 | A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker |  |
82
RUSSET PITCHER.
“The pot goeth so long to the water til at length it commeth broken home.”
Away, ye simple ones, away!
Bring no vain fancies hither;
The brightest dreams of youth decay,
The fairest roses wither.
Bring no vain fancies hither;
The brightest dreams of youth decay,
The fairest roses wither.
83
Ay, since this fountain first was planned,
And Dryad learnt to drink,
Have lovers held, knit hand in hand,
Sweet parley at its brink.
And Dryad learnt to drink,
Have lovers held, knit hand in hand,
Sweet parley at its brink.
From youth to age this waterfall
Most tunefully flows on,
But where, ay, tell me where are all
The constant lovers gone?
Most tunefully flows on,
But where, ay, tell me where are all
The constant lovers gone?
The falcon on the turtle preys,
And beardless vows are brittle;
The brightest dream of youth decays,—
Ah, love is good for little.
And beardless vows are brittle;
The brightest dream of youth decays,—
Ah, love is good for little.
“Sweet maiden, set thy pitcher down,
And heed a Truth neglected:—
The more this sorry world is known,
The less it is respected.
And heed a Truth neglected:—
The more this sorry world is known,
The less it is respected.
“Though youth is ardent, gay, and bold,
It flatters and beguiles;
Though Giles is young, and I am old,
Ne'er trust thy heart to Giles.
It flatters and beguiles;
Though Giles is young, and I am old,
Ne'er trust thy heart to Giles.
84
“Thy pitcher may some luckless day
Be broken coming hither;
Thy doting slave may prove a knave,—
The fairest roses wither.”
Be broken coming hither;
Thy doting slave may prove a knave,—
The fairest roses wither.”
She laughed outright, she scorned him quite,
She deftly filled her pitcher;
For that dear sight an anchorite
Might deem himself the richer.
She deftly filled her pitcher;
For that dear sight an anchorite
Might deem himself the richer.
Ill-fated damsel! go thy ways,
Thy lover's vows are lither;
The brightest dream of youth decays,
The fairest roses wither.
Thy lover's vows are lither;
The brightest dream of youth decays,
The fairest roses wither.
These days were soon the days of yore;
Six summers pass, and then
That musing man would see once more
The fountain in the glen.
Six summers pass, and then
That musing man would see once more
The fountain in the glen.
Again to stray where once he strayed,
Through copse and quiet dell,
Half hoping to espy the maid
Pass tripping to the well.
Through copse and quiet dell,
Half hoping to espy the maid
Pass tripping to the well.
85
No light step comes, but, evil-starred,
He finds a mournful token,—
There lies a russet pitcher marred,—
The damsel's pitcher broken!
He finds a mournful token,—
There lies a russet pitcher marred,—
The damsel's pitcher broken!
Profoundly moved, that muser cried,
“The spoiler has been hither;
O would the maiden first had died,—
The fairest rose must wither!”
“The spoiler has been hither;
O would the maiden first had died,—
The fairest rose must wither!”
He turned from that accursèd ground,
His world-worn bosom throbbing;
A bow-shot thence a child he found,
The little man was sobbing.
His world-worn bosom throbbing;
A bow-shot thence a child he found,
The little man was sobbing.
He gently stroked that curly head,—
“My child, what brings thee hither?
Weep not, my simple one,” he said,
“Or let us weep together.
“My child, what brings thee hither?
Weep not, my simple one,” he said,
“Or let us weep together.
“Thy world, I ween, is gay and green
As Eden undefiled;
Thy thoughts should run on mirth and fun,—
Where dwellest thou, my child?”
As Eden undefiled;
Thy thoughts should run on mirth and fun,—
Where dwellest thou, my child?”
86
'Twas then the rueful urchin spoke:—
“My daddy's Giles the ditcher,
I fetch the water,—and I've broke . . .
I've broke my mammy's pitcher!”
“My daddy's Giles the ditcher,
I fetch the water,—and I've broke . . .
I've broke my mammy's pitcher!”
| A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker | |