VILLAGE STORIES.

 

 

 

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THE SORROWS OF LOVE;

                            

                      OR, THE BROKEN HEART.

 

                        ____

 

“Good  shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.

   It is to be all made of sighs and tears;

                 All made of faith and service;

All made of passion, and all made of wishes;

All humbleness—all patience, and impatience.

SHAKSPEARE.

                                        ____

 

   TO sober with sad truths the laughing mirth

Of rosy daughters round the cottage hearth,

And pass the winter’s lengthen’d eve away,

A mother told the tale of SALLY GREY:—

“How time,” she said, “and pleasure vanish by!”

Then stopp’d to wipe the tear-drops from her eye;—

“Time gains upon us distance unawares,

            Stealing our joys and changing them to cares:

104………………………………………………………………………………………………

’Tis nine-and-thirty years ago,”—the date

To prove, she look’d above her where she sat,                          10

And pull’d the Bible down—that certain guide

When boys and girls were born, and old friends died—

That lay with penny stories rustling near,

And almanacks preserved for many a year;

Stopping her story till she found the place,

Pulling her glasses from their leathern case—

’Twas right: and from her lap, in sadden’d vein,

She took her knitting, and went on again.—

“Poor thing! she died, heart-broken and distress’d,

Through love. The doctors, who should know the best,              20

Said ’twas decline that wasted life away:

But truth is truth; and be it as it may,

She ne’er did aught that malice could reprove;—

Her only failing was the fault of love!

’Tis hard enough when Innocence is hurl’d

On the cold bosom of a heartless world ;

When Mockery and stony-hearted Pride

104        Reveal the failings Pity strives to hide,

105………………………………………………………………………………………………

And with sad cruel taunt and bitter jest

Lay thorns to pillow Trouble’s broken rest;                               30

But when a poor young thing like SALLY dies

For love, and only love—where are the eyes

Can look in Memory’s face without a tear?

Ev’n Scorn no longer turns aside to sneer,

But silent stands; while Pity shakes her head,

And thinks tears just herself declines to shed.

’Twas by another’s failings that she fell,

Whose wanton follies were her passing bell:

A clown, as wild as young colts free from plough,

Who saw a prison in a marriage-vow,                                       40

Had won her heart, and kept it in his power,

As the rude bindweed clasps the tender flower—

A clown, as shifting as the summer wind,

To whom her heart and love were all resign’d.

Poor girl! I felt in trouble for her end—

A next-door neighbour and an early friend:

Her father kept a cottage next to ours;

He was a gardener, and he dealt in flowers,

And SALLY’s beau would buy his flowers the while

105        With double prices—money and a smile;                                    50

106………………………………………………………………………………………………

And many a whisper of love’s cheating powers—

Calling her fairest of her father’s flowers.

Such ways, like spring-hopes, youngling blood did move,

And by and by got ripen’d into love.

He then the wishes of his mind express’d,

And was receiv’d—a lover, welcome guest!

Go where we would, him we were sure to meet,

Or on the pasture or about the street;

And oft on summer-eves or sabbath-days

He’d join our walks and surfeit her with praise:                          60

Nay, she could scarcely to the church repair,

But he held out his arm to lead her there.

Then to her father’s house he often went,

Who welcome gave, and deemed it kindly meant,

And talk’d of goods and savings o’er his ale—

Things he had earned by his spade and flail;—

And often show’d with fatherly regard,

The pigs and poultry in his little yard;

How this and that, as matters closer led,

106        Were marriage-portions when his daughters wed.                       70

107………………………………………………………………………………………………

The children then, her little sisters three,

Began to know him, and would climb his knee

To whisper little stories in his ear;

They call’d him brother, which he smiled to hear,

And, to reward them for each pretty way,

He promised bride-cake on the wedding-day;

And with love’s keep-sakes brought from fair or wake,

He ne’er forgot the children’s toys or cake.

I mark’d these things, for I was often by,

And even thought the wedding-day was nigh:                             80

For, as a neighbour, oft by night and day

I took my work in, to pass time away;

And oft without it on a winter’s eve

I’ve stole away, nor ask’d a mother’s leave,

To play at cards, and talk of dress beside—

For wenches’ heads are ever after pride.

No holiday e’er came but he was there:

For him the father left his corner-chair;

Her mother bless’d them as she touch’d the glass,

And wish’d him luck, and nodded to the lass;                            90

And all beheld him, when the freak begun,

107        In kindred prospect as a promised son.—

108………………………………………………………………………………………………

   Thus for awhile his fawning love did burn,

But soon doubts rose at every touch and turn:

If she but nodded at a fair or wake

To youths she knew, it made his bosom ache:

Or said “Good morning!” to a passer-by,

She always had a rival in her eye.

Then jealousy would seemingly complain,

And urge to vows ere all was right again:                                   100

But when he found her heart indeed his own,

He quickly made his foolish follies known;

And, like a young bird children nurse in play,

He teased and plagued her till she pined away.—

He still loved on, but thought it mighty fun

To prove her fondness when the maid was won.

From every night to once a week they met,

And then excuses made it longer yet:

Sometimes he could not stay as heretofore,

But call’d her out to whisper at the door;                                   110

And turn’d away and smiled, self-satisfied

To see the tear-drops which she strove to hide.

He danced with other girls, his pride to please,

108        And seem’d to glory in the chance to teaze;

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Then look’d around him with a leering eye,

And drank their healths while she was sitting by:

Deep blushes came across her face the while,

And tears would start while she essay’d to smile.

And oft when nigh a soldier he has sat,

He’d laugh, and put the colours on his hat;                                 120

But he too great a coward was to go,

For none but cowards do use women so:

’Twas only to perplex the heart he’d won,

For no one cause but insolence and fun.

Thus did he wound her, though she loved him still,

And patiently put up with every ill;

Nursing the venom of that speckled snake

About her heart, ’till it was like to break.

Yet, when I caution’d her of love’s distress,

And bade her notice the wild fellow less,                                   130

Saying she show’d her love too much by half,—

‘Mary, you jest!’ she said, and made a laugh.

   Frequent on sabbath-days, in pleasant weather,

We went to walk, and talk of love together;

And often sought a hut beside the wood,

109        That from the town a gossip’s minute stood.

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Here an old woman, for some small rewards,

Would tell our fortunes both by cups and cards.

Some call’d her witch, and whisper’d all they dare

Of mighty things that had been noticed there;                             140

Witches of every shape, that used to meet

To count the stars, or mutter’d charms repeat.

Woodmen, in winter, as they pass’d the road,

Have vow’d they’ve seen some crawling like a toad;

And some like owlets veering over-head,

Shrieking enough to fright the very dead.

Yet she to us appear’d like other folks,

A droll old woman, full of tales and jokes;

And if the old dame’s tales were darkly meant,

I ne’er perceived it, though I often went.                                    150

Deal as she might with Satan’s evil powers,

She read her Bible, and was fond of flowers.

She went to church as other people may,

And knelt and pray’d—though witches cannot pray:

She had her ague-charms, and old receipts

For wounds and bruises labour often meets;

And gather’d wild-flowers in her summer-toils,

110        To make an ointment that was famed for miles;

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And many a one hath own’d her lowly skill,

Who dared not run a doctor’s longer bill.                                  160

But as to ill-got knowledge of the sky,

She was as innocent as you or I.

She might, no doubt, with pointed finger show

The Shepherd’s Lamp, which even children know;

And doubtless loved, when journeying from the town,

To see it rising soon as day was down.

The Tailor’s Yard-band, which hangs streaming high,

The pale Night-waggon driving through the sky,

And Butcher’s cleaver, or the Seven Stars,

With shooting North-lights, ’tokening bloody wars;                    170

She might know these, which, if ’tis sin to know,

Then every body is a witch below.

—Well, those are good that never stoop to wrong,

And bless’d are they that ’scape an evil tongue.—

Thus to young hopes she would her fortunes tell,

But SALLY quickly knew her own too well!

Her tears and sighs did all too fruitless prove,

To keep the SHEPHERD to his vows of love:

He came to vex her oft, and would not stay,

111        But shut the door again and laugh’d away.                                  180

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As she was spotless and a maiden still,

Conscience ne’er told him that the deed was ill;

And he made promises, to give her pain,

Just for the sake of breaking them again.

On winter’s nights for hours I’ve known her stand,

Listening, with door half open in her hand;

Till, what with colds and an uneasy mind,

Her beauty faded, and her health declined:

The rose, that lovers call so, left her face,

And the pale sickly lily took its place.                                        190

Thus she went on, poor melancholy thing!

Just like a bud that’s injured in the spring,

That may live on to see the coming day—

A feeble blossom leaning on decay.

She sorrow’d on, and worse and worse she grew,

And strength declined its labour to pursue:

Yet, wishing still her sorrows to conceal,

She turn’d with feeble hand her spinning-wheel;

Till, weak, and weary, when no one was by,

She’d lean her backward in her chair to cry.                              200

   At length her parents, though with added fears,

112        Saw through her heart-throbs and her secret tears;

113………………………………………………………………………………………………

And when they found the only crime was love,

They joked at times, and would at times reprove—

Saying, if that were all the world possess’d

For causing troubles, few would be distress’d.

