to repair our kail-yard dyke,
And make it stand without or clay or mortar;
And I should then have both. Sticks I would gather
To kindle up his fire, and bring him coals
To keep him warm throughout the winter day.
My heart danced at the thought;—how happy then!
21
Unsavoury and unseasoned, dry, yet mouldy,
Which I had seen him labour to consume,
As he sat resting on the frozen bank,—
And the cold beverage from the way-side stream,
From which he broke the ice that he might drink,—
I would provide a comfortable meal;—
It should be new potatoes in the season,
And porridge when I could not come at these.
I never thought of slaying sheep and oxen,
To feed him with their flesh. That was a word
Of which I scarcely understood the meaning.
But then I should take care he had a yard,
With goose-berries a-plenty growing in it.
Of gooseberries I reckoned not a little,
For I had bought a pennyworth and ate them,—
And oh how sweet!—I never could forget it.
Of apples also I could tell the flavour,
For I had once ate two on the same day,
And found that they were pleasant to my taste;
And therefore he should have an apple-tree:—
O what a treasure it would be to him
To go and take an apple when he pleased!
And then if he should chance to have too many,
Why! he might sell them for a drink of ale,
To do him good when harvest days were hot.
Ale did not make men drunk—he might do this.
Then I would help him too to dig his yard,
And plant his kail, and hoe his cabbages;
For I was growing strong, and would be stronger
When I became a man.—My spirit drew
Nectar from these delusions, as the bee
Draws honey from the flowers on summer days.
22
May laugh at and forgive, though slow to pardon
Such flagrant follies found in one so young.
‘Thus squandered I my time, while other boys
At school were picking up some useful knowledge
Which might be for their benefit through life.
At raw fourteen I had outgrown my fellows;
Of strength too I possessed the common share
Which boys have at this early time of life,
And like a fool I was full fain to show it:
I knew not that even then my strength was destined
To a severer trial than I had recked of.
At school were picking up some useful knowledge
Which might be for their benefit through life.
At raw fourteen I had outgrown my fellows;
Of strength too I possessed the common share
Which boys have at this early time of life,
And like a fool I was full fain to show it:
I knew not that even then my strength was destined
To a severer trial than I had recked of.
‘My days of idleness were at an end,
My parents could no longer keep me so,
And I was sent to dig a ditch more deep,
And dirtier too, than that the old man dug;
And for my fare I ate a crust as dry,
And drank from the ice-girded stream, and rested
Upon a stone from which I swept the snow.
My dining-room had clouds for tapestry,
Mountains for walls, the boundless sky for ceiling,
And frosty winds for music whistling through it.
Thus situated and thus serenaded,
I ate my dinner with—I know not what,
If it might be content or something else.
My work was hard, my strength inadequate,—
It tired strong men, and I was but a boy.
At eventide so tired was I, I scarcely
Could keep my fellows' way in walking home;
My joints were stiffened, and became the seat
Of weariness and pain; and sleep forsook me
For many a night, or only came by fits,
From which I woke to find I was not rested.
Hard labour drives the downy god away
From bodies older and more firmly knit
Than mine could be at such an early age.
My parents could no longer keep me so,
And I was sent to dig a ditch more deep,
And dirtier too, than that the old man dug;
And for my fare I ate a crust as dry,
And drank from the ice-girded stream, and rested
Upon a stone from which I swept the snow.
My dining-room had clouds for tapestry,
Mountains for walls, the boundless sky for ceiling,
And frosty winds for music whistling through it.
Thus situated and thus serenaded,
I ate my dinner with—I know not what,
If it might be content or something else.
My work was hard, my strength inadequate,—
It tired strong men, and I was but a boy.
At eventide so tired was I, I scarcely
Could keep my fellows' way in walking home;
My joints were stiffened, and became the seat
Of weariness and pain; and sleep forsook me
For many a night, or only came by fits,
From which I woke to find I was not rested.
23
From bodies older and more firmly knit
Than mine could be at such an early age.
‘This tamed me to my fate, and taught me wisdom,
And broke me to drag on the wain of life
With all the dullness of the sluggish ox
When yoked to till the field or draw the wain.
My spirits sunk; imagination strayed
No more in quest of those illusive scenes,
On which it painted happiness before;
My book-and-fortune dream was at an end;
And to obtain a little rest appeared
The greatest blessing which I could enjoy.
The sabbath then was sacred in my eye,
Not that it was a day to worship God,
But that it freed me from a galling yoke;
And I would count the intervening hours
Till slow revolving time should bring it back.
And broke me to drag on the wain of life
With all the dullness of the sluggish ox
When yoked to till the field or draw the wain.
My spirits sunk; imagination strayed
No more in quest of those illusive scenes,
On which it painted happiness before;
My book-and-fortune dream was at an end;
And to obtain a little rest appeared
The greatest blessing which I could enjoy.
The sabbath then was sacred in my eye,
Not that it was a day to worship God,
But that it freed me from a galling yoke;
And I would count the intervening hours
Till slow revolving time should bring it back.
‘Life is a drama of a few brief acts;—
The actors shift—the scene is often changed—
Pauses and revolutions intervene—
The mind is set to many a varied tune,
And jars and plays in harmony by turns;
And happiness, like heaven's blue arch, is seen
Upon the top of Expectation's mount,
And waiting for us there that we may grasp it;
But when we gain that cloud-capt elevation,
Behold! the hoped-for object is far off,
And we must start again in a new chase,
And climb another hill of greater height,
Upon whose summit gorgeously arrayed
The fair, false spirit seems to sit enshrined.
Still, still that dream runs on through every change,
And still deceives the dreamer!—Why repine?
Man's happiness is more in the hot chase,
Than the attainment of the good he seeks.
The actors shift—the scene is often changed—
Pauses and revolutions intervene—
The mind is set to many a varied tune,
And jars and plays in harmony by turns;
And happiness, like heaven's blue arch, is seen
Upon the top of Expectation's mount,
And waiting for us there that we may grasp it;
But when we gain that cloud-capt elevation,
Behold! the hoped-for object is far off,
And we must start again in a new chase,
And climb another hill of greater height,
Upon whose summit gorgeously arrayed
The fair, false spirit seems to sit enshrined.
Still, still that dream runs on through every change,
24
Man's happiness is more in the hot chase,
Than the attainment of the good he seeks.
‘My dream, though interrupted, was not ended;
Though checked, it had not reached its final close.
As I grew older, I outgrew my toil;
My limbs resumed their wonted elasticity,
My step its firmness; and I felt my arm
Was competent for that which fate assigned it;
From boyhood I was rising into man,
And trod upon the verge of growth completed.
My mind, too, had embraced a few more objects;
And I had learned some knowledge of mankind,
Their impulses, their manners, and their passions;
For they had tutored me to know their ways
By lessons which were sometimes at my cost.
My heart expanded into a new life,
Rejoicing in the skill which it had gained:—
It might be worthless, but it seemed not so;—
And I was eager to increase my stock.
But yet I must have had some petty cares
To temper happiness; for, it was said
That I at times grew thoughtful, and was seen,
Or seemed, less prone to laugh than my compeers.
It might be so, or it might not—I forget;
But be that as it may, there is the trace
Of a long cherish'd vision in my heart,
Which years and accidents have left untouched—
'Tis but the trace—the vision is no more.
When vexed by calumny, or teased by foes,
Or fretted by false friends, that vision came,
Like the full moon emerging from dark clouds,
And shed a pure, soft radiance on my soul,
Such as that maiden orb at midnight hour
Lends to the windings of the silver stream.
