What makes her sit there moping by herself. With no soul near her but that great black cat? And do but look at her!
Poor wretch; half blind And crooked with her years, without a child Or friend in her old age, 'tis hard indeed To have her very miseries made her crimes! I met her but last week in that hard frost Which made my young limbs ache, and when I ask'd What brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman Told me that she was forced to crawl abroad And pick the hedges, just to keep herself From perishing with cold,.. because no neighbour Had pity on her age: and then she cried, And said the children pelted her with snow-balls, And wish'd that she were dead.
Ay, Charles! I knew that this would fix thine eye; .. Why, thank God, Sir, This woodbine wreathing round the broken porch. I've had no reason to complain of fortune.
Its leaves just withering, yet one autumn flower Still fresh and fragrant; and yon holly-hock That through the creeping weeds and nettles tall Peers taller, lifting, column-like, a stem Bright with its roseate blossoms. I have seen Many an old convent reverend in decay, And many a time have trod the castle courts And grass-green halls, yet never did they strike Home to the heart such melancholy thoughts As this poor cottage. Look! its little hatch Fleeced with that grey and wintry moss; the roof Part moulder'd in, the rest o'ergrown with weeds, House-leek, and long thin grass, and greener moss; So Nature steals on all the works of man, Sure conqueror she, reclaiming to herself His perishable piles.
Charles, not without design; for this hath been My favourite walk even since I was a boy; And I remember, Charles, this ruin here, The neatest comfortable dwelling-place!
That when I read in those dear books which first Woke in my heart the love of poesy,
How with the villagers Erminia dwelt, And Calidore for a fair shepherdess
Forsook his quest to learn the shepherd's lore, My fancy drew from this the little hut Where that poor princess wept her hopeless love, Or where the gentle Calidore at eve
Led Pastorella home. There was not then A weed where all these nettles overtop
The garden-wall; but sweet-briar, scenting sweet The morning air; rosemary and marjoram,
All wholesome herbs; and then, that woodbine wreathed
So lavishly around the pillar'd porch
Its fragrant flowers, that when I pass'd this way, After a truant absence hastening home,
I could not chuse but pass with slacken'd speed By that delightful fragrance. Sadly changed Is this poor cottage! and its dwellers, Charles!.. Theirs is a simple melancholy tale,.. There's scarce a village but can fellow it: And yet, methinks, it will not weary thee, And should not be untold.
Dwelt with an orphan grandchild: just removed Above the reach of pinching poverty,
She lived on some small pittance which sufficed, In better times, the needful calls of life, Not without comfort. I remember her Sitting at even in that open doorway,
And spinning in the sun. Methinks I see her Raising her eyes and dark-rimm'd spectacles To see the passer-by, yet ceasing not
To twirl her lengthening thread; or in the garden, On some dry summer evening, walking round To view her flowers, and pointing as she lean'd Upon the ivory handle of her stick,
To some carnation whose o'erheavy head Needed support; while with the watering-pot Joanna follow'd, and refresh'd and trimm'd The drooping plant; Joanna, her dear child, As lovely and as happy then as youth And innocence could make her.
As though I were a boy again, and all The mediate years with their vicissitudes A half-forgotten dream. I see the Maid So comely in her Sunday dress! her hair,
Her bright brown hair, wreathed in contracting
And then her cheek! it was a red and white That made the delicate hues of art look loathsome. The countrymen who on their way to church Were leaning o'er the bridge, loitering to hear The bell's last summons, and in idleness Watching the stream below, would all look up When she pass'd by. And her old Grandam, Charles,.. When I have heard some erring infidel Speak of our faith as of a gloomy creed, Inspiring superstitious wretchedness,
Her figure has recurr'd; for she did love
The Sabbath-day; and many a time hath cross'd These fields in rain and through the winter snows, When I, a graceless boy, and cold of foot, Wishing the weary service at its end,
Have wonder'd wherefore that good dame came there, Who, if it pleased her, might have staid beside A comfortable fire.
So many generations!... Many a time
Poor master Edward, who is now a corpse,
When but a child, would come to me and lead me To the great family-tree, and beg of me To tell him stories of his ancestors,
Of Eustace, he that went to the Holy Land With Richard Lion-heart, and that Sir Henry Who fought at Cressy in King Edward's wars; And then his little eyes would kindle so
To hear of their brave deeds! I used to think The bravest of them all would not out-do My darling boy.