But all was vain! she put her best looks on

When they were there, and grieved when they were gone;

Till toil and fretting brought her down so low,

That she was forced her labour to forego.                                  210

Her friends, no longer with false hopes beguiled,                       

Fear’d for the danger of their troubled child:

Her children-sisters oft hung round her chair,

In which she lean’d in silence and despair;

Her troubled looks they could not understand,

But tried to raise her head from off her hand,

And ask’d the reason why she sat so still,

Or if aught wrong’d her that had made her ill?

She kiss’d their prattling lips with struggling sighs,

While anguish rush’d for freedom to her eyes;                            220

Then would she turn away from friends and kin,

113        To hide the trouble that her heart was in.

114………………………………………………………………………………………………

They eked her sorrow with her lover’s name,

Asking the reason why he never came;

Bringing up childish memories to her cost—

Things they had miss’d, and pleasures she had lost.

Thus they would urge—ending with scornful brow—

‘A naughty man! he brings us nothing now.’

She stopp’d their mouths with kisses and with sighs,

And turn’d her face again to hide her eyes.                                230

Her mother talk’d of patience all in vain,

And read Job’s troubles o’er and o’er again;

Then turn’d to love, and read the book of Ruth,

Making excuses for the faults of youth;

Saying, how she in life’s young joys was cross’d,

And both a lover and a husband lost;

Yet still hoped on, and overlook’d the past,

And loved her mother, and was bless’d at last.—

And if (said she) you trust in God and pray,

You may be happy in the end as they.—                                   240

Then she herself would often try to read

The Bible’s comforts in the hour of need;

But soon she fail’d its cheering truths to look,

114        And grew so weak she scarce could lift the book.

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Life to a spider’s web was worn and spun,

And e’en her hands, if lifted to the sun,

Were both so wasted that, to fancy’s view,

The light would almost seem to glimmer through.—

Her lover, by and by, his folly mourn’d ;

His conscience prick’d him, or his love return’d:                        250

He begg’d and pray’d, and wish’d again to be

Once more admitted to her company.

The parents thought ’twould save their sinking child,

For trouble’s hopes are quickly reconcil’d—

So let him come. I sat beside her bed:

He asked her how she was, and hung his head:

The tears burst from her eyes; she could not speak.

Upon her hand her sorrow-wasted cheek

She lean’d ; and, when he did his sins recall

She kiss’d him fondly, and forgave him all,—                             260

Then smiled, and bowed her faded face to weep,

And, wearied out, sank down like one asleep;

Then rose again like one awoke from pain,

And gazed on him, and me—and wept again;

Then on her bosom laid her wasted hand,

115        Sighing a language brutes might understand!

116……………………………………………………………………………………

   Yet hopes were fed, though but the mask of pain,

And she recovered, and got out again.

She seem’d so well, they e’en began to name

The wedding-day. ’Twas set, but ere it came,                            270

The gossips, when they met, would still agree

To shake their heads and say, ’twould never be!

Muttering o’er doubts they would not urge aloud,

Saying her bride-dress would turn out a shroud.

God knows, they but too truly prophecied;

For, ere it came, she sickened, sunk and died!

Upon that very morn that was to see

The wedding sunshine and festivity,

Death did so gently his cold fingers lay

Upon her bosom, that she swoon’d away                                  280

Without a groan; and, but for us that wept

About her bed, you might have thought she slept.

For marriage-greetings parents’ sorrows fell,

And marriage-peals changed to a passing bell!

Her young sun set ’neath sorrow’s gloomy cloud:

Wed to the grave, her bride-sheets were a shroud.

And I, instead of joining in the throng

116        Of merry faces, and a wedding song—

117………………………………………………………………………………………………

Instead of seeing her a bride become,

I bore the pall up to her last long home;                                     290

And heard the old clerk’s melancholy stave,

Who sang the psalm bareheaded by her grave.

 

   Thus died poor SALLY on her wedding-day—

An April bud that could not see the May.

I often stand to gaze upon the stone,

Whene’er I journey to the church alone,

Where gold-wing’d cherubs hold a flowery wreath

Over a prayer-book open underneath;

Upon whose leaves was writ at her request,

In golden letters—“Here the weary rest.”                                  300

Last Sabbath-day but one, I loiter’d there,

Before the bells had chimed the hour of prayer:

Stopping, as pity seemly did demand,

I wrapp’d my apron corner round my hand,

And pull’d the nettles that had overgrown

The verse, and rambled half way up the stone;

And then at eve, when ye were at the door,

117        Whisp’ring with sweethearts your love-secrets o’er,

118………………………………………………………………………………………………

I took my glasses to amuse myself,

And reach’d the Bible down from off the shelf                           310

To read the text, and look the psalms among,

To find the one that at her grave was sung.

The place had long been doubled down before,

And much I wish that ye would read it o’er:

Your father read it to me many a time

When ye were young, and on our laps would climb:

Nay, keep your work—’tis not worth while to leave,

I’ll sit and hear it on to-morrow eve;

For even if the night would time allow,

My heart’s too sad—I cannot bear it now.                                320

   I’ve talk’d till I have almost tired my tongue,

Folks say old women’s tales are always long,

So here I’ll end; and, like it as you may,

I wish you better luck than SALLY GREY.—

She ceased her tale, and snuff’d the candle wick,

Lifting it up from burning in the stick,

Then laid her knitting down, and shook her head,

118        And stoop’d to stir the fire, and talk of bed.

      ………………………………………………………………………………………………

                         

                JOCKEY AND JENNY;

 

      OR, THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.

 

        ____

 

   WHERE over many a stile, ’neath willows grey,

The winding footpath leaves the public way,

Free from the dusty din, and ceaseless chime

Of bustling waggons in the summer time,

Beyond a brook, where braving storms in vain

Two willows fell and still for brigs remain,

A humble cot, a sheltering hedge beside,

Lifts on the eye its solitary pride.

Its thatch, with houseleek flowers is yellow o’er,

Where flock the bees from hives against the door;                     10

Trees, towering round it, hide returning rooks,

And twittering swallows seek its chimney nooks;

In peace, the sparrow chirps his joyous calls,

            And takes the feather to its creviced walls;

120………………………………………………………………………………………

Nor fail the harmless robin and the wren

To seek those sweet, secluded haunts again.

   Here Jenny lived to grace the lovely scenes,

Fair as the spring-tide, blushing in her teens.

And ’mid her flowers, and linnets whistling nigh,

She often met the stranger’s passing eye                                    20

Beneath her bower of elder, in the cool,

Knitting her hose, or winding at her spool;

The fairest village maid around for miles,

Mingling by turns her ditties and her smiles.

Her parents’ joy she was, their hearts to glad,

Their only hope, for she was all they had:

Nor once their warmest wishes she deceived,

But heard their counsels, and their truth believed;

With their advice, through life she journeyed on,

Nor did a wrong, unless to love be one.                                    30

   Though in a humble way, her friends lived well,

And had their butter and their eggs to sell;

And such-like errands fell to Jenny’s share,

Who weekly went to market with her ware,

Gracefully drest, some lover’s eye to win,

120        For Jenny’s bosom felt that harmless sin,

121………………………………………………………………………………………

Nor fail’d she long, though little done by dress,

To crown her artless wishes with success.

Once journeying thither, Jockey met her view,

Opening the gate as she was passing through;                            40

She blush’d surprise, he bended o’er his hook,

And as she left him, turn’d him round to look;

Her cheek was rosy, for the day was warm,

Her hat untied, and basket on her arm.

She felt his look, but never turn’d again,

She’d long been caution’d not to stare at men;

And as her hand, that kept, with jealous trust,

Her folded gown from sweeping in the dust,

Let go with modest fears its hold behind,

He felt more touch’d, and blest her in his mind.                          50

But though she nimbly glided from his sight,

Her face and manners left a fix’d delight;

And in his bosom found a lasting place,

Which neither time nor change could e’er efface:

And Jenny felt, she knew not scarcely how,

A fluttering something never known till now;

She wonder’d what the stranger’s look could mean,

121        And thought she liked him best of all she’d seen;

122………………………………………………………………………………………

Nor ceased she wishing, in her reason’s spite,

He’d still be there returning home at night.                                 60

   Meanwhile the swain, with melancholy speed,

Pursued his toils, and drove his flocks to feed.

Go where he would, his mind was hard to please,

His heart was wandering, and but ill at ease.

The hat untied, the rosy-burning cheek,

Were with him all the day and all the week:

Nor would they leave him while the night sojourn’d;

In dreams the teazing pleasures still return’d.

   And Jenny too was often waked from sleep,

With clapping gates, and noise of roving sheep;                         70

And startling shepherds every now and then

Crossing her path, and holding gates again.

Each market morning, as she pass’d the place,

Past recollections redden’d in her face.