Though checked, it had not reached its final close.
As I grew older, I outgrew my toil;
My limbs resumed their wonted elasticity,
My step its firmness; and I felt my arm
Was competent for that which fate assigned it;
From boyhood I was rising into man,
And trod upon the verge of growth completed.
My mind, too, had embraced a few more objects;
And I had learned some knowledge of mankind,
Their impulses, their manners, and their passions;
For they had tutored me to know their ways
By lessons which were sometimes at my cost.
My heart expanded into a new life,
Rejoicing in the skill which it had gained:—
It might be worthless, but it seemed not so;—
And I was eager to increase my stock.
But yet I must have had some petty cares
To temper happiness; for, it was said
That I at times grew thoughtful, and was seen,
Or seemed, less prone to laugh than my compeers.
It might be so, or it might not—I forget;
But be that as it may, there is the trace
Of a long cherish'd vision in my heart,
Which years and accidents have left untouched—
'Tis but the trace—the vision is no more.
When vexed by calumny, or teased by foes,
Or fretted by false friends, that vision came,
Like the full moon emerging from dark clouds,
And shed a pure, soft radiance on my soul,
25
Lends to the windings of the silver stream.
‘My dream was then of some fair being, on
Whose love-warm bosom I should lay my head;
And, while I felt a fond heart beat beneath,
Forget that “as the sparks from fire fly upward,
So man is born to trouble”—whose soft voice
Should be the sweetest music to my ear,
Awakening all the chords of harmony—
Whose eye should speak a language to my soul,
More eloquent than aught which Greece or Rome
Could boast of in their best and happiest days—
Whose smile should be my rich reward for toil—
Whose pure, transparent cheek, when press'd to mine,
Should calm the fever of my troubled thoughts,
And woo my spirit to those fields Elysian,
The paradise which strong affection guards—
Whose heart with mine made one by Heaven's decree,
In mutual interchange of sentiment,
And thought, and wish—to the minutest feeling,
Should make our lives flow gently on together;
Even as two streams when poured into each other
Unite and form a broader, brighter river.
Oh! I have seen such streams, and paused and lingered
To see an emblem of that happiness
Which I was destined never to enjoy.
Where the first eddy of their meeting waters—
The deep commotion of their mingling tides
Subsided in a smooth and glassy plain,
Which, clear the placid sky above reflected—
Its fleecy vapours and its azure blue:
The banks the bushes, the surrounding hills,
They glided on in tranquil loveliness,
To mix with that eternity of waters,
The all unmeasured ocean. [OMITTED]
That was the spot which riveted my eye;
And there I saw—in short, I know not what—
The forms and shadows of a thousand things:—
Those eddies were the first fresh burst of feeling,
Half pleasing and half painful which love brings,
When that delicious dream, like life, is new;
Then, the subsiding point was to my eye
The calm which union brings to plighted lovers;
Then, the long mirror of its mazy windings
Might represent the deep and settled flow
Of mutual sympathy and chaste affection,
Which hearts, by nature formed to bear love's yoke,
Enjoy in journeying through the vale of life,
Till Time shall merge them in Eternity,
Again to close the link their beings wore,
And find it strengthened in another state—
Not broken by death's transitory change.
Whose love-warm bosom I should lay my head;
And, while I felt a fond heart beat beneath,
Forget that “as the sparks from fire fly upward,
So man is born to trouble”—whose soft voice
Should be the sweetest music to my ear,
Awakening all the chords of harmony—
Whose eye should speak a language to my soul,
More eloquent than aught which Greece or Rome
Could boast of in their best and happiest days—
Whose smile should be my rich reward for toil—
Whose pure, transparent cheek, when press'd to mine,
Should calm the fever of my troubled thoughts,
And woo my spirit to those fields Elysian,
The paradise which strong affection guards—
Whose heart with mine made one by Heaven's decree,
In mutual interchange of sentiment,
And thought, and wish—to the minutest feeling,
Should make our lives flow gently on together;
Even as two streams when poured into each other
Unite and form a broader, brighter river.
Oh! I have seen such streams, and paused and lingered
To see an emblem of that happiness
Which I was destined never to enjoy.
Where the first eddy of their meeting waters—
The deep commotion of their mingling tides
Subsided in a smooth and glassy plain,
Which, clear the placid sky above reflected—
Its fleecy vapours and its azure blue:
The banks the bushes, the surrounding hills,
They glided on in tranquil loveliness,
26
The all unmeasured ocean. [OMITTED]
That was the spot which riveted my eye;
And there I saw—in short, I know not what—
The forms and shadows of a thousand things:—
Those eddies were the first fresh burst of feeling,
Half pleasing and half painful which love brings,
When that delicious dream, like life, is new;
Then, the subsiding point was to my eye
The calm which union brings to plighted lovers;
Then, the long mirror of its mazy windings
Might represent the deep and settled flow
Of mutual sympathy and chaste affection,
Which hearts, by nature formed to bear love's yoke,
Enjoy in journeying through the vale of life,
Till Time shall merge them in Eternity,
Again to close the link their beings wore,
And find it strengthened in another state—
Not broken by death's transitory change.
‘This was a weakness which I cherish'd long,
Even as men sometimes cherish their worst follies—
A deep delusion which was loath to part,
A dream from which but lately I awaked,
Nor waked without a pang; but it is past.
And now I bless my fate that it is thus,
Nor murmur though that pang was hard to bear.
It had been harder far, and bitterer too,
And worse to bear, to look on one beloved,
Whose destiny and hopes were ruled by mine,
And see her shrink in the November blast
Of my bleak fortune, like a northern winter,
Which broke around me and with frozen breath
Chilled those illusive fancies from my sight.’
Even as men sometimes cherish their worst follies—
A deep delusion which was loath to part,
A dream from which but lately I awaked,
Nor waked without a pang; but it is past.
And now I bless my fate that it is thus,
Nor murmur though that pang was hard to bear.
It had been harder far, and bitterer too,
And worse to bear, to look on one beloved,
Whose destiny and hopes were ruled by mine,
And see her shrink in the November blast
Of my bleak fortune, like a northern winter,
Which broke around me and with frozen breath
Chilled those illusive fancies from my sight.’
34
[“How sad to see the friend we love depart]
“How sad to see the friend we love depart
With all that's dear torn from our bleeding heart!
No pen alas! can write, no tongue can tell,
What feelings mingle with a last farewell.
While Memory traces all that's gone before,
And magic Fancy future scenes runs o'er,
Each pang we felt, each sorrow that we knew—
Again we seem to feel it all anew;
We see them now a moment and no more,
To us they're gone with those the floods before.
As waves from their deep bed heaved by the wind,
Thy sounds, farewell, convulsive heave the mind.
With all that's dear torn from our bleeding heart!
No pen alas! can write, no tongue can tell,
What feelings mingle with a last farewell.
While Memory traces all that's gone before,
And magic Fancy future scenes runs o'er,
35
Again we seem to feel it all anew;
We see them now a moment and no more,
To us they're gone with those the floods before.
As waves from their deep bed heaved by the wind,
Thy sounds, farewell, convulsive heave the mind.
To all I'd resolutely bid adieu
With coldness, save, my honour'd friend, to you;
But in this breast thy memory still shall live,
While life one recollecting power can give.
And though my name by thee forgot should lie
In thickest shades, 'neath blank oblivion's sky,
Yet on this heart thy name shall still abide
While life rolls through my veins the purple tide;
Though Time should every other thought estrange,
To thee, my heart shall know no future change;
To me none else shall fill thy place anew,—
But now comes o'er my heart the word, adieu!”
With coldness, save, my honour'd friend, to you;
But in this breast thy memory still shall live,
While life one recollecting power can give.
And though my name by thee forgot should lie
In thickest shades, 'neath blank oblivion's sky,
Yet on this heart thy name shall still abide
While life rolls through my veins the purple tide;
Though Time should every other thought estrange,
To thee, my heart shall know no future change;
To me none else shall fill thy place anew,—
But now comes o'er my heart the word, adieu!”
90
‘A MOTHER'S LOVE.’
‘Unlike all other things earth knows,(All else may fail or change,)
The love in a Mother's heart that glows,
Nought earthly can estrange.
Concentrated, and strong, and bright,
A vestal flame it glows
With pure, self-sacrificing light,
Which no cold shadow knows.
All that by mortal can be done,
A Mother ventures for her son:
91
Her bosom beats with ecstasy;
And though he own nor worth nor charm,
To him her faithful heart is warm.
Though wayward passions round him close,
And fame and fortune prove his foes;
Through every change of good and ill,
Unchanged, a mother loves him still.
Even love itself, than life more dear,—
Its interchange of hope and fear;
Its feeling oft a-kin to madness;
Its fevered joys, and anguish-sadness;
Its melting moods of tenderness,
And fancied wrongs, and fond redress,
Hath nought to form so strong a tie
As her deep sympathies supply.
And when those kindred cords are broken
Which twine around the heart;
When friends their farewell word have spoken,
And to the grave depart;
When parents, brothers, husband, die,
And desolation only
At every step meets her dim eye,
Inspiring visions lonely,—
Love's last and strongest root below,
Which widowed Mothers only know,
Watered by each successive grief,
Puts forth a fresher, greener leaf:
Divided streams unite in one,
And deepen round her only son;
And when her early friends are gone,
She lives and breathes in him alone.’
143
[Shall I, Alas!]
[OMITTED] Shall I, Alas! [OMITTED]
‘No longer hear the friendly tone,
Which welcomed me of yore
From many a wet and stormy day,
At the paternal door?
Which welcomed me of yore
From many a wet and stormy day,
At the paternal door?
‘No longer see the evening fire,
By thee replenished well,
As from the cold and biting frost
I came, when evening fell?
By thee replenished well,
As from the cold and biting frost
I came, when evening fell?
‘No longer see thy aged form
Pass to the cottage door,
Or move, with gentle step, and slow
Across the dusky floor,
Pass to the cottage door,
Or move, with gentle step, and slow
Across the dusky floor,
‘As from its place beyond the fire,
Thou brought'st some ancient book;
Thy hand still firm, although thy head
With a slight tremor shook?
Thou brought'st some ancient book;
Thy hand still firm, although thy head
With a slight tremor shook?
144
‘And can those hands, which busy still
Some lighter task would ply,
Nor shrink from labour to the last,
All cold and stiffened lie?
Some lighter task would ply,
Nor shrink from labour to the last,
All cold and stiffened lie?
‘And can that eye, which still was bright
Beneath its time-bleached brow,
Cold, lustreless, and lifeless, lie
In the lone churchyard now?
Beneath its time-bleached brow,
Cold, lustreless, and lifeless, lie
In the lone churchyard now?
‘Now in my ear a voice proclaims
At morn, and noon, and night—
No more thy word, or look, or smile
Shall make my heart fell light.
At morn, and noon, and night—
No more thy word, or look, or smile
Shall make my heart fell light.
‘No more for me thy task shall be,
Dry clothing to prepare,
When Winter's drenching rain had made
Such needful task thy care.’
[OMITTED]
Dry clothing to prepare,
When Winter's drenching rain had made
Such needful task thy care.’
324
‘THE RUIN.’
By yonder ruin desolate,
Upon the mountain hoar;
Shaded in lonely solitude,
By the tall sycamore,—
Upon the mountain hoar;
Shaded in lonely solitude,
By the tall sycamore,—
Musing upon this changing scene,
I lingered on my way,
Till shadows of the eventide
Announced the close of day.
I lingered on my way,
Till shadows of the eventide
Announced the close of day.
It was a place where man had been,
With all his hopes and fears;
And woman's gentler spirit there
Had melted into tears.
With all his hopes and fears;
And woman's gentler spirit there
Had melted into tears.
325
It was a place where hoary age
Had left the scene of strife—
Where youth had loved, and infancy
Been ushered into life.
Had left the scene of strife—
Where youth had loved, and infancy
Been ushered into life.
And there a thousand images,
Of days and years gone by—
Like the illusions of a dream,
Flitted before my eye.
Of days and years gone by—
Like the illusions of a dream,
Flitted before my eye.
There, as I stood in musing mood,
Methought a spirit woke
Among the rustling leaves, and thus
In deepest accents spoke.
Methought a spirit woke
Among the rustling leaves, and thus
In deepest accents spoke.
“Stranger, I pray thee, pause a while,
And listen to me now;
And thou wilt pause, I rightly guess,
Even by thy thoughtful brow.
And listen to me now;
And thou wilt pause, I rightly guess,
Even by thy thoughtful brow.
“Three centuries of sun and storm,
Have o'er my branches swept,
Since first upon my infant form
The summer sunbeam slept.
Have o'er my branches swept,
Since first upon my infant form
The summer sunbeam slept.
“Long, long above that humble cot,
I broke the midnight blast;
And o'er the cottagers at noon,
A pleasing shadow cast;
I broke the midnight blast;
And o'er the cottagers at noon,
A pleasing shadow cast;
“And since all tenantless and lone,
These ruined walls have been—
Full thirty years of solitude
My hoary trunk hath seen.
These ruined walls have been—
Full thirty years of solitude
My hoary trunk hath seen.
326
“But though I ne'er again shall hear
The clarion of the cock,
Which wont the morning watch to mark
To those who had no clock;
The clarion of the cock,
Which wont the morning watch to mark
To those who had no clock;
“And though long years have o'er me passed,
With weary steps and slow,
Since I have heard the lover's vow,
Whispered in accents low;
With weary steps and slow,
Since I have heard the lover's vow,
Whispered in accents low;
“And though no more, with busy hum,
The children round me play—
Though quenched the fire, and cold the hearth,
And all gone to decay,—
The children round me play—
Though quenched the fire, and cold the hearth,
And all gone to decay,—
“Still, in the memory of a tree,
A long, long story lives,
Of things which to the heart of man
Its pain or pleasure gives—
A long, long story lives,
Of things which to the heart of man
Its pain or pleasure gives—
“A story of the ceaseless change,
With never-ending flow,
Which marks the destinies of men,
And their affairs below.
With never-ending flow,
Which marks the destinies of men,
And their affairs below.
“In days, now numbered with the past,
Which have been long forgot,
When the simplicity of truth
Adorned each lowly cot
Which have been long forgot,
When the simplicity of truth
Adorned each lowly cot
“With all a peasant's homely joys,
And piety sincere,
And hopes of immortality,
Which triumph'd over fear.
And piety sincere,
And hopes of immortality,
Which triumph'd over fear.
327
“Industrious, frugal, and content,
From vain ambition free;
They cherish'd no unnatural wants,
And feared not penury.
From vain ambition free;
They cherish'd no unnatural wants,
And feared not penury.
“Beyond their needful ‘milk and meal,’
And dress of hodden-gray,
Their humble wishes never roamed—
Their thoughts ne'er learn'd to stray.
And dress of hodden-gray,
Their humble wishes never roamed—
Their thoughts ne'er learn'd to stray.
