Jet upward thro’ the mid-day blossom. No!
For, see, thy foot has touch’d it; all the space
Of blank earth-baldness clothes itself afresh,
And breaks into the crocus-purple hour
That saw thee vanish.
Child, when thou wert gone,
I envied human wives, and nested birds,
Yea, the cubb’d lioness; went in search of thee
Thro’ many a palace, many a cot, and gave
Thy breast to ailing infants in the night,
And set the mother waking in amaze
To find her sick one whole; and forth again
Among the wail of midnight winds, and cried,
‘Where is my loved one? Wherefore do ye wail?’
And out from all the night an answer shrill’d,
‘We know not, and we know not why we wail.’
I climb’d on all the cliffs of all the seas,
And ask’d the waves that moan about the world
‘Where? do ye make your moaning for my child?’
And round from all the world the voices came
‘We know not, and we know not why we moan.’
‘Where’? and I stared from every eagle-peak,
I thridded the black heart of all the woods,
I peer’d thro’ tomb and cave, and in the storms
Of Autumn swept across the city, and heard
The murmur of their temples chanting me,
Me, me, the desolate Mother! ‘Where’? — and turn’d,
And fled by many a waste, forlorn of man,
And grieved for man thro’ all my grief for thee, —
The jungle rooted in his shatter’d hearth,
The serpent coil’d about his broken shaft,
The scorpion crawling over naked skulls; —
I saw the tiger in the ruin’d fane
Spring from his fallen God, but trace of thee
I saw not; and far on, and, following out
A league of labyrinthine darkness, came
On three gray heads beneath a gleaming rift.
‘Where’? and I heard one voice from all the three
‘We know not, for we spin the lives of men,
And not of Gods, and know not why we spin!
There is a Fate beyond us.’ Nothing knew.
Last as the likeness of a dying man,
Without his knowledge, from him flits to warn
A far-off friendship that he comes no more,
So he, the God of dreams, who heard my cry,
Drew from thyself the likeness of thyself
Without thy knowledge, and thy shadow past
Before me, crying ‘The Bright one in the highest
Is brother of the Dark one in the lowest,
And Bright and Dark have sworn that I, the child
Of thee, the great Earth-Mother, thee, the Power
That lifts her buried life from gloom to bloom,
Should be for ever and for evermore
The Bride of Darkness.’
So the Shadow wail’d.
Then I, Earth-Goddess, cursed the Gods of Heaven.
I would not mingle with their feasts; to me
Their nectar smack’d of hemlock on the lips,
Their rich ambrosia tasted aconite.
The man, that only lives and loves an hour,
Seem’d nobler than their hard Eternities.
My quick tears kill’d the flower, my ravings hush’d
The bird, and lost in utter grief I fail’d
To send my life thro’ olive-yard and vine
And golden grain, my gift to helpless man.
Rain-rotten died the wheat, the barley-spears
Were hollow-husk’d, the leaf fell, and the sun,
Pale at my grief, drew down before his time
Sickening, and Ætna kept her winter snow.
Then He, the brother of this Darkness, He
Who still is highest, glancing from his height
On earth a fruitless fallow, when he miss’d
The wonted steam of sacrifice, the praise
And prayer of men, decreed that thou should’st dwell
For nine white moons of each whole year with me,
Three dark ones in the shadow with thy King.
Once more the reaper in the gleam of dawn
Will see me by the landmark far away,
Blessing his field, or seated in the dusk
Of even, by the lonely threshing-floor,
Rejoicing in the harvest and the grange.
Yet I, Earth-Goddess, am but ill-content
With them, who still are highest. Those gray heads,
What meant they by their ‘Fate beyond the Fates’
But younger kindlier Gods to bear us down,
As we bore down the Gods before us? Gods,
To quench, not hurl the thunderbolt, to stay,
Not spread the plague, the famine; Gods indeed,
To send the noon into the night and break
The sunless halls of Hades into Heaven?
Till thy dark lord accept and love the Sun,
And all the Shadow die into the Light,
When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me,
And souls of men, who grew beyond their race,
And made themselves as Gods against the fear
Of Death and Hell; and thou that hast from men,
As Queen of Death, that worship which is Fear,
Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead,
Shalt ever send thy life along with mine
From buried grain thro’ springing blade, and bless
Their garner’d Autumn also, reap with me,
Earth-mother, in the harvest hymns of Earth
The worship which is Love, and see no more
The Stone, the Wheel, the dimly-glimmering lawns
Of that Elysium, all the hateful fires
Of torment, and the shadowy warrior glide
Along the silent field of Asphodel.