The stranger’s look rose burning in her mind,

And made her often turn to look behind;

While virgin fears, in matters yet untried,

Would fain forget it, but the heart denied:

As when, in dreams, the stranger shepherd came,

122        She seem’d to fly, and hide her head for shame;             80

123………………………………………………………………………………………

Yet soon awoke, the startling vision by,

To find a dream, she could not help but sigh.

   Thus weeks and months, with Jockey and with Jane,

Finish’d their rounds, and toil’d them o’er again;

Filling each heart with blindfold hopes the same,

And leaving heavier every time they came.

Each felt and wish’d what neither dared pursue,

And each as warmly loved, but neither knew.

Jockey, who knew her name e’er since the day

He met the damsel on her market way,                                      90

E’er since he held the gate in hopes to please,

And for his kindness lost his heart and ease,

Of passing folks had made enquiries good,

Both who she was, and where her cottage stood;

And oft essay’d to go—when doubts delay’d,

Spoiling but every resolution made,

As reason turn’d him round to think awhile,

Dropt on a hill, or leaning o’er a stile;

Judging how vain such follies to pursue,

To be a fool, and then declare it too,                                         100

By seeking one he never knew before,

123        And ask admittance at a stranger’s door;

124………………………………………………………………………………………

Where jealous dames and grannies might reside,

And take his visits on the blackest side,

Thinking him one who came with vile excuse

Their artless Jenny’s ignorance to seduce;

For most old women have a jealous fear,

Doubting e’en tokens that are most sincere,

Deeming the ways that wooers have to win,

A dangerous poison in a gilded skin;                                          110

And lovers oft, from their suspicious doubt,

Have mountains, as it were, to climb about,

And ere they gain their wishes, meet from hence

The worst of pains attending on suspense.

Thus Jockey thought, as onward he sojourn’d,

Proceeded often, and as oft return’d:

He doubted much, and dreaded to attend

Love’s fickle footsteps to its journey’s end;

Till on a Sunday, fully bent be rose

To mend, or bring the matter to a close:                                     120

And thus attired in his best hopes and dress,

His heart warm’d often, thinking on success,

Then damp’d again, but whether fail or speed,

124        He journey’d on, determined to proceed.

125………………………………………………………………………………………

   Soon Jenny’s cottage rose upon his sight,

Enquiry question’d, and it was the right.

A boy was tending horses near the spot,

Who shew’d the pathway leading to the cot,

And answer’d things that Jockey loved to hear,

Reviving hopes, and lessening many a fear—                             130

As how the friends of Jenny were as free

As any people living need to be;

And as for her, she’d every body’s praise,

For modest manners and good-natured ways.

Thus far, as wish’d, had Jockey matters found,

And to the point continued veigling round,

’Bout who kept Jenny company, and that:

The boy guess’d matters,—cock’d his napless hat,

Then leering, ’gan a nameless tune to bawl,

And hardly stopt to tell him “none at all.”                                   140

’Twas quite enough, just as he wish’d forsooth,

Far as boys’ stories might be ta’en for truth;

It lighten’d up his heart such things to find,

Making him hope success was in the wind.

   The cottage door was now upon his view,

125        The twisting woodbines round the window grew;

126………………………………………………………………………………………

The birds were whistling—ah! how blest they seem’d,

To be so near the object he esteem’d.

A single cow fed on the neighbouring moor,

And three cade lambs were playing near the door,                     150

Which lived by tender care, and tamely stood

To sip from Jenny’s hand their daily food.

Now past remembrance ’gan to flutter high,

To think the lovely stranger was so nigh;

While former doubts rose topmost in their sway,

And hopes, on point to blossom, died away.

Fear whisper’d in his heart to wander by,

And wait till chance might better hopes supply.

The dog ’gan barking as he cross’d the moor,

The poultry noised, and open came the door;                            160

Trifles alarm in such a lonely place,                                           

Where even birds dislike a stranger’s face:

A side glance on the dwelling Jockey cast,

To see who noticed as he saunter’d past.

Ah! now thy courage, Love—’twas past with him,

A shivering ague trembled every limb;

His heart, with past sensations of delight,

126        E’en flutter’d like a bird, as well it might;

127………………………………………………………………………………………

That self-same look, which beauty’s lingering beams

Kept bright so long by fancies and by dreams,                           170                  

That very face which he one morning met,                                

And thought the loveliest he had seen as yet,

That lovely girl was now before his eyes,

For whom the gate was ope’d and shut with sighs.

What must he say? fear fix’d him to the spot;

He would have made excuse, but had it not.

Love is so timid while it is so young,

He could not own it how his heart was wrung:

Yet only wish’d the while that she but knew

What he could tell so tender and so true.                                   180

His looks had meaning, but young loves are shy,

And plainest questions prompt a first reply;

False hopes are pleasant till the test is tried,

Nor durst he speak for fear of being denied;

Though Jenny’s sweet simplicity and grace

Denied ill-nature in her lovely face,

And half confirm’d it, as he pass’d along,

To hear “Good morning!” tremble from her tongue.

He felt the chance, but dared not yet pursue

127        The little hazards which in love he knew.                         190

128………………………………………………………………………………………

His heart’s flush’d wish, his faltering tongue forbore,

He turned to speak, but only look’d the more;

And as he twirl’d his stick, and saunter’d on,

He left his blessing where his heart was gone.

Then lost in anguish, as he homeward went,

O’er gate and stile conjecturingly he bent,

Making resolves, as soon as he could find

A chance renew’d, to boldly speak his mind,

Deeply repenting over what was past,

To be so foolish as let slip the last.                                             200

Great was the conflict labouring in his breast,

Which only lovers may explain the best;

Concerns of love are dangerously deferr’d—

Ere equal opportunity occurr’d

A bolder lover might drop in the while,

And all the present hopes entirely spoil.

He knew it well, and dreaded what he knew;

A maid so blooming, and so lovely too,

Urged every eye with tempting gaze to turn,

And left some hearts with quicker pulse to burn.                        210

   In sleepless pain, that night was pass’d away,

128        His heart had left him and his thoughts astray;

129………………………………………………………………………………………

Fancy was picturing in his wandering head

How Jane was sleeping in her peaceful bed,

Unconscious there of all he felt and knew,

Of how he loved, and dreaded to pursue:

He toss’d and turn’d, while coward conscience chid,

To meet such chance, and pass it as he did.

But all in vain; the past was past as then,

And too far travell’d to be call’d again.                                      220

Yet ere he bent his weary mind to rest,

These wilder wishes left his aching breast:

“Ah! powerful Night, were but thy chances mine,

Had I but ways to come at joys like thine!

Spite of thy wizard look, and sable skin,

The ready road to bliss ’tis thine to win;

All nature owns of beautiful and sweet,

In thy embraces now unconscious meet:—

Young Jenny, ripening into womanhood,

That hides from day, like lilies while in bud,                                230

To thy grim visage blooms in all her charms,

And comes, like Eve, unblushing to thy arms.

Of thy black mantle could I be possest,

129        How would I pillow on her panting breast,

130………………………………………………………………………………………

And try those lips where trial rude beseems,

Breathing my spirit in her very dreams:

That ne’er a thought might wander from her heart,

But I possess’d it, or ensured a part.

Of all the blessings that belong to thee,

Had I this one, how happy should I be.”                                    240

   Beauty, thou sunshine of the passing hour,

At once so lovely and so frail a flower,

Gilt toy of life, with which all play their part,

Thou universal empress of the heart,

Who would not wish for heart’s ease in thy room,

Of less delightful but of longer bloom?

Could Love, while doating on thy looks so fair,

But turn to days when Time shall meddle there;

And but reflect on its ill-fated spell,

Pleased to undo what nature did so well;                                   250

To chill that cheek and all its sweets deform,

Which youth had flush’d so luscious and so warm;

To dim those eyes, and all their darts destroy,

That brightening glow with mysteries of joy;

And damp those smiles that breathe of silent bliss,

130        To miss whose tasting seems a heaven to miss:

131………………………………………………………………………………………

Could Love but waken from its golden dreams,

And see this shade, which there a substance seems,

Sure he would think those heart-aches and those sighs

Too dear a purchase for so false a prize.                                   260

But Love wears looks of Heaven while he smiles;

And Jockey’s heart, like others he beguiles,

Was warm’d too much at beauty’s blushing sun,

To cool in reason when it once was won:

Jane’s haunting memory claim’d his every thought,

Days came and went, but little joy they brought;

While absent hopes, and intermingling fears,

Made hours to linger with the length of years.

In vain the summer time his toil beguiles

With all her wild-wood harmony, and smiles;                             270

All disregarded, Jockey pass’d them by,

And nothing claim’d the notice of his eye;

For he had feelings of no common kind,

And look’d on nature with a kindred mind:

Musing in joy, ere love disturb’d his rest,

Through woods and wilds their solitary guest;

Watching the brook toil on its simmering tide,

131        And gath’ring mild flowers blooming by its side;

132………………………………………………………………………………………

Listening the moaning wind, and pleased to see

The grass in billows rolling o’er the lea.                                      280

But love came o’er him, with its burning bloom,

And o’er past pleasures cast a sullen gloom:

As silver moonbeams, in effulgence shed,

Deepen night’s darkness where they cannot spread,

So joys behind him darken’d seem and sour,

Lost in the sweetness of a brighter flower.