“As seasons rolled, the song of praise,
Duly at eve and morn,
Rose from that lowly cot, and up
To heaven's high cope was borne.
Duly at eve and morn,
Rose from that lowly cot, and up
To heaven's high cope was borne.
“Then rose the prayer for humble hearts—
For fortitude to bear;
While secret sins, before their God,
Were all acknowledged there.
For fortitude to bear;
While secret sins, before their God,
Were all acknowledged there.
“The look of conscious rectitude,
Which beamed forth in the eye;
The heart which gave the smile or tear
Of natural sympathy:
Which beamed forth in the eye;
The heart which gave the smile or tear
Of natural sympathy:
“These shed a charm around the place,
Which even I could share—
The charm of nature and of truth—
Of piety and prayer.
Which even I could share—
The charm of nature and of truth—
Of piety and prayer.
“And when the hoary patriarch
Was near his journey's ending,
His children's children might be seen,
In sorrow o'er him bending.
Was near his journey's ending,
His children's children might be seen,
In sorrow o'er him bending.
328
“By his example on their souls,
Stern virtue was impress'd;
And firm resolve and fortitude
Implanted in each breast.
Stern virtue was impress'd;
And firm resolve and fortitude
Implanted in each breast.
And counsels, precepts, looks, and words,
By them remembered long—
Uprose, like angel-sentinels,
To guard their hearts from wrong.
By them remembered long—
Uprose, like angel-sentinels,
To guard their hearts from wrong.
“Here, also, have I seen the maid
Dance lightly in the sun,
When Spring to deck the freshening fields
In bright robes had begun.
Dance lightly in the sun,
When Spring to deck the freshening fields
In bright robes had begun.
“I've heard her sing, in heartfelt joy,
With voice as wild and sweet,
As is the lark's when springing up
The dappling dawn to greet.
With voice as wild and sweet,
As is the lark's when springing up
The dappling dawn to greet.
“But soon her glee and frolic gone—
Her laugh, by thought subdued,
Told that the ‘elder tale of love’
In her must be renewed.
Her laugh, by thought subdued,
Told that the ‘elder tale of love’
In her must be renewed.
“That ‘tale’ her altered mien betray'd—
Her musings lone and strange;
Her fitful bursts of merriment—
Her eye's expressive change.
Her musings lone and strange;
Her fitful bursts of merriment—
Her eye's expressive change.
“Whene'er a light, young step drew near,
The blush her cheek would cover,
Her fluttering heart, half hope, half fear,
Leaped instant to her lover.
The blush her cheek would cover,
Her fluttering heart, half hope, half fear,
Leaped instant to her lover.
329
“Pure as the snow-drop when it gems
The green turf where it grows;
And innocent as infant's dream,
That maiden's blush arose.
The green turf where it grows;
And innocent as infant's dream,
That maiden's blush arose.
“It was a heart to Nature true,
That made her young cheek glow
Bright as the rainbow's crimsoning
When seen on mountain snow.
That made her young cheek glow
Bright as the rainbow's crimsoning
When seen on mountain snow.
“These were the times to which I cling—
In which my memory lives—
From which my time-worn heart a glow
Of pleasure still derives.
In which my memory lives—
From which my time-worn heart a glow
Of pleasure still derives.
“But since the deadly curse of war
Upon the land hath set
That incubus of all its sons,
The everlasting debt;
Upon the land hath set
That incubus of all its sons,
The everlasting debt;
“And since the cot and cottar's rig,
No more may offer charms,
Such as the landlord now finds in
Amalgamated farms;
No more may offer charms,
Such as the landlord now finds in
Amalgamated farms;
“Since ‘milk and meal’ no longer here
May bless the labouring poor;
Nor house, nor home be left for them
By meadow or by moor;
May bless the labouring poor;
Nor house, nor home be left for them
By meadow or by moor;
330
“I've seen the country desolate,
Its cottages thrown down;
Poor labourer, artizan, and all
Driven to the smoky town.
Its cottages thrown down;
Poor labourer, artizan, and all
Driven to the smoky town.
“There, forced to breathe an atmosphere
Of stagnate, smoky air—
They turn their longing eyes in vain
To where their fathers were.
Of stagnate, smoky air—
They turn their longing eyes in vain
To where their fathers were.
“Far from the cooling, mountain stream,
And fresh, green mountain slopes,
Their days are spent amid the dust
Of factories and shops.
And fresh, green mountain slopes,
Their days are spent amid the dust
Of factories and shops.
“There, oft, the hapless youth, ensnared
By an unhallowed charm,
No longer feels the purer flame
Which should his bosom warm.
By an unhallowed charm,
No longer feels the purer flame
Which should his bosom warm.
“There, too, the blush of modesty
Forsakes the maiden's cheek,
And leaves the heart it wont to guard,
Unfortified and weak.
Forsakes the maiden's cheek,
And leaves the heart it wont to guard,
Unfortified and weak.
“In vain I mourn the roofless cots,
And ruined walls around;
And waving corn upon the spots
Where hearth-stones once were found.
And ruined walls around;
And waving corn upon the spots
Where hearth-stones once were found.
“Gold is the god men worship now,
With never-ceasing care;
Nor heed they who may live or die,
While they the spoil can share.
With never-ceasing care;
Nor heed they who may live or die,
While they the spoil can share.
331
“The rich, in boundless vanity,
Spend every passing day;
The poor ape their fantastic tricks—
Even all as best they may.
Spend every passing day;
The poor ape their fantastic tricks—
Even all as best they may.
“And, save when dire necessity
Their vain desires hath shorn,
None seem to have a higher aim
Than butterflies at morn.
Their vain desires hath shorn,
None seem to have a higher aim
Than butterflies at morn.
“Go, tell these words to such as they—
Go, tell them they are sooth;
Though mankind men must flatter here,
Yet I may speak the truth!”
Go, tell them they are sooth;
Though mankind men must flatter here,
Yet I may speak the truth!”
369
‘LOVE IN A BARREL.’
‘Sconced in the corner of a park,
Whose shady trees make noonday dark,
Whare scarce a beam has room to twinkle,
Stands the abode o'Sarah Wrinkle;
A modest domicile I ween
As e'er in Scotia's isle was seen.
Whose shady trees make noonday dark,
Whare scarce a beam has room to twinkle,
Stands the abode o'Sarah Wrinkle;
A modest domicile I ween
As e'er in Scotia's isle was seen.
‘Secluded there from love and strife,
Sarah hath lived a serious life—
And still she lives (let none upbraid)
A venerable vestal maid;
Within whose heart Love never ventured,
But once—and cursed the day he entered. [OMITTED]
Sarah hath lived a serious life—
And still she lives (let none upbraid)
A venerable vestal maid;
Within whose heart Love never ventured,
But once—and cursed the day he entered. [OMITTED]
‘Know then, she is a moving steeple,
And far o'ertops the neighbouring people—
A perfect giantess—but slim
As you could wish in bust and limb.
[OMITTED] then for her features—
She seems the best of mortal creatures:
Her eyes are dark, and o'er her nose
Superbly rise her arched brows,
Retiring far, while twinkling under
The fiery orbs seem full of wonder;
Her cheeks are lean, of iron hue,
But striped and streaked with red and blue;
Her nose is long, and hooked, and pointed,
And glows as if by oil anointed. [OMITTED]
And far o'ertops the neighbouring people—
A perfect giantess—but slim
As you could wish in bust and limb.
