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Fire, and dead ashes and all fire again Thrice in a second, felt him tremble too, And heard him muttering, 'So like, so
like; She never had a sister.
I knew none. Some cousin of his and hers - O God, so
like!' And then he suddenly ask'd her if she
The passionate moment would not suffer
that Past thro' his visions to the burial; thence Down to this last strange hour in his own
hall; And then rose up, and with him all his
guests Once more as by enchantment; all but he, Lionel, who fain had risen, but fell again, And sat as if in chains — to whom he said:
She shook, and cast her eyes down, and
was dumb. And then some other question'd if she From foreign lands, and still she did not
speak. Another, if the boy were hers: but she To all their queries answer'd not a word, Which made the amazement more, till
one of them Said, shuddering, 'Her spectre!' But
his friend Replied, in half a whisper, ‘Not at least The spectre that will speak if spoken to. Terrible pity, if one so beautiful Prove, as I alınost dread to find her,
Take my free gift, my cousin, for
your wife; And were it only for the giver's sake, And tho'she seem so like the one you lost, Yet cast her not away so suddenly, Lest there be none left here to bring her
back: I leave this land for ever.' Here he
But Julian, sitting by her, answer'd all: "She is but dumb, because in her you
That faithful servant whom we spoke
about, Obedient to her second master now; Which will not last. I have here to-night
a guest So bound to me by common icve and
loss What! shall I bind him mcie? in his
behalf, Shall I exceed the Persian, giving him That which of all things is the dearest to
me, Not only showing? and he himself pro
nounced That my rich gift is wholly miñe to give.
Then taking his dear lady by one
hand, And bearing on one arm the noble babe, He slowly brought them both to Lionel. And there the widower husband and dead
wife Rush'd each at each with a cry, that rather
seem'd For some new death than for a life re.
new'd; Whereat the very babe began to wail; At once they turn'd, and caught and
brought him in To their charm'd circle, and, half killing
him With kisses, round him closed and claspt
again. But Lionel, when at last he freed himself From wife and child, and lifted up a face All over glowing with the sun of lise, And love, and boundless thanks — the
sight of this So frighted our good friend, that turning
to me And saying, 'It is over: let us go'There were
our horses ready at the doors We bade them no farewell, but mounting
these He past for ever from his native land; And I with him, my Julian, back to
• Now all be dumb, and promise all of
you Not to break in on what I say iny word Or whisper, while I show you all my
heart.' And then began the story of his love As here to-day, but not so wordily –
TO ALFRED TENNYSON
MY GRANDSON. GOLDEN-HAIR'D Ally whose name is one with
mine, Crazy with laughter and babble and earth's new
wine, Now that the flower of a year and a half is thine, O little blossom, O mine, and mine of mine, Glorious poet who never hast written a line, Laugh, for the name at the head of my verse is
thine. May'st thou never be wrong'd by the name that
III. There was a farmer in Dorset of Harry's
kir, that had need Of a good stout lad at his farm; he sent
an' ie father agreed; So Harry was bound to the Dorsetshirë
farm for years an' for years; I walked with him down to the quar,
poor lad, an’ we parted in tears. The boat was beginning to move, we
heard them a-ringing the bell, “I'll never love any but you, God bless
you, my own little Nell.'
Those were the pla
an' my man We seem'd like
THE FIRST QUARREL. (IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.)
Bat work was sca
tried the vil So Harry went ov
work could An' he wrote I
little wife, 11 come for an h
I was a caild, an' he was a child, an' be
carne to harm; There was a girl, a hússy, that workt with
him up at the farm, One had deceived her an' left her alone
with her sin an' her shame, An' so she was wicked with Harry; the
giri was the most to blame.
So I set to righting
he coming An' I hit on an
push'd in a It was full of old
letter along I had better ha' pe
•Wait a little, you say, 'you are sure
it'll all come right,' But the boy was born i' trouble, an' looks
so wan an' so white: Wait! an' once I ha' waited — I hadn't
to wait for long. Now I wait, wait, wait for Harry. — No,
no, you are doing me wrong! Harry and I were married: the boy can
hold up his head, The boy was born in wedlock, but after
my man was dead; I ha' work'd for him fifteen years, an' I
work an' I wait to the end. I am all alone in the world, an' you are my only friend.
II. Doctor, if you can wait, I'll tell you the
tale o' my life. When Harry an' I were children, he callid
me his own little wife; I was happy when I was with him, an'
sorry when he was away, An' when we play'd together, I loved him
better than play; He workt me the daisy chain - he made
me the cowslip ball, He fought the boys that were rude, an' I
loved him better than all. Passionate girl tho' I was, an' often at
home in disgrace, I never could quarrel with Harry - I had
but to look in his face.
An' years went over till I that was little
had grown so tall,
Ne!!y's the flower of 'em all.'
myself all I could
VI. Often i seem'd unhappy, and often as For I kcard it abroad in the fields • I'll Didn't you kiss
happy • I'll never love any but you 'the morning As I almost died
er love any but you
song of the lark, * I'll never love any but you'the nightin
gale's hyn.n in the dark.
'Saeetheart' - the
was the lett You promised to f
an' I wish I
an' I wish
And Harry came home at last, but he
lock'd at me sidelong and shy, Vext me a bit, till he told me that su
many years had gone by, I had grown so handsome and tall — that
I might ha' forgot him somehow -For he thought - there were other lads –
For Harry came i
he was fear'd to look at me now.
letter that And he told it me
as any child
Hard was the frost in the field, we were
married o’ Christmas day, Married among the red berries, an' all as
merry as May Those were the pleasant times, my house
an' my man were my p:ide, We seem'd like ships i' the Channel
a-sailing with wind an' tide.