In vain did mirth excite him to forget,

In vain at dances on the green he met,

Where lovely faces might be seen again,

Which but revived the image of his Jane:                                    290

Though girls were there, as fair and sweet to see,

Where Jane was not, there pleasure could not be;

Save the thrill’d raptures that to hopes would cling,

For pains have pleasures when from love they spring.

But if blind Love were bless’d with eyes to see,

How many a pain might then a stranger be!

How many hearts that nature made to bind,

Without a sigh or heart-ache might be join’d!

And short had been his cares, had he but known

132        Her heart dwelt there, a neighbour with his own:             300

133………………………………………………………………………………………

For ever since the day he pass’d her door,

She deem’d that earnest which she guess’d before,

And expectation, every now and then,

Would warm in hopes to see him once again;

Yet, with uneasy doubts, her fears were free

To hint such notions might mistaken be,

Which often urged a melancholy sigh

To check her blushing hopes when raised too high.

   Jane in these reveries pursued her way

With musing silence many a market day,                                    310

Nor ever could the lonely lovely spot

Where Jockey stood, be wander’d by forgot;

As oft as through the gate she went or came,

A sigh or look would busy memory claim;

And passing by, hopes oft her bosom burn’d,

That she might meet him as she home return’d;

But they deceived her still, and many a day,

With lonely thoughts she went her lonely way:

For never seem’d a spot so lonely yet

As that where absent Jockey first was met,                                320

And ne’er shone sun so sadly on her eye,

133        As smiled that morning when he pass’d her by.

134………………………………………………………………………………………

Even her home had now no bliss to spare,—

Love claim’d her heart, and Care pursued her there.

Beneath the elder she was heard no more

Making toil light with singing, as before;

In melancholy speed days went and came,

Her hopes were doubtful, and her peace the same;

The laughing pleasures that were such before

Were now in mourning, and could please no more;                    330

The song of birds that used to urge her own,

But told her now of pleasures she had known;

The blooming flowers that used to please her eye,

Now lived as proofs of happiness gone by.

Toil turn’d a burthen—shyness ill conceal’d

The painful feelings that such ways reveal’d:

At night and morn in silence she was seen,

With folded arms, to saunter down the green;

No flower enticed her as she sought the cow,

And woodbines wreathed neglected round the bough;               340

While in her path the lambs would often stand,

Bleating complaints of her neglecting hand.

But fancied joys, that to the future cling,

134        Gleam’d oft, like sunshine through the clouds of spring;

135………………………………………………………………………………………

And hopes were budding with a future day,

That now and then half drove despair away.

Some weeks to come, a village feast would be,

When Jenny hoped the stranger’s face to see;

’Twas from her cottage scarcely half a mile,

And might full well her artless thoughts beguile;                          350

When if he loved her, as she hoped he did,

Such chance to meet from him would not be hid.

So Jenny judged, and to her heart’s delight

Found all her wishes, when it came, were right;

Nor fruitless were her prayers, for on that day

Suns shone as wished, and rain kept far away;

Paths were as clean as wishes could desire,

Nor dirt, nor dew, could sully her attire.

Her Sunday dress that evening she put on,

With warmest hopes to win and to be won.                               360

A gay straw hat, with ribbons on the peak,

Of rosy hue, like that upon her cheek;

O’er her white bosom, love’s delicious bed,

A silken handkerchief was loosely spread,

That hid its swelling sweets in careless ways,

135        And still left room for amorous eyes to gaze:

136………………………………………………………………………………………

A fine new gown, round bodice tightly laced,

Flow’d to the wind, and clasp’d her slender waist;

While dust to shun, she held it to her side,

Disclosing beauties which she seem’d to hide:                            370

A slender ankle, clad in stocking white,

That swell’d in sweet proportion out of sight;

And jet black was her shoe, and polish’d high,

Tied with black ribbon in a graceful tye.

Thus in her best, on tiptoe to be seen,

With bosom warm’d its hopes and fears between,

She left her cot, half wean’d from lingering care,

To seek the dance, in hopes to meet him there;

And sure enough, as wish’d, her wishes came,

For Jockey’s hopes that evening were the same:                        380

He, at an earlier hour from toil released,

Folded his sheep, and hasten’d to the feast,

Anxious and hopeful, as he paced the street,

’Neath every hat the stranger’s face to meet;

Then to the dance, with hopes improved as yet,

He went, and look’d, and there the face was met.

’Tween hopes and fears his courage flutter’d chill,

136        Then warm’d again, but doubted strongly still;

137………………………………………………………………………………………

Glances he ventured, and would looks repeat,—

Jane blush’d before him, but she kept her seat.                          390

Embolden’d thus, love from its silence broke,

Seizing her hand, yet trembling while he spoke;

He hoped, to be his partner she’d consent,

Nor deem him rude where rudeness was not meant.

“Yes!” beat her bosom, ’mid its throbs and sighs,

Fond to reveal, but modest to disguise;

Her eyes met his, a smile half blush’d to view,

And glow’d more tender when he urged anew:

His suit he moved with fonder freedom still,

When Jenny rose, as if against her will,                                      400

Half shrinking from herself with fears and bliss,

Ne’er urged till now, and now not urged amiss;

For though her coyness downward look’d the while,

From Jockey’s eye she could not hide the smile

Which gave consent, and plainly told the rest,

That hopes half speeded, and would soon be blest;

Though he, as yet, had ventured not to move

His suit so far to tell her it was love.

But speaking eyes have language in their way,

137        Whose looks oft seem to chide the tongue’s delay,                     410

138………………………………………………………………………………………

And Jenny’s oft beneath her bonnet’s brim,

When others look’d not, turn’d to gaze on him;

And oh! so sweet, so languishing the while,

’Tween blushing coyness and a dimpling smile,

They seem’d to ask him, ere they turn’d aside,

To kiss those lips, that redden’d to be tried;

But Jockey persevered with modesty,

Nor urged too much for fear of being too free.

He led her down the dance with hopes beguiled,

And often press’d her hand and often smiled,                            420

’Till evening’s end proclaim’d the night too nigh,

That left its admonitions with a sigh

On more than Jenny, when with many a maid

The dance must stop, and parents be obey’d.

She sought her shawl, which caution loosely threw

Around her neck, to guard against the dew,

And left the dance, and for her home sojourn’d,

But turned a look on Jockey as she turn’d,

Who sued to walk as guardian by her side,

Nor seem’d she to consent, nor yet denied;                               430

Still Jockey tried successes to pursue,

138        Seized her white arm, and brush’d the nightly dew,

139………………………………………………………………………………………

Offering assistance o’er each stile and brook,

And felt the joy to find it kindly took;

Adventuring often, on their lonely way,

By closer hints his meaning to convey,

While Jenny’s meek and modest sighs reveal’d

The timid fondness which her tongue conceal’d.

Pity it is, that hours that bring us joy

Should lend that wings which follows to destroy;                        440

Time seems with grief to loiter and delay,

But flies from joy that wishes him to stay.

Soon came their journey’s end, how much too soon!

Though quite contrary gleam’d the mounting moon,

That seem’d that night to gallop up the sky,

And told them plainly prudent hours were by;

While as a check in sight her cottage rose,

And love’s tale dropt when warmest to disclose:

For raptures now did all his fears efface,

And love was shown in many a warm embrace.                         450

But hours of meeting, sweet as they begin,

Have parting ones that claim too near a kin;

Glimmering through Jenny’s window, lights did burn,

139        That show’d her parents waited her return;

140………………………………………………………………………………………

Fled were those early hours she used to keep,

Slumbering with midnight in its soundest sleep.

So they must part—still Jockey linger’d nigh,

And sigh’d, and urged—and Jenny could but sigh;

Whatever wishes in her heart might burn,

Jane must retire, and Jockey must return;                                   460

She dare not risk the hazard or the blame,

To take a stranger to a chiding dame.

Jane begg’d to part, but Jockey sued again

For one more kiss, one minute more, and then

Press’d her soft hand—and much against his will,

Sigh’d one farewell, but held her prisoner still,

’Till thoughts of friends waked innocent alarms,

And forced the maiden from her lover’s arms:

“Farewell a little while,” exclaim’d the swain,

“Till Sunday comes, and I’ll be here again.”                               470

She sigh’d consent—he view’d his lonely way,

Then turn’d again, as wishing new delay;

But Jenny, timid with the depth of night,

Open’d the door, and vanish’d from his sight,

Where the old folks her glad approach did wait,

140        Urging their questions of her being so late;

141………………………………………………………………………………………

But kept it secret what they guess’d the while,

And heard excuses ’tween a frown and smile:

They knew their daughter’s manners up to this,

Nor fear’d her father she would act amiss,                                 480

Who, while be guess’d the late hour savour’d love,

Check’d the dame’s frowns, nor ventured to reprove.