[OMITTED] then for her features—
She seems the best of mortal creatures:
Her eyes are dark, and o'er her nose
Superbly rise her arched brows,
Retiring far, while twinkling under
The fiery orbs seem full of wonder;
Her cheeks are lean, of iron hue,
But striped and streaked with red and blue;
Her nose is long, and hooked, and pointed,
And glows as if by oil anointed. [OMITTED]
‘Next, with your leave, her mental graces
Shall figure in their proper places.
Blest with a mind of quick discerning,
And stored with much recondite learning, [OMITTED]
Her glance is critical and tasty,
In judging puddings, pies, and pasty;
And even the slightest impropriety,
Draws down her censure on society.
Skilled in decorum, she is able
To point each person's place at table. [OMITTED]
She can propound with zeal most fervent
The duties of a female servant,
And with unrivalled skill can handle
A serious text on country scandal:
You'd think her an inspirëd teacher,
And swear she might become a preacher.
She loves the church, but chiefly twines
Her laurels for the old divines,
Because, she says, in their discourses
The truth is drawn from purer sources
Than human pride and human knowledge,
Those idols of the modern college.
Shall figure in their proper places.
370
And stored with much recondite learning, [OMITTED]
Her glance is critical and tasty,
In judging puddings, pies, and pasty;
And even the slightest impropriety,
Draws down her censure on society.
Skilled in decorum, she is able
To point each person's place at table. [OMITTED]
She can propound with zeal most fervent
The duties of a female servant,
And with unrivalled skill can handle
A serious text on country scandal:
You'd think her an inspirëd teacher,
And swear she might become a preacher.
She loves the church, but chiefly twines
Her laurels for the old divines,
Because, she says, in their discourses
The truth is drawn from purer sources
Than human pride and human knowledge,
Those idols of the modern college.
‘She has a taste for cats and birds,
And loves the creatures' simplest words,
And into English verse can render
Their curious converse, sweet and tender.
She warmly hates all romping boys,
Who stun the studious with their noise,
And gives good hints to those who keep them
On the necessity to whip them.
She quite abhors all rural meetings,
And rustic junketings and greetings;
And reprimands with due severity
The timid maids for their temerity.
Even her white lips will writhe and redden
In wrath upon a penny weddin'.
But it would take a folio ponderous
To set forth all her virtues wondrous:
These are but an inferior sample
Of Sarah's graces rich and ample. [OMITTED]
[OMITTED] Her female servant.
Deborah is a different creature
From Sarah, both in form and feature:
Her face is full, and round, and ruddy,
And then, Heaven bless her! what a body!—
'Tis a substantial mass of matter
As e'er came from the hand o'Nature;
And though apart from my intentions
To sketch you out her full dimensions,
Yet I shall briefly try to show her,
That when you meet her you may know her.
And loves the creatures' simplest words,
And into English verse can render
Their curious converse, sweet and tender.
She warmly hates all romping boys,
Who stun the studious with their noise,
And gives good hints to those who keep them
On the necessity to whip them.
She quite abhors all rural meetings,
And rustic junketings and greetings;
And reprimands with due severity
The timid maids for their temerity.
Even her white lips will writhe and redden
In wrath upon a penny weddin'.
371
To set forth all her virtues wondrous:
These are but an inferior sample
Of Sarah's graces rich and ample. [OMITTED]
[OMITTED] Her female servant.
Deborah is a different creature
From Sarah, both in form and feature:
Her face is full, and round, and ruddy,
And then, Heaven bless her! what a body!—
'Tis a substantial mass of matter
As e'er came from the hand o'Nature;
And though apart from my intentions
To sketch you out her full dimensions,
Yet I shall briefly try to show her,
That when you meet her you may know her.
‘Unlike those fashionable misses
[OMITTED]
Whose swelling breasts and slender middle
Must still remind you of a fiddle,
Deborah has a goodly back,
Even thicker than a barley sack,
And her high shoulders, round and broad,
Might bear a horse or horse's load;
Her massy arms are plump and yellow,
Sun-burned, and soft as any pillow,
Though there, alas, Love never laid
His sunny cheek and curly head;
Her neck and chin, as next in order,
Claim notice from the just recorder.
The first, though short, contains, at least,
Materials for a moderate waist;
The second is the most uncommon
Appendage to a common woman.
Would I could show you but a section
Of such a manifold projection,
With all its burly butments swelling,
Like barbican in ancient dwelling!
I fain would paint it, but despair
Of painting justly, and forbear.
Around her mouth, but late appeared,
Blest symptoms of a glorious beard. [OMITTED]
I'll not expatiate on her nose,
Nor dwell upon her cheeks or brows,
But simply say, that when contrasted
With Sarah's, none would think she fasted;
For while the lady's cheeks are thin,
Deborah's almost burst the skin.
And then, for Sarah's meagre pimples,
Deborah has her buxom dimples.
Whose swelling breasts and slender middle
Must still remind you of a fiddle,
Deborah has a goodly back,
Even thicker than a barley sack,
And her high shoulders, round and broad,
Might bear a horse or horse's load;
Her massy arms are plump and yellow,
Sun-burned, and soft as any pillow,
Though there, alas, Love never laid
His sunny cheek and curly head;
Her neck and chin, as next in order,
Claim notice from the just recorder.
The first, though short, contains, at least,
Materials for a moderate waist;
The second is the most uncommon
Appendage to a common woman.
Would I could show you but a section
Of such a manifold projection,
372
Like barbican in ancient dwelling!
I fain would paint it, but despair
Of painting justly, and forbear.
Around her mouth, but late appeared,
Blest symptoms of a glorious beard. [OMITTED]
I'll not expatiate on her nose,
Nor dwell upon her cheeks or brows,
But simply say, that when contrasted
With Sarah's, none would think she fasted;
For while the lady's cheeks are thin,
Deborah's almost burst the skin.
And then, for Sarah's meagre pimples,
Deborah has her buxom dimples.
‘Such is a picture of the pair
Of ancient virgins good and fair,
Who long have lived in close connexion,—
Though not from mutual affection,
But that they knew each others failings,
And better bore their mutual railings.
Of ancient virgins good and fair,
Who long have lived in close connexion,—
Though not from mutual affection,
But that they knew each others failings,
And better bore their mutual railings.
‘Sarah, as I have said above,
Had ne'er but once been given to love;
And as she could not find a mate,
Her passion settled into hate;
But every day that fleeted over,
Deborah was a constant lover. [OMITTED]
Did no poor wight or wanderer orra,
Return the love of good Deborah?
O yes! she had a host of suitors
Who would have waded through the gutters
To visit her by night or day;
But Sarah scared them all away—
For Oh! the frowns of Mrs. Sarah
Were worse than all the plagues of Pharaoh. [OMITTED]
But tho' Deborah's charms were wasting,
And tho' her marrying days were hasting;
Yet while her rosy cheeks were withering,
Her hoarded wealth was yearly gathering,—
And faded forty blest with plenty,
Is better far than dowerless twenty;
And thus Deborah's charms renewed,
Made her more worthy to be wooed.
But still the suitors kept their distance,
Deterred by Sarah's fierce resistance:
Until at length a lucky quarrel
Made love a lodger in the barrel.
Had ne'er but once been given to love;
And as she could not find a mate,
Her passion settled into hate;
But every day that fleeted over,
Deborah was a constant lover. [OMITTED]
Did no poor wight or wanderer orra,
Return the love of good Deborah?
O yes! she had a host of suitors
Who would have waded through the gutters
To visit her by night or day;
But Sarah scared them all away—
373
Were worse than all the plagues of Pharaoh. [OMITTED]
But tho' Deborah's charms were wasting,
And tho' her marrying days were hasting;
Yet while her rosy cheeks were withering,
Her hoarded wealth was yearly gathering,—
And faded forty blest with plenty,
Is better far than dowerless twenty;
And thus Deborah's charms renewed,
Made her more worthy to be wooed.