But work was scant in the Isle, tho' he
tried the villages round, So Harry went over the Solent to see if
work could be found; An' he wrote *I ha' six weeks' work,
little wife, so far as I know; I'll come for an hour to-morro!y, an' kiss
you before I go.
So I set to righting the house, or wasn't
he coming that day? An' I hit on an old deal-box hat was
push'd in a corner away, It was full of old odds an' ends, an' a
letter along wi' the resi, I had better ha' put my naked hand in a
What can it matter, my lass, what I did
wi' my single life? I ha' been as true to you as ever a man
to his wife; An' she wasn't one o'the worst. •Then,'
I said, “I'm none o' the best.' An' he smiled at me, ‘Ain't you, my
love? Come, come, little wife, let
it rest! The man isn't like the woman, no need
to make such a stir.' But he anger'd me all the more, an' I said
• You were keeping with her, When I was a-loving you all along an'
the same as before.' An' he didn't speak for a while, an' he
anger'd me more and more. Then he patted my hand in his gentle
way, “Let bygones be!' • Bygones ! you kept yours hush’d,' I said,
when you married me! By-gones ma' be come-agains; an’she
in her shame an' her sin You'll have her to nurse my child, if I
die o' my lying in! You'll make her its second mother! I
hate her - an' I hate you!' Ah, Harry, my man, you had better ha'
beaten me black an' blue Than ha' spoken as kind as you did,
when I were so crazy wi' spite, • Wait a little, my lass, I am sure it ’ill all come right.'
XIV. An' he took three turns in the rain, an' I
watch'd him, an' when he came in I felt that my heart was hard, he was all
wet thro' to the skin, An' I never said off wi'the wet,' I never
said on wi' the dry,' So I knew my heart was hard, when he
came to bid me goodbye. • You said that you hated me, Ellen, but
that isn't true, you know; I am going to leave you a bit - you'll
kiss me before I go?'
For Harry came in, an' I Aung him the
letter that drove me wild, An' he told it me all at once, as simple
as any child,
. Going! you're going to her — kiss her
- if you will,' I said I was near my time wi' the boy, I must
ha' been light i' my head
And the jailer force
bid him my
WAILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over
land and sea — And Willy's voice in the wind, O mother
come out to me.' Why should he call me to-night, when
he knows that I cannot go? For the downs are as bright as day, and
the full moon stares at the snow.
They had fastend
I couldn't get bac
And now I never
Nay – for it's kind of you, Madam, to
sit by an old dying wife. But say nothing hard of my boy, I have
only an hour of life. I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he
went out to die. *They dared me to do it,' he said, and he
never has toki me a lie. I whipt him for robbing an orchard once
when he was but a child • The farmer dared me to do it,' he said;
he was always so wild And idie — and couldn't be idle -- my
Willy - he never could rest. The King should have made him a sol,
dier, he would have been one of his vest.
We should be seen, my dear; they would
spy us out of the town. The loud black nights for us, and the
storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but
am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I
find myself drenched with the rain.
Then since I coul
of my boy They seized me a
lastend me Hutber, O mothe
dark to me They beat me for
you know the
And then at the last they found I had
grown so stupid and still They let me abroad again — but the
creatures had worked their will.
But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and
they never would let him be good; They swore that he dare not rob the
mail, and he swore that he would; And he took no life, but he took one
purse, and when all was done He Aung it among his fellows - I'll none
of it, said my son.
Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of
my bone was left I stole them all from the lawyers — and
you, will you call it a theft? – My baby, the bones that had suck'd me,
the bones that had laugh'd and
had cried Theirs? O no! they are mine - not theirs
- they had moved in my side.
I came into court to the Judge and the
lawyers. I told them my tale, God's own truth — but they kill'd him,
they kill'd him for robbing the
mail. They hang’d him in chains for a show
we had always borne a good
name To be hang'd for a thief - and then put
away - isn't that enougn shame? Dust to dust - low down -- let us hide!
but they set him so high That all the ships of the world could
stare at him, passing by. God 'ill pardon the hell-black raven and
horrible fowls of the air, But not the black heart of the lawyer who
kill'd him and hang'd him there.
Do you think I was scared by the bones?
kiss'd 'em, I buried 'em all — I can't dig deep, I am old — in the night
by the churchyard wall. My Willy 'ill rise up whole when the
trumpet of judgment ’ill sound; But I charge you never to say that I laid
him in holy ground.
And the jailer forced me awa;. I had
bid him my last goodbye;. They had fasten'd the door of his cell.
O mother!' I heard him cry. I couldn't get back tho' I tried, he had
something further to say, And now I never shall know it. The
jailer forced me away.
They would scratch him up— they would
hang him again on the cursed
tree. Sin? O yes
-- we are sinners, I know -
let all that be, And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's
good will toward men Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord'
let me hear it again; * Full of compassion and mercy -- long
suffering. Yes, O yes ! For the lawyer is born but to murder
the Saviour lives but to bless. He'll never put on the black cap except
for the worst of the worst, And the first may be last — I have heard
it in church — and the last may
be first Suffering – O long-suffering - yes, as the
Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind
and the shower and the snow.
Then since I couldn't but hear that cry
of my boy that was dead, They seized me and shut me up: they
fasten'd me down on my bed. 6 Mother, O mother!! -- he call'd in the
dark to me year after year – They beat me for that, they bcat me –
you know that I couldn': but hear;