So all was right—Jane dreamt about her swain,

And counted hours when they should meet again;

And surely nights did never seem so slow

To bring the sun, and bid the sun to go,

As those that pass’d between with lagging feet,

That eve’s first meeting and the next to meet.

   At length it came, and Jane oft turn’d her eye

Upon the window, watching passers by.                                    490

Her blushing hopes were startled into joys,

At every footstep and approaching noise:

Whene’er the gate clapt creaking on the moor,

She left her book and ventured to the door;

For Jane had long been taught her God to fear,

Although there was no place of worship near;

She knew what duty on that day required,

141        And always took her Bible as desired.

142………………………………………………………………………………………

Still Jenny’s Bible had not power to chide

Love’s tempting charm, with innocence its guide.                       500

Oft did she think of more than what she read,

And toward the window often turn’d her head.

Nor did she long those cheating hopes pursue,

Ere Jockey’s presence proved his promise true.

In thoughtful mood, she mark’d him cross the moor,

Taking the path that winded to the door;

Where soon a fearful rap warn’d Jane to move

Her best excuse, and intercede for love:

Let this suffice, she told the simple tale,

And told it true, the better to prevail.                                         510

They coolly heard it, but denied him not,

So he, half doubtful, enter’d in the cot,

Where Jenny smiling, as she set the chair,

Proved he by one was doubly welcome there;

But soon his modest unassuming ways

Urged the old folk’s opinions in his praise:

With each new visit grew increased esteem,

Proving sincere what first might doubtful seem.

And oft he came, and many a Sabbath day

142        They toy’d with bliss, and loved its hours away;                          520

143………………………………………………………………………………………

Enjoying pleasure that retirement yields,

In peaceful rambles round the silent fields;

Unseen, while wandering round each lonely dell,

Unheard, while talking what they loved to tell;

Sitting to rest on creaking gate or stile,

Or sunny bank, to mutter tales awhile.

He oft, while wandering thus in summer’s hours,

Would match her beauty with surrounding flowers,

Comparing some to blushes on her cheek,

Some to her lips when tinged with ruddier streak;                      530

And those more sweet, and whiter than the rest,

That to her breath, and this her swelling breast.

And then, half shrinking from his ardent gaze,

She’d yield a kiss as purchase for his praise.

   Thus hours were spent, and time, as passing by,

Kept knitting love with closer, tenderer tye;

No change creating, as is oft the case,

Kindling fresh fondness for a stranger face:

With Jockey’s feelings change would ill agree;

Though he saw faces that were sweet to see,                             540

Yet warmest fancy always rose at will,

143        To picture absent Jenny fairer still.

144………………………………………………………………………………………

By frequent visits, love at length was led

To bring up questions when they might be wed:

Their friends’ consent was all that left delay;

They asked, and had it, and then fix’d the day.

The friends of Jane had taught her how to live,

And Jockey’s friends had little else to give;

For though to decent living they attain’d,

Riches by them were neither prized nor gain’d.                          550

Land they possess’d, but niggard was the soil,

And just return’d a recompense for toil.

Virtue and industry were most desired;—

These Jane possess’d, and more was not required.

So all was fixed,—and soon the morning came

When Jane should be a bride, and change her name.

And Jockey’s heart that morn with bliss was warm,

But Jenny trembled as she took his arm;

His fondness could not overcome her fears:

She smiled as happy—but she smiled in tears;                           560

And when her husband urged the reason why,

She could not tell—unless it was for joy.

   First love, how sweet! ah, would it longer last:

144        Though Time remembers it when felt and past,

145………………………………………………………………………………………

’Tis but a shadow of a substance gone,—

A setting sunbeam to a rising one.

Hopes feed on joy that fancies only give,

Which in this world as pictures only live:

Attempt it oft, half Care, half Joy, we find;

Possess it quite, and Care is left behind.                                    570

Love, as the plant call’d Sensitive, is such,

Fair to the eye and with’ring to the touch;

Revealing cares that marriage vows await,

Which bring repentance that is brought too late.

But Jane and Jockey little had to do

With this as yet, while honeymoons were new;

Bright in their infancy of raptured gleams,

No cares were yet to cloud such lovely dreams.

First love is theirs, what else may interpose;

145        Here they are blest, and here the tale shall close.                                 580

     ………………………………………………………………………………………

 

THE RIVALS;

 

  A PASTORAL.

         ____

 

   BENEATH a meadow bridge, whose arch was dry,

Some swains sought shelter till a shower was by.

Upon its smooth half-circling roof of stone

Rude figured things in different colours shone,

Spread hands and birds, and self-imagined flowers,

Pastimes of boys imprison’d there by showers;

Some made with ruddle, which the shepherd swain

Employs, that he may know his sheep again,

Others with fire-sticks, chance would haply find

About the spot, by gipsies left behind;                                       10

And many a deeply-cut two letter name,

Where knives were spoilt to win an inch of fame,

Which linger on for years about the spot,

            Brands of oblivion, living yet forgot.

147………………………………………………………………………………………

Here the swains shelter’d till the storm was o’er,

Sitting on stones rolled in for seats before:

Some spent the hour in leisure’s pleasant toil,

Making their apple-scoops of bone the while;

One crimpt a knitting-sheath upon his knees,

To please a maiden whom he wish’d to please;                          20

An older swain did his wet hours employ

In making whistles for an anxious boy,

Who sat in eager watchings by his side,

Waiting their finish with exulting pride;

While two young swains in love’s discoursings fell,

Lapping up love-knot plaits, and many a spell,

With broad green reed-blades, where the shelter’d midge

Danced in their shadows by the mossy bridge.

The swallows, darting through the arch at play,

Heard the rude noise, and popt another way.                             30

RICHARD.

   My love forgets me never; every spell

Links as I lap it, and betokens well.

When I was young, and went a weeding wheat,

147        We used to make them on our dinner seat:

148………………………………………………………………………………………

We laid two blades across, and lapt them round,

Thinking of those we loved; and if we found

Them linked together when unlapt again,

Our loves were true; if not, the wish was vain:

I’ve heard old women, who first told it me,

Vow that a truer token could not be.                                         40

SIMON.

   Three times I’ve lapt mine up, and still ’tis out;

A fatal number, had I cause to doubt;

But Mary Fieldflower still is fond and free,

And shows no token to dishearten me:

I care not what this foolish trifling tells,

For I can bring up better proofs than spells.

RICHARD.

   Produce them, Simon; for if she be true

To lover’s vows, she has no room for two.

Ne’er feast on fancy, ’tis a dangerous food

To take as truth, and in a loving mood;                                      50

She throws a rosy veil round self-conceit,

Which, like the canker to the heart, will eat,

Till nought is left to cherish her disguise,

148        Then, like worm-eaten fruit, it drops and dies

149………………………………………………………………………………………

If I judge right, the maid you name is mine;

Nor without proofs will I the maid resign.

SIMON.

   These I can give in plenty; though, I own,

I never knew that she had kindness shown

To other shepherds than myself, till now,

Much less that she chain’d follies with a vow.                            60

Last April fair, when I got bold with beer,—

I loved her long before, but had a fear

To speak—as by a stall she chanced to stand,

With kerchief full of fairings in her hand,

I ventured up, and tapt her on the arm:

She seem’d at first to startle with alarm ;

But when I begg’d a fairing at the wake,

She loosed her kerchief, and pull’d out a cake;

And in return for her good-natured ways,

I offer’d ribbons which I heard her praise:                                 70

These she refused, and said she’d plenty got,

But thank’d me kindly, though she took them not.

RICHARD.

   Whene’er at Sunday feast, or noisy fair,

149        I go, and meet with rosy Mary there,

150………………………………………………………………………………………

If my dog finds her first he rubs her clothes,

And wags his tail; e’en she to him bestows

A ginger button, and quick turns again,

To wonder why I out of sight remain:

And when she finds me out, in manners free,

She comes unasked to offer things to me;                                  80

Never refusing the returns I make,

But meanest trifles condescends to take.

Last Christmas’ sports, I join’d the skaiting crew

That yearly race for hats with ribbons blue,

And flew away with young Hope’s swiftest pace;

Nor was I cheated, for I won the race:

I took the bunch of ribbons home at night

To Mary, who e’en trembled with delight;

Nor once refused the proffered gift to take,

But said, “Well done! I’ll keep it for your sake.”                        90

SIMON.

   Once we, with others, at a neighbour’s met

To play at cards, when she beside me sat;

Although at first she edged her chair away,

150        She grew more fond as we began to play,

151………………………………………………………………………………………

And soon as ever up my cards I took,

She smiled, and o’er my shoulder stole to look;

To make believe, in true Love’s fondling way,

She wish’d to know what cards I had to play.

And when, to try her love, I made pretence

To leave off playing for the want of pence,                                 100

She from her lap took out the penny fee,

And put it ’neath the candlestick for me.

Although she would not take, when we retired,

My arm, to guide her home, as I desired,

She often turn’d, as wishing I’d pursue,

And said, Good night! and thank’d me kindly too.

RICHARD.