But still the suitors kept their distance,
Deterred by Sarah's fierce resistance:
Until at length a lucky quarrel
Made love a lodger in the barrel.
‘Alas! that it should be recorded—
Good Sarah and her maid discorded,
And as Deborah thought, (tho' blindly,)
Her mistress treated her unkindly.
She swore with fearful resolution,
That there should be a retribution;
And well she knew if she could catch
Some moidered wretch to make a match,
Sarah would die of perfect spite
Upon her merry marriage night.
And luckily before a week
Elapsed, she met with Andrew Breek.
Now Andrew was a man of valour,
And both an elder and a tailor,
And by the powers of his profession
Had ruled the members of the Session;
And Andrew even in his devotion,
Had long been haunted with a notion
To wed for better or for worse
A woman who possessed a purse.
And he was marvellously delighted
When good Deborah him invited
(With a most gracious smirk and leer,)
To “Come some e'ening o'er an' see her.”
Andrew went home so light with love,
He scarcely felt his body move;
And he that night was so enamoured
That all his senses seemed beglamoured,
And awkward cuts and crooked seams
Attested his romantic dreams;
For he attached with active stitches
A coat sleeve to a pair of breeches.
And drab, and cassimere, and kersey
Were mingled without care or mercy,
Till Andrew fixed upon to-morrow
For his first visit to Deborah,
And ere the hour of assignation,
He bore his love with great discretion.
Good Sarah and her maid discorded,
And as Deborah thought, (tho' blindly,)
Her mistress treated her unkindly.
She swore with fearful resolution,
That there should be a retribution;
And well she knew if she could catch
Some moidered wretch to make a match,
Sarah would die of perfect spite
Upon her merry marriage night.
And luckily before a week
Elapsed, she met with Andrew Breek.
Now Andrew was a man of valour,
And both an elder and a tailor,
And by the powers of his profession
Had ruled the members of the Session;
And Andrew even in his devotion,
Had long been haunted with a notion
To wed for better or for worse
A woman who possessed a purse.
374
When good Deborah him invited
(With a most gracious smirk and leer,)
To “Come some e'ening o'er an' see her.”
Andrew went home so light with love,
He scarcely felt his body move;
And he that night was so enamoured
That all his senses seemed beglamoured,
And awkward cuts and crooked seams
Attested his romantic dreams;
For he attached with active stitches
A coat sleeve to a pair of breeches.
And drab, and cassimere, and kersey
Were mingled without care or mercy,
Till Andrew fixed upon to-morrow
For his first visit to Deborah,
And ere the hour of assignation,
He bore his love with great discretion.
‘The morning dawned—the mid day passed—
The longed for evening came at last. [OMITTED]
The longed for evening came at last. [OMITTED]
‘He reached Deborah's blest abode
Just as her mistress walked abroad,
And he was previously instructed
How matters were to be conducted—
And watched awhile his opportunity,
Then boldly entered with impunity,
And in an instant more, the stranger
Was garreted, and out of danger.
Deborah, like a practised jailor,
At once secured the amorous tailor;
And then the pair with souls sedate
Held their delightful tete-a-tete,
Until at length a thunder shower
Made gentle Sarah seek her bower;
And soon, alas! in deep despair,
They heard her footsteps on the stair:
What could be done? the door was locked,
But must be ope'd when Sarah knocked,
And then the mistress must discover
The maiden and her luckless lover.
Just as her mistress walked abroad,
And he was previously instructed
How matters were to be conducted—
And watched awhile his opportunity,
Then boldly entered with impunity,
And in an instant more, the stranger
Was garreted, and out of danger.
Deborah, like a practised jailor,
At once secured the amorous tailor;
And then the pair with souls sedate
Held their delightful tete-a-tete,
Until at length a thunder shower
Made gentle Sarah seek her bower;
375
They heard her footsteps on the stair:
What could be done? the door was locked,
But must be ope'd when Sarah knocked,
And then the mistress must discover
The maiden and her luckless lover.
‘Deborah strained her powers inventive
For remedy or for preventive:—
And what dilemma e'er was laid in
Too hard for an ingenious maiden?
A cask is fixed on Sarah's wall
To catch the rain-drops as they fall
From off the roof, and downward trunnel
To fill it, in a leaden tunnel;
And soon Deborah's blest invention,
Contrived a passage of suspension
Between the window and the barrel,
Upon whose top the amorous carle
Might free from danger rest a space,
Or leap to earth without disgrace,
For remedy or for preventive:—
And what dilemma e'er was laid in
Too hard for an ingenious maiden?
A cask is fixed on Sarah's wall
To catch the rain-drops as they fall
From off the roof, and downward trunnel
To fill it, in a leaden tunnel;
And soon Deborah's blest invention,
Contrived a passage of suspension
Between the window and the barrel,
Upon whose top the amorous carle
Might free from danger rest a space,
Or leap to earth without disgrace,
‘Some trifle Sarah's steps delayed
Till the proposed descent was made;
But sadly was the precious water
Polluted by that vile avatar—
For the dread cask's unfaithful cover
Gave way beneath the faithful lover!
There was a splash—and then a gushing—
A sound of many waters rushing;
It reached the attic of the maid—
And Sarah on the stairs was staid,
While her poor niece in sad condition
Came with a terrible petition—
“Oh auntie, auntie! come to me,
The kitchen's sailing in a sea—
The cat upon the hearth is drowning,
The very dogs for fear are running!”
Till the proposed descent was made;
But sadly was the precious water
Polluted by that vile avatar—
For the dread cask's unfaithful cover
Gave way beneath the faithful lover!
There was a splash—and then a gushing—
A sound of many waters rushing;
It reached the attic of the maid—
And Sarah on the stairs was staid,
While her poor niece in sad condition
Came with a terrible petition—
“Oh auntie, auntie! come to me,
The kitchen's sailing in a sea—
The cat upon the hearth is drowning,
The very dogs for fear are running!”
376
‘Sarah descended like a falcon
To save her favourite old grimalkin;
But guess how flashed her fiery eyes,
Starting with terror and surprise—
When, foaming fiercely through the entry
To kitchen, closet, press and pantry—
She saw an inundation dreadful
Which would have made an Arkwright needful;
A flood (with reverence be it spoke)
To which good Noah's was a joke! [OMITTED]
Yet boldly waded to the door,
To learn the cause of such uproar.
To save her favourite old grimalkin;
But guess how flashed her fiery eyes,
Starting with terror and surprise—
When, foaming fiercely through the entry
To kitchen, closet, press and pantry—
She saw an inundation dreadful
Which would have made an Arkwright needful;
A flood (with reverence be it spoke)
To which good Noah's was a joke! [OMITTED]
Yet boldly waded to the door,
To learn the cause of such uproar.
‘There was a splash, a groan, a snarl—
The devil was drowning in the barrel! [OMITTED]
The cask sent forth a mighty river,
Which roared as it would run for ever.
But Sarah prayed that it might cease,
And thus addressed her trembling niece:—
“Run lassie! run for doctor Dover!
And say I beg him to come over;
Bid him prepare himself for evil,
And bring his books to lay the devil.”
The devil was drowning in the barrel! [OMITTED]
The cask sent forth a mighty river,
Which roared as it would run for ever.
But Sarah prayed that it might cease,
And thus addressed her trembling niece:—
“Run lassie! run for doctor Dover!