Owd Roä.1
NAÄY, noä mander (2) o’ use to be callin’ ‘im Roä, Roä, Roä,
Fur the dog’s stoän-deaf, an’ e’s blind, ‘e can naither Stan’ nor goä.
But I means fur to maäke ‘is owd aäge as ‘appy as iver I can,
Fur I owäs owd Roäver moor nor I iver owäd mottal man.
Thou’s rode of ‘is back when a babby, afoor thou was gotten too owd,
Fur ‘e’d fetch an’ carry like owt, ‘e was allus as good as gowd.
Eh, but ‘e’d fight wi’ a will when ‘e fowt; ‘e could howd (3) ‘is oän,
An’ Roä as the dog as knaw’d when an’ wheere to bury his boane.
An’ ‘e kep his head hoop like a king, an’ ‘e’d niver not down wi’ ‘is taäil,
Fur ‘e’d niver done nowt to be shaämed on, when we was i’ Howlaby Daäle.
An’ ‘e sarved me sa well when ‘e lived, that, Dick, when ‘e cooms to be deäd,
I thinks as I’d like fur to hev soom soort of a sarvice reäd.
Fur ‘e’s moor good sense na the Parliament man ‘at stans fur us ‘ere,
An’ I’d voät fur ‘im, my oän sen, if ‘e could but stan fur the Shere.
‘Faäithful an’ True’ — them words be i’ Scriptur — an’ Faäithful an’ True
Ull be fun’ (4) upo’ four short legs ten times fur one upo’ two.
An’ maäybe they’ll walk upo’ two but I knaws they runs upo’ four, (5) —
Bedtime, Dicky! but waäit till tha ‘eärs it be strikin’ the hour.
Fur I wants to tell tha o’ Roä when we lived i’ Howlaby Daäle,
Ten year sin — Naäy — naäy! tha mun nobbut hev’ one glass of aäle.
Straänge an’ owd-farran’d (6) the ‘ouse, an’ belt (7) long afoor my daäy
Wi’ haäfe o’ the chimleys a-twizzen’d (8) an’ twined like a band o’ haäy.
The fellers as maäkes them picturs, ‘ud coom at
the fall o’ the year,
An’ cattle their ends upo stools to pictur the door-poorch theere,
An’ the Heagle ‘as hed two heäds stannin’ theere o’ the brokken stick; (9)
An’ they niver ‘ed seed sich ivin’s (10) as graw’d hall ower the brick;
An’ theere i’ the ‘ouse one night — but it’s down, an’ all on it now
Goän into mangles an’ tonups, (11) an’ raäved slick thruf by the plow —
Theere, when the ‘ouse wur a house, one night I wur sittin’ aloän,
Wi’ Roäver athurt my feeät, an’ sleeäpin still as a stoän,
Of a Christmas Eäve, an’ as cowd as this, an’ the midders (12) as white,
An the fences all on ‘em bolster ‘d oop wi’ the windle (13) that night;
An’ the cat wur a-sleeäpin alongside Roäver, but I wur awaäke,
An’ smoäkin’ an’ thinkin’ o’ things — Doänt maäke thysen sick wi’ the caäke.
Fur the men ater supper ‘ed sung their songs an’ ‘ed ‘ed their beer,
An’ ‘ed goän their waäys; ther was nobbut three, an’ noän on ‘em theere.
They was all on ‘em fear’d o’ the Ghoäst an’ dussn’t not sleeäp i’ the ‘ouse,
But Dicky, the Ghoäst moästlins (14) was nobbut a rat or a mouse.
An’ I looökt out wonst (15) at the night, an’ the daäle was all of a thaw,
Fur I seed the beck coomin’ down like a long black snaäke i’ the snaw,
An’ I heärd greät heäps o’ the snaw slushin’ down fro’ the bank to the beck,
An’ then as I stood i’ the doorwaäy, I feeäld it drip o’ my neck.
Saw I turn’d in ageän, an’ I thowt o’ the good owd times ‘at was goan,
An’ the munney they maäde by the war, an’ the times ‘at was coomin’ on;
Fur I thowt if the Staäte was a gawin’ to let in furriners’ wheat,
Howiver was British farmers to stan’ ageän o’ their feeät.