   Last Michaelmas, at night, we join’d to play

A hand or two, and keep a holiday:

When we chose partners, not as love regards,

But by the fortunes of the lifted cards,                                        110

While Mary look’d at one she took in hand,

She smiled at me to make me understand;

Pointing the colour in her flowery dress,

151        I took the hint, and well knew which to guess.

152………………………………………………………………………………………

“The colour’d card,” said I, “my wishes seek,

Is something like the rose on Mary’s cheek;

A bonny red for me.”—She laugh’d outright,

And said, “Then I’m your partner for the night”

Blushing, she edged her chair up close to mine,

Paying, with joy, her kiss for every fine.                                     120

When time came on us with the hour to part,

Although ’twas late, she seemed as loath to start;

And, though the full moon shone as bright as day,

She even ask’d me if I’d lead the way,

And took my arm without the least to do:

These are my proofs, and I have morts as true.

SIMON.

   Once ’neath a huge ash tree she made a stop,

To view a magpie’s nest upon the top.

I thought she wish’d the eggs, and up I went,

Nor paused to ask her what her looks had meant;                     130

The grain sway’d like a bulrush in the wind,

But I climb’d on, and left my fears behind.

She praised the spotted eggs, but seem’d in pain,

152        So up I took them to the nest again.

153………………………………………………………………………………………

Poor birds! she sighed, to hear them caw and cry,

And more perhaps to think I climb’d so high.

I was embolden’d, from such shown regard,

To beg and take a kiss as my reward;

Although behind her hands she hid her face,

She only blushed, nor frown’d at my embrace.                          140

RICHARD.

   Force gives no choice; their own free-will is best;

What we urge earnest, they but take in jest.

One day, while picking sprigs of hillock thyme,

A little pismire in the flowers did climb,

Which to her bosom proved a rebel guest,

And stung her as she placed it in her breast;

Red pimples rose upon her snowy skin,

While sighs bespoke the anguish she was in:

But when she show’d it me with blushing face,

I bent with trembling heart and kiss’d the place,                         150

Urging the charm as cure for all her pain,

She smiled, as wishing to be kiss’d again.

SIMON.

   Once in the pasture lane, at evening’s hour,

153        She stoop’d down to reach a water flower,

154………………………………………………………………………………………

And sure enough, had I not caught her gown,

Headlong the venturing girl had toppled down!

I held her in my arms till danger’s fright

Was calm’d, and then she thank’d me in delight;

And smiling, promised as she walked away,

To dance with me on the next holiday.                                       160

RICHARD.

   Once, from her choice black lamb, I stooped to pull

A bramble, that got tangled in the wool,

And pricked my hand; she seem’d to feel the pain,

While with a pin I pick’d it out again:

Love-sighs the while did her white bosom swell,

And tears e’en started when she wish’d it well.

She seem’d to hope I’d let the wanderer be,

As she had rather it were hurt than me.

SIMON.

   Ay, some delight to try a gossip’s spell,

And flattery’s honey suits some lovers well:                               170

I’ve took her milk full often o’er a stile,

She always thank’d me, and would often smile;

And when she miss’d a lamb at morn’s young light,

154        Thinking the fox had stole it off at night,

155………………………………………………………………………………………

She’d mourn and sigh, and seek it, and inquire,

Then I too search’d; oft pierced with thorn and briar;

And when she sorrow’d, though the lamb was free,

I might think too that she was grieved for me.

RICHARD.

   Thoughts deal in fancies far away from truth,

And Folly’s shadows shine like suns to youth;                            180

But Reason’s proofs are never urged in vain,

And what I’ve witness’d, I’ll believe again.

Once ’neath this very bridge, when left alone,

I cut my name in full upon the stone:

’Twas weeding time, and she was toiling nigh,

With others cutting thistles from the rye.

The next day, coming to the place again,

Where they had been for shelter from the rain,

I saw her own name in full letters shine,

Scratch’d with a knife or bodkin close to mine,                          190

And linked together with a true love’s knot:

Mine lingers still upon the much-loved spot;

But some rude fool, with envy at his heart,

155        Has scratch’d hers out, and torn the links apart.

156………………………………………………………………………………………

Well! they may hide love’s shadows how they will,

The maid that wrote it is my true-love still:

 I told her of the proof with anxious pride,

And though she own’d it not, she ne’er denied.

SIMON.

On Plough-witch-Monday, I was in the barn

Tying up bundles there of foddering corn,                                  200

To take a-field for sheep, that round the stacks

Lay, with the small snow winnowing on their backs,

When in she ran, with cheeks as pale as death,

And scarce could speak the while for want of breath;

“Keep secrets, Sim,” she said, “I need them now,

The witch-chaps come”—then skulk’d behind the mow;

And in they rush’d, and laugh’d and stared about,

Threat’ning rude kisses if they found her out,

While I to screen her, as she wish’d me, swore

That I had seen her bustle by the door:                                      210

So off they ran, when she came smiling out,

Saying she hated to be mawled about

With their black faces—but when I began

156        To urge my claims, she never shrieked, nor ran,

157………………………………………………………………………………………

As from a snake or toad—but said the day

Was short, and Labour had no time for play.

RICHARD.

But hark ye, Simon, that’s in seasons gone,—

On last Plough-Monday I myself was one.

She saw us coming, and prepared to fly,

But me she noticed with a laughing eye,                                     220

Hiding like one that wishes to be found;

And while the others search’d the house around,

I heard the creaking of the dairy door.

Knowing such secrets by her ways before,

I instant put her hiding-place to rout,

Nor did she hold the latch to keep me out.

She might my blacken’d face a little dread;

“You’ll spoil my Sunday cap,” was all she said:

And when I hoped my ways were not unkind,

“Oh no,” she laughed, “there’s water, never mind.”                    230

SIMON.

Some Sundays back, I’d been to fold my sheep,

157        Just as the red sun down the woods did creep,

158………………………………………………………………………………………

And looking back, while wand’ring home again,

I saw a girl come down the pasture lane;

I slacken’d pace to pull a wild rose down,

That she might catch me ’ere we met the town;

And turning round again, as near she drew,

’Twas Mary’s self, who nodded “How do ye do?”

She kept my pace, and chatted by my side,

Oft turning round my happy dog to chide,                                  240

Who chased the hares, that sat on clover knolls

At feed, and rabbits squatting by their holes.

She praised the blackbird at his evening song,

That in the hedgerow ranted all along

His old song “Draw, the knave a cup of beer!

“Be quick, quick, quick!” in chorus plain and clear.

The path grew narrow as we rambled on,

And through the corn-field made but room for one:

Though she went first, still she would often turn,

The unheard answers of our talk to learn;                                  250

Inquiries often urging with a smile,

As if she wish’d to bring up love the while.

I’m sorry since, I tried not ways to woo,

158        Putting things forward, as a many do.

159………………………………………………………………………………………

She let me climb stiles first, then made a stand,

As if she wish’d to offer me her hand;

But I kept backward, wishing still to prove

Yet stronger signals of my Mary’s love;

And sure enough, all that have eyes may see,

Through this, the value that she has for me.                                260

RICHARD.

They may indeed, and Mary in her mirth

Would say a farthing is of kindred worth.

Last May-day eve she sprained her foot at play;

And when she found she could no longer stay,

She came to me in sorrow, yet in smiles:

And begg’d my aid to help her o’er the stiles:

Some said she feign’d it as excuse to go;

Be as it would, I never sought to know,

But took her arm and went, and on our road

She many a token and a kiss bestow’d.                                     270

Once, as she leaned to rest upon a stile,

The pale moon hanging o’er her looks the while,

“Richard,” she said, and laugh’d, “the moon is new,

159        And I will try if that old tale is true,

160………………………………………………………………………………………

Which gossips tell, who say, that if as soon

As any one beholds the new May-moon,

They o’er their eyes a silken kerchief fling

That has been slided through a wedding-ring,

As many years as they shall single be,

As many moons they through that veil shall see;                         280

And I for once will try the truth I vow:

For this, that hangs about my bosom now,

Was drawn through one upon a bridal night,

When we were full of gossip and delight.

Old women, if they heard my talk, would call

Me fond, and think I wish’d the number small;

E’en you may think me foolish, or too free:

Be as it will, I’ll take it off and see.”

Then instant from her snowy neck she threw

It first o’er me, and bade me tell her true;                                  290

And sure as I stand here, while that was o’er,

I saw two moons as plain as one before;

And when my Mary took it off to try,

Herself saw two, the very same as I,

Although at first she did not like to own,

160        Saying in blushes she could see but one;

161………………………………………………………………………………………

Yet, as her kerchief round her neck she tied,

She smiled, and mutter’d “Now I’m satisfied.”

“Mary,” I answer’d, “then it rests with you

To suit the tale, and make it false or true.”                                 300

“Richard,” she said, “where I find truth, I find

Nothing to make me of a diff’rent mind.”

This was as plain a hint as she could say,

And other proofs were throwing words away;

Yet she made promises that night to me,

That next year’s summer may expect to see,

When round our hopes a love-knot shall be twined

As fast as rings and parsons’ words can bind.

SIMON.