And say I beg him to come over;
Bid him prepare himself for evil,
And bring his books to lay the devil.”
Meanwhile Andrew,
Sometimes scolding, sometimes mourning,
Still kept up a perpetual churning;
His voice now sank in low lamenting,
Of his unlucky love repenting;
Now rose in louder tones and longer,
As love grew weak and wrath grew stronger;
Now madly quick, now softly serious,
Made a commotion so mysterious,
That you had thought some deadly quarrel
Was settling in the haunted barrel. [OMITTED]
“O dear Deborah, d'ye hear me,
Is ony livin' creature near me?” [OMITTED]
“Na; nae a word—I might as weel
Cry to a monument o'steel,
Or lippen to a lion's paw,
Or summon help frae Largo Law—
Aweel, aweel! we e'en maun dree
A'that is fore-ordained to be.” [OMITTED]
Still kept up a perpetual churning;
His voice now sank in low lamenting,
Of his unlucky love repenting;
Now rose in louder tones and longer,
As love grew weak and wrath grew stronger;
Now madly quick, now softly serious,
Made a commotion so mysterious,
That you had thought some deadly quarrel
Was settling in the haunted barrel. [OMITTED]
377
Is ony livin' creature near me?” [OMITTED]
“Na; nae a word—I might as weel
Cry to a monument o'steel,
Or lippen to a lion's paw,
Or summon help frae Largo Law—
Aweel, aweel! we e'en maun dree
A'that is fore-ordained to be.” [OMITTED]
‘By this, the Reverend Dr. Dover,
In holy armour had come over;
Prepared by faith to go to battle,
With fiends, or fools, or horned cattle.
And, when he heard the amorous carle
Bumming and bubbling in the barrel—
He kindly turned the cock about,
To let the element run out;
And, when the waters were subsided,
The reverend Doctor was provided
With a strong ladder, and ascended
With caution and with courage blended—
Resolved to summon the surrender
Of Sarah's cask from its defender;
And, looking o'er the wooden battlements
On Andrew in the inner settlements,
He shouted with a lordly air
And lofty tone—“Ho! who is there?
“Whase there—whase here!—guid Sir, its me!”
Said Andrew, glimmering up to see—
“Its me—its thee! and what art thou
That dared to raise up such a row?”
In holy armour had come over;
Prepared by faith to go to battle,
With fiends, or fools, or horned cattle.
And, when he heard the amorous carle
Bumming and bubbling in the barrel—
He kindly turned the cock about,
To let the element run out;
And, when the waters were subsided,
The reverend Doctor was provided
With a strong ladder, and ascended
With caution and with courage blended—
Resolved to summon the surrender
Of Sarah's cask from its defender;
And, looking o'er the wooden battlements
On Andrew in the inner settlements,
He shouted with a lordly air
And lofty tone—“Ho! who is there?
“Whase there—whase here!—guid Sir, its me!”
Said Andrew, glimmering up to see—
“Its me—its thee! and what art thou
That dared to raise up such a row?”
“Hoot, Doctor; wusht! mak' nae profession;
Ye ken the members o'the Session:—
Yer ruling elder claims assistance,
An' charity forbids resistance.
Ye ken me noo, ye ken my worth—
Come, bear a hand, an' help me forth.”
Ye ken the members o'the Session:—
Yer ruling elder claims assistance,
An' charity forbids resistance.
378
Come, bear a hand, an' help me forth.”
‘The merits of the good divine
Demand at least a faithful line;
For he exerted strength and reason,
To rescue Andrew from his prison;
And risked his life in lith and limb,
By struggling o'er the barrel's brim.
Demand at least a faithful line;
For he exerted strength and reason,
To rescue Andrew from his prison;
And risked his life in lith and limb,
By struggling o'er the barrel's brim.
‘Know then, the elder did inherit
By birthright a most patient spirit;
And tho' he'd been inclined to snarl
At his dear mistress in the barrel,
He was no sooner out of danger,
Than Love returned like an avenger;
And he had neither peace nor rest,
Till his contrition was confessed;
And, ere a fortnight had passed over,
His kind deliverer Dr. Dover
Was called upon, and came to eke
Deborah Dumps to Andrew Breek.’
By birthright a most patient spirit;
And tho' he'd been inclined to snarl
At his dear mistress in the barrel,
He was no sooner out of danger,
Than Love returned like an avenger;
And he had neither peace nor rest,
Till his contrition was confessed;
And, ere a fortnight had passed over,
His kind deliverer Dr. Dover
Was called upon, and came to eke
Deborah Dumps to Andrew Breek.’
379
[Johnny Craigie's Wedding.]
[OMITTED] ‘Johnny
Was a fiddler good and gay,
And had been from his earliest day. [OMITTED]
Was a fiddler good and gay,
And had been from his earliest day. [OMITTED]
‘'Mid music Johnny passed his life,—
His fiddle was his friend and wife;
He'd played at many a harvest feast
In Scotia's isle from west to east;
Had seen the smiles of ladies bonny,—
But nought could move the heart of Johnny—
Nor maid, nor widow, high nor low,
To him seemed worth his fiddle-bow.
But Time, that old officious meddler,
At length o'ercame the hardy fiddler;
And, waggling thro' this world of trouble,
His legs began to fold and double;
But, when they fairly failed to move,
Then Johnny turned his heart to love,
And courted Maggy i'the glen,
A stately dame of five-feet-ten.
His fiddle was his friend and wife;
He'd played at many a harvest feast
In Scotia's isle from west to east;
Had seen the smiles of ladies bonny,—
But nought could move the heart of Johnny—
Nor maid, nor widow, high nor low,
To him seemed worth his fiddle-bow.
But Time, that old officious meddler,
At length o'ercame the hardy fiddler;
And, waggling thro' this world of trouble,
His legs began to fold and double;
But, when they fairly failed to move,
Then Johnny turned his heart to love,
And courted Maggy i'the glen,
A stately dame of five-feet-ten.
‘Maggy, in forty years of life,
Was thrice a bride, and thrice a wife;
And thrice in weeds of blackest hue,
Had wept the old and won the new. [OMITTED]
Thro' walls that have been often breached,
The citadel is easy reached:
Thus Maggy, unprepared for siege,
Conducted by experienced age,
After an hour of strong temptation,
Made fair and full capitulation.
Was thrice a bride, and thrice a wife;
And thrice in weeds of blackest hue,
Had wept the old and won the new. [OMITTED]
Thro' walls that have been often breached,
The citadel is easy reached:
Thus Maggy, unprepared for siege,
Conducted by experienced age,
380
Made fair and full capitulation.
‘The day was set and trusty pages
Sent forth to summon in the lieges. [OMITTED]
Sent forth to summon in the lieges. [OMITTED]
All he loved or knew were bidden
To dance at his propitious weddin';
And when the appointed morn of pride
Arose on Johnny and his bride,
On every road a lengthened train
Was seen approaching Maggy's glen:
Shepherds from neighbouring hills arrayed
In bonnet blue, and tartan plaid,
With country lasses from the farm,
Came gaily laughing arm in arm;
With these appeared in moleskin jackets,
And shoon well shod with iron tackets,
With fustain breeks, and furrowed stockings,
A host of ploughmen from their yokings;
And with each gallant in the throng
A buxom maiden bounced along,
With ribboned hair, and muslin gown,
Which gaily swept the gowany down.
Sailors rejoicing in the sport,
Came flocking from the neighbouring port,
In canvass trousers tightly braced
Around each much diminished waist;
And giggling girls from Borough bowers,
In bonnets graced with knots and flowers,
With flapping shawl, and flowing veil
Came scudding on before the gale.
From reeky Frantlam's crowded streets
Weavers appeared in troops and fleets,
Their dingy night-caps red and blue,
Thrown by for hats of blackest hue,
Gave an appearance brisk and smart
To each bold youngster's upper part;
With these, their pirn-winders drest
And dizzened in their very best,
Glad to escape from swifts and wheels,
To rax their limbs in rustic reels,
Came featly forth and thronged the road,
Altho' it was both long and broad.
Tinkers poured forth from camps and tents,
Where they had lodged on moors and bents,
And gaily left unclouted kettles,
Forgotten 'mid unmelted metals,
With grim but friendly smiles to cheer
The fiddler's feast, and taste his beer.
Gay beggars, lame and lyart-headed,
Who long for charity had pleaded
With success good and bad by turns,
Came limping o'er the dykes and burns.
Pipers, who in his early tours
Had spent with him delightful hours
In barn, and byre, and stable-loft,
Where they had nestled warm and soft,
In solemn droves, were seen to saunter,
With ribbands at each drone and chanter.
Fiddlers of all degrees and stations,
Of various languages and nations,
Hibernian, English, Welsh, and Scottish;
Some young and gay, some old and sottish;
From the street bowman blind and lame,
To minstrel of reputed fame,—
Some richly dressed, some scuffed and bare,
A motley crew were gathering there.
The gentle violiners, whose faces
Seemed formed for manners, smiles, and graces,
Were graced and paged by orphan boys,
Who bore their instruments of noise,
Which churls of ruder garb and mien
Flung o'er their backs in bags of green,
And bounced along with boast and bluster
To mingle in the general muster. [OMITTED]
To dance at his propitious weddin';
And when the appointed morn of pride
Arose on Johnny and his bride,
On every road a lengthened train
Was seen approaching Maggy's glen:
Shepherds from neighbouring hills arrayed
In bonnet blue, and tartan plaid,
With country lasses from the farm,
Came gaily laughing arm in arm;
With these appeared in moleskin jackets,
And shoon well shod with iron tackets,
With fustain breeks, and furrowed stockings,
A host of ploughmen from their yokings;
And with each gallant in the throng
A buxom maiden bounced along,
With ribboned hair, and muslin gown,
Which gaily swept the gowany down.
Sailors rejoicing in the sport,
Came flocking from the neighbouring port,
In canvass trousers tightly braced
Around each much diminished waist;
And giggling girls from Borough bowers,
In bonnets graced with knots and flowers,
With flapping shawl, and flowing veil
Came scudding on before the gale.
From reeky Frantlam's crowded streets
Weavers appeared in troops and fleets,
Their dingy night-caps red and blue,
Thrown by for hats of blackest hue,
381
To each bold youngster's upper part;
With these, their pirn-winders drest
And dizzened in their very best,
Glad to escape from swifts and wheels,
To rax their limbs in rustic reels,
Came featly forth and thronged the road,
Altho' it was both long and broad.
Tinkers poured forth from camps and tents,
Where they had lodged on moors and bents,
And gaily left unclouted kettles,
Forgotten 'mid unmelted metals,
With grim but friendly smiles to cheer
The fiddler's feast, and taste his beer.
Gay beggars, lame and lyart-headed,
Who long for charity had pleaded
With success good and bad by turns,
Came limping o'er the dykes and burns.
Pipers, who in his early tours
Had spent with him delightful hours
In barn, and byre, and stable-loft,
Where they had nestled warm and soft,
In solemn droves, were seen to saunter,
With ribbands at each drone and chanter.
Fiddlers of all degrees and stations,
Of various languages and nations,
Hibernian, English, Welsh, and Scottish;
Some young and gay, some old and sottish;
From the street bowman blind and lame,
To minstrel of reputed fame,—
Some richly dressed, some scuffed and bare,
A motley crew were gathering there.
The gentle violiners, whose faces
Seemed formed for manners, smiles, and graces,
Were graced and paged by orphan boys,
Who bore their instruments of noise,
382
Flung o'er their backs in bags of green,
And bounced along with boast and bluster
To mingle in the general muster. [OMITTED]
‘And when the day again was done
The sport seem'd only but begun;
And Morning from her misty cloud
Looked on an undiminished crowd,
For gentle strangers came and went,
Like pilgrims to a prophet's tent.
The sport seem'd only but begun;
And Morning from her misty cloud
Looked on an undiminished crowd,
For gentle strangers came and went,
Like pilgrims to a prophet's tent.
‘Maggy like antelope or izard,
Or ape bedeck'd with mortal vizard,
Led up the dance with bounding feet,
Which hourly seem'd to grow more fleet;
While crazy Johnny sat and gazed,
And bit his lip and glibly praised,—
Till, overcome by love and transport,
He too gat up to try a dance for't,
With youthful air flung down his fiddle,
And seized his pike-staff by the middle,
Firmly resolved that all should see
His strength and his agility.
Or ape bedeck'd with mortal vizard,
Led up the dance with bounding feet,
Which hourly seem'd to grow more fleet;
While crazy Johnny sat and gazed,
And bit his lip and glibly praised,—
Till, overcome by love and transport,
He too gat up to try a dance for't,
With youthful air flung down his fiddle,
And seized his pike-staff by the middle,
Firmly resolved that all should see
His strength and his agility.
‘His guests came round him in a ring,
As courtiers gather round their king,
Tho' not to rev'rence but to laugh
At the poor hero of the staff.
Johnny inflamed by love and pride
Stood stoutly to his bounding bride,
And bravely strove his feet to move—
But both denied the call of love.
Yet he had no prevailing notion
To stand while all around was motion;
Inspired by Maggy's peerless charms—
Maugre his feet, he waved his arms
Forgetful of the staff—Alas!
That such a doom should come to pass—
That motion of unbounded mirth
Brought Johnny headlong to the earth!
The falling staff with fearful blow
Shivered the chief musician's bow;
And there was worse and greater wreck,
For Johnny fairly broke his neck!—
And mirth, and dance, and music failing
The bridal shout was changed for wailing,
For sorrow poured from every quarter,
On the poor matrimonial martyr, [OMITTED]
Who left his Maggy but the dead
To fill her widowed bridal-bed.
As courtiers gather round their king,
Tho' not to rev'rence but to laugh
At the poor hero of the staff.
Johnny inflamed by love and pride
Stood stoutly to his bounding bride,
And bravely strove his feet to move—
But both denied the call of love.
Yet he had no prevailing notion
To stand while all around was motion;
Inspired by Maggy's peerless charms—
Maugre his feet, he waved his arms
383
That such a doom should come to pass—
That motion of unbounded mirth
Brought Johnny headlong to the earth!
The falling staff with fearful blow
Shivered the chief musician's bow;
And there was worse and greater wreck,
For Johnny fairly broke his neck!—
And mirth, and dance, and music failing
The bridal shout was changed for wailing,
For sorrow poured from every quarter,
On the poor matrimonial martyr, [OMITTED]
Who left his Maggy but the dead
To fill her widowed bridal-bed.
‘Thus ends my tale. The crowd departed—
I will not say, half broken-hearted.—
But Johnny's death affords a moral
To every time-worn amorous carle,
Whose wanton eyes begin to rove,
When his stiff limbs refuse to move.’
I will not say, half broken-hearted.—
But Johnny's death affords a moral
To every time-worn amorous carle,
Whose wanton eyes begin to rove,
When his stiff limbs refuse to move.’
| Poems (1845) | |