Howiver was I fur to find my rent an’ to paäy my men?
An’ all along o’ the feller (16) as turn’d ‘is back of hissen.
Thou slep i’ the chaumber above us, we couldn’t ha’ ‘eard tha call,
Sa Moother ‘ed tell’d ma to bring tha down, an’ thy craädle an’ all;
Fur the gell o’ the farm ‘at slep wi’ tha then ‘ed gotten wer leäve,
Fur to goä that night to ‘er foälk by cause o’ the Christmas Eäve;
But I cleän forgot tha, my lad, when Moother ‘ell gotten to bed,
An’ I slep i’ my chair hup-on-end, an’ the Freeä Traäde runn’d ‘i my ‘ead,
Till I dreäm’d ‘at Squire walkt in, an’ I says to him ‘Squire, ya’re laäte,’
Then I seed at ‘is faäce wur as red as the Yule-block theer i’ the graäte.
An’ ‘e says ‘can ya paäy me the rent to-night?’ an’ I says to ‘im ‘Noä,’
An’ ‘e cotch’d howd hard o’ my hairm, (17) ‘Then hout to-night tha shall goä.’
‘Tha’ll niver,’ says I, ‘be a-turnin ma hout upo’ Christmas Eäve’?
Then I waäked an’ I fun it was Roäver a-tuggin’ an’ tearin’ my slieäve.
An’ I thowt as ‘e’d goän cleän-wud, (18) fur I noäwaäys knaw’d ‘is intent;
An’ I says ‘Git awaäy, ya beäst,’ an’ I fetcht ‘im a kick an’ ‘e went.
Then ‘e tummled up stairs, fur I ‘eärd ‘im, as if ‘e’d ‘a brokken ‘is neck,
An’ I’d cleär forgot, little Dicky, thy chaumber door wouldn’t sneck; (19)
An’ I slep’ i’ my chair ageän wi’ my hairm hingin’ down to the floor,
An’ I thowt it was Roäver a-tuggin’ an’ tearin’ me wuss nor afoor,
An’ I thowt ‘at I kick’d ‘im ageän, but I kick’d thy Moother istead.
‘What arta snorin’ theere fur? the house is afire,’ she said.
Thy Moother ‘ed beän a-naggin’ about the gell o’ the farm,
She offens ‘ud spy summut wrong when there warn’t not a mossel o’ harm;
An’ she didn’t not solidly meän I wur gawin’ that waäy to the bad,
Fur the gell (20) a was as howry a trollope as iver traäpes’d i’ the squad.
But Moother was free of ‘er tongue, as I offens ‘ev tell’d ‘er mysen,
Sa I kep i’ my chair, fur I thowt she was nobbut a-rilin’ ma then.
An’ I says ‘ I’d be good to tha, Bess, if tha’d onywaäys let ma be good,’
But she skelpt ma haäfe ower i’ the chair, an’ screeäd like a Howl gone wud (21) —
‘Ya mun run fur the lether. (22) Git oop, if ya’re onywaäys good for owt.’
And I says ‘If I beänt noäwaäys — not nowadaäys — good fur nowt —
Yit I beänt sich a Nowt (23) of all Nowts as ‘ull hallus do as ‘e’s bid.’
‘But the stairs is afire,’ she said; then I seed ‘er a-cryin’, I did.
An’ she beäld ‘Ya mun saäve little Dick, an’ be sharp about it an’ all,’
Sa I runs to the yard fur a lether, an’ sets ‘im ageän the wall,
An’ I claums an’ I mashes the winder hin, when I gits to the top,
But the heat druv hout i’ my heyes till I feäld mysen ready to drop.
Thy Moother was howdin’ the lether, an’ tellin’ me not to be skeärd,
An’ I wasn’t afeärd, or I thinks leäst-waäys as I wasn’t afeärd;
But I couldn’t see fur the smoäke wheere thou was a-liggin, my lad,
An’ Roäver was theere i’ the chaumber a-yowlin’ an’ yaupin’ like mad;
An’ thou was a-beälin’ likewise, an’ a-squeälin’, as if tha was bit,
An’ it wasn’t a bite but a burn, fur the merk’s (24) o’ thy shou’der yit;
Then I call’d out Roä, Roä, Roä, thaw I didn’t haäfe think as ‘e’d ‘ear,
But ‘e coom’d thruf the fire wi my bairn i’ ‘is mouth to the winder theere!