I’ll not believe it, though such manners may

Much more of freedom than I wish betray;                                310

Still her good nature I will keep in mind,

And ne’er believe that Mary is unkind:

She always thanks me, very kind and free,

For help in toil, and that’s a proof for me.

Last live-long winter through, for such rewards,

161        I clean’d the paths from snow about the yards,

162………………………………………………………………………………………

And litter’d straw in all the pudgy sloughs

About the hovel, where she milk’d her cows;

Oft milking when I’d any time in hand:

I’ve from the heath brought many a load of sand,                       320

Whene’er at plough or dung-cart I have been,

Her shining rows of pewter plates to clean;

I’ve risen up from my dinner many a day,

When master at the market was away,

For her a stolen pear or plumb to reach,

Or gait of water from the pump to fetch;

And she has smiled, and thank’d me o’er and o’er,—

Love proves itself, I need relate no more:

Yet once, while clambering o’er the orchard wall,

I fell, and from my pocket in the fall                                           330

My knife was lost, and Mary, ever free,

Found it, and offered it as mine to me;

But I denied it then, that mine was gone,

On purpose that the maid might keep it on;

So she no more inquiries cared to make,

162        And I’ll be bound she keeps it for my sake.

163………………………………………………………………………………………

RICHARD.

Well, though I had not time to tend her so,

Or milk her cows, or clean her paths from snow,

Love has no out-door charms for winter weather,—

’Twas spring and summer when we met together;                      340

Yet when a chance fell out—at her desire,

I’ve waited on her at the kitchen fire,

And often made her evening labour light,

Taking the huge pot off the hooks at night

Brimful of milk the fatting calves to feed;

And soon as chances left no eyes to heed,

In whispering ways she’d o’er my shoulder lean,

While I took kisses for my toil unseen.

Whenever she sat up to bake or brew,

I’ve strove to help her so that no one knew,                              350

While she would of her own accord agree

To hunt the yard, and seek new eggs for me,

Ne’er dreading striding witch, nor sheeted ghost,

Lapping them up in the hot coals to roast:

Though she’d no cellar-key a horn to fill,

163        I’ve fill’d a sweet-wort dish, and drank at will:

164………………………………………………………………………………………

If she drank nothing at those hours of stealth,

She’d sip, and own it was to drink my health.

When summer’s morts of blossoms ceased to bloom,

And time to take the honey up was come,                                 360

I would for her the brimstone torch alight

To smother in their hives the bees at night;

Though she would call it cruelty, and sigh,

And often take her apron up to cry,

She thought, while troubled o’er each murder’d bee,

To save the whitest honeycomb for me.

Oft would she from her folded apron take

Gifts, venturing clowns had stolen for her sake,

Bidding me choose whate’er I might prefer;

And oft, to prove, I left the choice to her,                                  370

When in a moment she’d begin to seek

A favourite apple with the reddest cheek,

Or plum that seem’d the mellowest, the while

Holding them out with many a sweeter smile:—

These are not only proofs of love, but speak

Things as plain as ever one may wish to seek.

As to the knife, there all your hopes must sink,

164        For knives cut love, not keep it, as you think.

165………………………………………………………………………………………

One that she pick’d up once, you soon may see:

Such gifts are dang’rous, so she sold it me;                               380

There, own it: if you can, I’ll that resign,

But Mary Fieldflower still I claim as mine.

Ay, Simon, lad, why turn ye from the view,

Play with your watch-chain when you’ve nought to do?

Look up and answer me, or else refrain,

And own you’ve lost, and we’ll be friends again.

   “Ay,” said the old man, with a weary smile,

Who sat at rest to listen them awhile,

“Though Love in choosing mates is often blind,

And steers with Folly’s whims against the wind,                         390

Poor Simon’s baffled hopes have stood too long,

His proofs were seldom right, and often wrong;

His chance is bad, I own, if all be true,

So make it up, and leave no more to do;

Throw down the foolish love ye long have nursed,

And cease, or else the rain will finish first.”

   Simon, who from their gaze had turn’d around,

165        And with his hook progg’d holes about the ground,

166………………………………………………………………………………………

Whistled his resting dog, coil’d up asleep,

And in the rain went seeking for his sheep,                                 400

Glad from a rival’s triumph to retreat,

Yet ne’er acknowledged that himself was beat;

While Richard turn’d his comrades’ talk to join,

166        And proudly laugh’d to see his foe resign.

      ………………………………………………………………………………………

 

THE MEMORY OF LOVE;

 

A TALE.

                          ____

 

ONCE in the merry toil of clipping time,

When suns are hot, and summer in her prime,

An old man labouring, with his fellow men,

’Neath two broad walnuts shadowing o’er the pen,

To lighten labour, and make short the day,

Tuned ancient songs, and chatted time away.

Some boasted of the feats of younger years;

Of quickness some to use the snipping shears;

Others of strength and nimbleness the while,

When they could leap a ditch, or jump a stile;                            10

One told the history of his dog with pride,

That half asleep lay panting by his side;

The younger harp’d o’er coming holidays,

            And pretty maids and dances had their praise;

168………………………………………………………………………………………

’Twas thought no sin if hearts they only won;

To make them ache, they deem’d it precious fun.

He heard their stories ’tween a sigh and smile,

And bade them listen to his own awhile.

They stopt, and choked the titter as he spoke,

Hearing the story as one hears a joke;                                       20

Thinking him childish, as his mind would cling

With joy to every silly seeming thing:

The vulgar dregs of love were all they knew;

What he had felt was tender, pure, and true.

   “My boys,” said he, “I once was young and wild,

And urged my follies when a maiden smiled;

Oft whispering marriage with a lying tongue,

And then excusing me still years too young.

I sought one beauty till the freak was past,

And then found others prettier than the last;                               30

I woo’d and won them, as a sort of pride,

Still seeking new ones till I was denied.

Laugh not, my boys, when slighted maidens mourn,

For fear your follies may be served in turn;

And if in Beauty’s net ye once should be,

168        Ye’ll find a puzzle ere your hearts are free.

169………………………………………………………………………………………

At last a beauty won my wandering eye,

Binding my fancies with a troubled tie:

I tried to break it, but it would not bend,

So freaks, and lies, and follies, had their end.                             40

Her very image startles on me yet,

She seem’d the loveliest I had ever met;

Her face thrill’d through me, though ’twas only fair,

And red, and rosy, as the many are;

And though her bosom swell’d, and eyes were bright,

Like others, yet they overpower’d me quite:—

In every feature shone that witching spell,

That love adores, and language cannot tell.

   “The very day, when first her looks I met,

Haunts all my musings with its memory yet,                                50

And every trifle then that met my eye

Time cannot pass its recollection by;

Link’d with her name, it holds a pleasing power,

Like Spring, whose smile gives even weeds a flower.

Chance doomed us both at the same town to dwell,

169        When Youth’s wild visions bade my heart farewell,

170………………………………………………………………………………………

And left it Love’s sick sorrows. Beauty’s fame

Was hot about the village ere she came:

Maids’ jealous whisperings did their doubtings raise,

While youths were eager, tho’ by guess, to praise;                     60

And I, who meant a season’s suit to prove,

Met with a sudden and a lasting love.

I went at Michaelmas, she came at May;

A finer blossom never bloom’d that day.

On that same morn whose memory turns me chill,

I, with a cart, was journeying to the mill;

The time was lovely, and down lane and balk

I went in joy, and mused along the walk;

Gazing on prospects in a happy vein,

O’er fields fresh plough’d, and springing crops of grain.             70

The meadow-closes all about were lined

With cowslip bunches, nodding in the wind;

In every lane, o’erhung with briar and thorn,

Thousands of daisies glitter’d in the morn.

My dog was pleased as I, and often rolled

His curly jacket in the fresh plough’d mould;

Sheep would our happy walk a moment heed,

170        Leaving their lairs, and stooping down to feed.

171………………………………………………………………………………………

The hare in mirth raced o’er the clover lea,

And birds were happy as a song can be;                                   80

The redcap often from the hedge would drop,

Perching, and twittering on the thistle’s top.

The groups of weeders sung their toil away;

And while old women ask’d the time of day,

The young girls halloo’d, merrily and shrill,

If I would take a partner to the mill?

Nor did I think a heart, as glad as theirs,

Had cause so near to change all joys to cares.

   “Beside the mill-brook, whose uneven tide

Grows now and then more than a horse can stride;                    90

Till from its roar releas’d, its windings creep

Narrow and soft, a green grasshopper’s leap;

I met the maid whose beauty made me sigh,

And turn upon her an admiring eye.

’Twas she, I thought, who wore the village fame,

And as I guess’d it proved the very same.

She asked the way, and with a timid smile

Turn’d back to thank me ere she skipt the stile.

Fill’d full of fancies to my journey’s end,

171        I wish’d I’d spoke, then judged I might offend;                           100

172………………………………………………………………………………………

And hoped in time a chance might come, to prove

A feeble shadow of my sudden love.

   “Within the foldings of her neckerchief

Appear’d a red pink, with its ruddy leaf;

The little trifle gave my bosom pain,

I thought it given by some parting swain;

Yet ever since my memory keeps awake,

To love the blossom for the owner’s sake.