Such a fine, generous, open-hearted Youth! When he came home from school at holidays, How I rejoiced to see him! He was sure To come and ask of me what birds there were About my fields; and when I found a covey, There's not a testy Squire preserves his game More charily, than I have kept them safe For Master Edward. And he look'd so well Upon a fine sharp morning after them,
His brown hair frosted, and his cheek so flush'd With such a wholesome ruddiness, . . ah, James, But he was sadly changed when he came down To keep his birth-day.
Changed! why, Gregory, 'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd
Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin, His cheek so delicate sallow, and his eyes Had such a dim and rakish hollowness; And when he came to shake me by the hand, And spoke as kindly to me as he used, I hardly knew the voice.
On all our merriment. "Twas a noble Ox That smoked before us, and the old October Went merrily in overflowing cans;
But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart Seem'd as it took no share. And when we drank His health, the thought came over me what cause We had for wishing that, and spoilt the draught. Poor Gentleman! to think ten months ago He came of age, and now!
I fear'd it then! He look'd to me as one that was not long For this world's business.
When the Doctor sent him Abroad to try the air, it made me certain That all was over. There's but little hope, Methinks, that foreign parts can help a man When his own mother-country will not do.
The last time he came down, these bells rung so
I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple down; And now that dismal toll! I would have staid Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty:
I am an old tenant of the family,
Born on the estate, and now that I've outlived it, Why 'tis but right to see it to the grave. Have you heard ought of the new Squire?
Why, Sir, for that I've had my share; some sickness and some sorrow; Well will it be for them to know no worse.
He always was a well-conditioned lad, One who'd work hard and well; and as for drink, Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, Sober as wife could wish.
Then is the girl A shrew, or else untidy?.. one to welcome Her husband with a rude unruly tongue? Or drive him from a foul and wretched home To look elsewhere for comfort? Is it so?
She's notable enough; and as for temper The best good-humour'd girl! You see yon house, There by the aspen tree, whose grey leaves shine In the wind? she lived a servant at the farm. And often, as I came to weeding here, I've heard her singing as she milk'd her cows So cheerfully,.. I did not like to hear her, Because it made me think upon the days When I had got as little on my mind, And was as cheerful too. But she would marry, And folks must reap as they have sown. God help her!
Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, Why should not both be happy?
But both can work; and sure as cheerfully She'd labour for herself as at the farm.
For when the horse lies down at night, no cares About to-morrow vex him in his dreams: He knows no quarter-day, and when he gets
Ay! idleness! the rich folks never fail To find some reason why the poor deserve Their miseries!.. Is it idleness, I pray you, That brings the fever or the ague fit? That makes the sick one's sickly appetite From dry bread and potatoes turn away? Is it idleness that makes small wages fail
For growing wants?.. Six years agone, these bells Rung on my wedding-day, and I was told What I might look for,.. but I did not heed Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir; Knew never what it was to want a meal;
Lay down without one thought to keep me sleepless Or trouble me in sleep; had for a Sunday My linen gown, and when the pedlar came Could buy me a new ribbon... And my husband,.. A towardly young man and well to do,.. He had his silver buckles and his watch; There was not in the village one who look'd Sprucer on holidays. We married, Sir, And we had children, but while wants increas'd Wages stood still. The silver buckles went, So went the watch; and when the holiday coat Was worn to work, no new one in its place. For me.. you see my rags! but I deserve them, For wilfully, like this new-married pair, I went to my undoing.
WHOм are they ushering from the world, with all This pageantry and long parade of death?
A long parade, indeed, Sir, and yet here You see but half; round yonder bend it reaches A furlong further, carriage behind carriage.
'Tis but a mournful sight, and yet the pomp Tempts me to stand a gazer.
When first I heard his death, that very wish Leapt to my lips; but now the closing scene Of the comedy hath waken'd wiser thoughts; And I bless God, that, when I go to the grave, There will not be the weight of wealth like his To sink me down.
The camel and the needle,...
Is that then in your mind?
1 A farmer once told the author of Malvern Hills, "that he almost constantly remarked a gradation of changes in those men he had been in the habit of employing. Young men, he said, were generally neat in their appearance, active and cheerful, till they became married and had a family, when he had observed that their silver buttons, buckles, and
watches gradually disappeared, and their Sunday's clothes became common without any other to supply their place,.. but," said he, "some good comes from this, for they will then work for whatever they can get."
Note to Collle's Malvern Hills.
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