He coom’d like a Hangel o’ marcy as soon as ‘e ‘eard ‘is naäme,
Or like tother Hangel i’ Scriptur ‘at summun seed i’ the flaäme,
When summun ‘ed hax’d fur a son, an’ ‘e promised a son to she,
An’ Roä was as good as the Hangel i’ saävin’ a son fur me.
Sa I browt tha down, an’ I says ‘I mun gaw up agean fur Roä.’
‘Gaw up ageän fur the varmint?’ I tell’d ‘er ‘Yeäs I mun goä.’
An’ I claumb’d up ageän to the winder, an’ clemm’d (25) owd Roä by the ‘eäd,
An’ ‘is ‘air coom’d off i’ my ‘ands an’ I taäked ‘im at fust fur dead;
Fur ‘e smell’d like a herse a-singein’, an’ seeäm’d as blind as a poop,
An’ haäfe on ‘im bare as a bublin’. (26) I couldn’t wakken ‘im oop,
But I browt ‘im down, an’ we got to the barn, fur the barn wouldn’t burn
Wi’ the wind blawin’ hard tother waäy, an’ the wind wasn’t like to turn.
An’ I kep a-callin’ o’ Roä till ‘e waggled ‘is taäil fur a bit,
But the cocks kep a-crawin’ an’ crawin’ all night, an’ I ‘ears ‘em yit;
An’ the dogs was a-yowlin’ all round, and thou was a-squeälin’ thysen,
An’ Moother was naggin’ an’ groänin’ an moänin’ an’ naggin’ ageän;
An’ I ‘eärd the bricks an’ the baulks (27) rummle down when the roof gev waäy,
Fur the fire was a-raägin’ an’ raävin’ an’ roärin’ like judgment daäy.
Warm enew theere sewer-ly, but the barn was as cowd as owt,
An’ we cuddled and huddled togither, an’ happt (28) wersens oop as we mowt.
An’ I browt Roä round, but Moother ‘ed beän sa soäk’d wi’ the thaw
‘At she cotch’d ‘er death o’ cowd that night, poor soul, i’ the straw.
Haäfe o’ the parish runn’d oop when the rigtree (29) was tumml
in’ in —
Too laäte — but it’s all ower now — hall hower — an’ ten year sin;
Too laäte, tha mun git tha to bed, but I’ll coom an’ I’ll squench the light,
Fur we moänt ‘ev naw moor fires — and soa little Dick, good-night.
Vastness
I.
MANY a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish’d face,
Many a planet by many a sun may roll with the dust of a vanish’d race.
II.
Raving politics, never at rest — as this poor earth’s pale history runs, —
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
III.
Lies upon this side, lies upon that side, truthless violence mourn’d by the Wise,
Thousands of voices drowning his own in a popular torrent of lies upon lies;
IV.
Stately purposes, valour in battle, glorious annals of army and fleet,
Death for the right cause, death for the wrong cause, trumpets of victory, groans of defeat;
V.
Innocence seethed in her mother’s milk, and Charity setting the martyr aflame;
Thraldom who walks with the banner of Freedom, and recks not to ruin a realm in her name.
VI.
Faith at her zenith, or all but lost in the gloom of doubts that darken the schools;
Craft with a bunch of all-heal in her hand, follow’d up by her vassal legion of fools;
VII.
Trade flying over a thousand seas with her spice and her vintage, her silk and her corn;
Desolate offing, sailorless harbours, famishing populace, wharves forlorn;
VIII.
Star of the morning, Hope in the sunrise; gloom of the evening, Life at a close;
Pleasure who flaunts on her wide downway with her flying robe and her poison’d rose;
IX.
Pain, that has crawl’d from the corpse of Pleasure, a worm which writhes all day, and at night
Stirs up again in the heart of the sleeper, and stings him back to the curse of the light;
X.
Wealth with his wines and his wedded harlots; honest Poverty, bare to the bone;
Opulent Avarice, lean as Poverty; Flattery gilding the rift in a throne;
XI.
Fame blowing out from her golden trumpet a jubilant challenge to Time and to Fate;
Slander, her shadow, sowing the nettle on all the laurel’d graves of the Great;
XII.
Love for the maiden, crown’d with marriage, no regrets for aught that has been,
Household happiness, gracious children, debtless competence, golden mean;
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 125