Each merry year, as clipping time comes round,

Whene’er I see one in our posies bound,                                   110

Though I am old, and love has lost its power,

I pause and sigh, and e’en could kiss the flower.

   “I often went on Sundays to the spot

Where she pass’d by, a trifle not forgot;

The very stones she stept, to cross the stream,

I’ve sat for hours to muse upon, and dream:

The stile, too, over which I saw her climb,

Has made my foolish heart ache many a time;

And though I’m old, my palsied memory still,

If I pass’d now, would turn my bosom chill.                               120

   “On the next morning, as I cross’d the plain,

172        At milking hour, I saw the maid again;

173………………………………………………………………………………………

The cows stood round her in a wondering way,

And kept the stranger with her fears at bay;

They tost their heads and snuff’d the morning gales,

Skewing at her: I gladly took the pails

And milk’d them all; and more her fears to screen,

I took her yokes, and saw her o’er the green.

Then at the pasture gate, with fond delight,

I left a promise I would meet at night;                                        130

Urging a kind return, that she’d agree

My May-game partner in the dance to be.

She look’d consent, I even thought she smiled,

For Love sees double when by Hope beguiled;

But when the cows grew reconciled and tame,

She always thank’d me and refused the claim.

It made me half my hopeful love resign,

And feel her heart had but small love for mine:

Yet I press’d on, and would my doubts reprove,

Thinking her fears might disbelieve my love.                               140

I went to church each leisure Sabbath day,                               

For every purpose but the right—to pray.

Her seat was opposite to mine: in vain

173        I tried to read, turning to gaze again,

174………………………………………………………………………………………

Till some old matron shook her serious head,

And urged my eye to what I should have read.

My book was open oft when prayers were done,

And I’ve kept reading till the Psalms begun;

When the clerk’s voice, unmusically deep,

Made memory startle as I’d been asleep.                                  150

I often tried what signals love would take,                                 

But she seem’d strange to all I had to make;

I often smiled whene’er she turn’d her eye,

But she would pause, as if she wonder’d why:

She seem’d to try to shun me in the street,

And I, scarce conscious, tried the maid to meet.

   “At length, some gipsies to our common came,

And, as a change to May-night’s evening game,

Maids in the gipsies’ nook proposed a dance,

Where I went too, and dream’d upon the chance.                      160

For summer eves to servants then supplied                               

Sweet leisure hours, when toil was thrown aside;

When we have play’d, and danced till day was by,

And the moon’s horns crept half way up the sky—

Young miss and master, servant-man and maid;

174        For none would scold, or question why we staid.

175………………………………………………………………………………………

The maiden came, she whom I wish’d to see,

I ask’d her, trembling, if she’d dance with me;

She smiled, then check’d it, and with half-turn’d eye

Paused for a moment ere she made reply:                                  170

Good manners seem’d to urge her to consent,

She blush’d and yielded, and away we went.

Oh! the first time I touch’d her gentle hand,

I felt a joy you’ll never understand,

Unless ye thrill ’neath true love’s ecstasy,

And then you’ll own the pleasant pain with me.

My heart sunk in me like a lump of clay;

My feet e’en trembled as we danced away:

Then fears would leave, and feverish hopes in turn

In fluttering flushes made my bosom burn.                                  180

I view’d her face, where beauty ne’er could cloy,

And dream’d o’er raptures till I smiled for joy;

She seem’d to greet my looks with tender eye,

But never smiled, and oft appear’d to sigh.

   Soon as a finish to the sports had come,

I offer’d hints to see her safely home;

She turn’d aside, yet did not answer “No!”

175        But thank’d my kindness, and prepared to go.

176………………………………………………………………………………………

Brooding o’er raptures, picturing Fancy drew,

I led her homeward on the evening dew,                                    190

And ventured gradual hints, ’mid smiles and sighs,

To clear my passion of its thin disguise.

She seem’d confused at what she had to say,

Nor bade hopes live, nor wish’d my words away:

At length she tried, and having choak’d the sigh,

She gave me hints that made hopes hurry by.

‘Nay, you may love,’ she said, ‘and I believe

If I had power—but why should I deceive?—’

Then paused, as loth the finish to relate,

And would have left me, but I held the gate.                              200

She sigh’d to see me toy ’mid hopes and fears,

And made excuses to conceal her tears;

While pushing the dark ringlets from her eye,

As shrinking from me, she exclaim’d ‘Good bye!’

Bidding me cease to say she had my heart,

And struggling from me as resolved to part;

‘Your heart’s not mine,’ she said, ‘and I must shun

Your urged returns, for mine’s already won;

Whatever proofs your vows or words make known,

176        I cannot give you what is not my own:’                                       210

177………………………………………………………………………………………

I loosed the gate, she hurried to the door,

And I beheld her with Hope’s eyes no more.

   But often to the town her lover came,

And came at last the marriage day to name:

I went to church, not knowing what I did,

That very Sunday when the banns were bid;

Lord help one's cares, I'd need enough to stay,

And think, when there, of better things, and pray;

But when the parson brought the thing about,

I shut my book, and sigh’d, and loiter’d out,                              220

Wandering I knew not where, to ease my pain,

Till broken hopes should settle calm again.

The marriage came, it was a woeful day,

And memory gave it an eternal stay:

I heard the bells ring as I cross’d the moor,

And never heard so sad a peal before.

I wish’d to see how she would look a bride,

And started off—and then my courage died;

I would not go; and then I ventured by

The church-yard wall, but nothing met my eye.                          230

I now felt happy that the thing was o’er;

177        And then was vex’d I did not go before:

178………………………………………………………………………………………

Half shamed, I hung my head along the street,

Nor cared to talk with those my path would meet,

Lest they should jeer me or bring up the day,

So, when they spoke, I turn’d, and sneak’d away.

   I thought upon her lovely face for years,

With fondest feelings, almost kin to tears,

Till the heart ached with love. I cannot tell

What others thought of her I loved so well;                                240

Or how she seem’d to him that call’d her wife—

Her face to me was Memory for life.

Her looks, her ways, in winning forms would steal,

Leaving a pain I never ceased to feel;

Her very voice would Memory’s partner be,

And music linger’d in the sound with me.

Her troubling form was long about my sight,

In day-dreams musing, or in sleep by night:

My dreams wore constantly that pleasing pain,

The face of her I loved and could not gain.                                250

   “I sought at first the noise of feast and fair,

To see if tumult yet had joys to spare;

And Hope would sometimes join my lonely way,

178        Through fields and meads, in summer clothing gay:

179………………………………………………………………………………………

Half pleased, half sad, I mused o’er days to come,

And idly cropt the meadow flowers in bloom;

Seeking for that which it was vain to find,

To loose the burthen from a troubled mind.

The dance and revel brought its joy no more;

I hated pastimes which I loved before.                                       260

The walks on Sabbath days with milking lass,

And every pastime on the summer grass;

Where hunt-the-slipper past the hours away;

And blindman’s buff made every bosom gay,

When tittering maidens urged me which to seize:

These lost the relish and the power to please.

I saw no sports to claim an hour from sleep,

And none to care for but my dog and sheep;

I shunn’d them all, the sports, and loves, and ways,

That used to please me in my younger days.                              270

My Sunday’s former pleasures I forsook;

No more I rambled to the pasture brook,

Where in my youth, at Eastwell’s fountain side,

Which winter never froze, nor summer dried,

Young men and maidens used to talk and play,

179        In the cool shadows of its willows grey;

180………………………………………………………………………………………

Drinking love healths in mugs of sugar’d drink,

On the soft swellings of its rushy brink;

By the spring head whose water, winter-chill,

Boils up the white sand that is never still;                                    280

Now swimming up in silver threads, and then

Slow siling down to bubble up again:

Where shepherds used to sit, and tell the while

Their tales and jokes to win each maiden’s smile.

I shunn’d all these, which I had loved before,

And join’d the children’s play-games on the moor,

Nicking the ‘Nine-peg Morris’ in the grass,

Or tying garlands for some little lass;

Or reaching roses from the hedge-row bowers,

While they fawn’d round me till I got the flowers;                       290

Turning my labours to their changing wills,                                

Now whistles cutting, and then water-mills:

And thus I tried to loiter time away,

Till they were weary of each idle play.

I was the play-king of the jocund clan,

And often wish’d I could forget the man:

They had but trifles happiness to spoil,

180        Play all their love, and all their trouble toil.

181………………………………………………………………………………………

   My partners as they past, would point and say,

‘There’s love-sick Robin with the boys at play!’                        300

While maidens thought me justly served, and smiled

To see crost-love had made me twice a child.

Folks thought me crazed, and you may think the same,

Who know of love no further than the name:

Think as you please, my childish tale is done,

’Tis time it were, for there’s the setting sun.

Yet if you e’er should meet with my despair,

To love a girl that has no love to spare,

Then will your weakness to her beauty bow,

181        And feel the truth that I have told you now.”                               310

   ………………………………………………………………………………………