by Thomas Hardy
Of her beauty: gone.
He clothed, and drew downstairs,
But she was not in the house, he found;
And he passed out under the leafy pairs
Of the avenue elms, and searched around
To the park-pale bound.
He mounted, and rode till night
To the city to which she had long withdrawn,
The vision he bore all day in his sight
Being her young self as pondered on
In the dim of dawn.
” - The lady here long ago -
Is she now here? - young - or such age as she is?”
“ - She is still here.” - “Thank God. Let her know;
She’ll pardon a comer so late as this
Whom she’d fain not miss.”
She received him - an ancient dame,
Who hemmed, with features frozen and numb,
“How strange! - I’d almost forgotten your name! -
A call just now - is troublesome;
Why did you come?”
A YOUNG MAN’S EXHORTATION
Call off your eyes from care
By some determined deftness; put forth joys
Dear as excess without the core that cloys,
And charm Life’s lourings fair.
Exalt and crown the hour
That girdles us, and fill it full with glee,
Blind glee, excelling aught could ever be
Were heedfulness in power.
Send up such touching strains
That limitless recruits from Fancy’s pack
Shall rush upon your tongue, and tender back
All that your soul contains.
For what do we know best?
That a fresh love-leaf crumpled soon will dry,
And that men moment after moment die,
Of all scope dispossest.
If I have seen one thing
It is the passing preciousness of dreams;
That aspects are within us; and who seems
Most kingly is the King.
1867: WESTBOURNE PARK VILLAS.
AT LULWORTH COVE A CENTURY BACK
Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:
“You see that man?” - I might have looked, and said,
“O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban’s Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought.”
“You see that man?” - “Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do.”
“You see that man?” - “Nay, leave me!” then I plead,
“I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!
“Good. That man goes to Rome - to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie.”
September 1920.
Note. - In September 1820 Keats, on his way to Rome, landed one day on the Dorset coast, and composed the sonnet, “Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art.” The spot of his landing is judged to have been Lulworth Cove.
A BYGONE OCCASION
(SONG)
That night, that night,
That song, that song!
Will such again be evened quite
Through lifetimes long?
No mirth was shown
To outer seers,
But mood to match has not been known
In modern years.
O eyes that smiled,
O lips that lured;
That such would last was one beguiled
To think ensured!
That night, that night,
That song, that song;
O drink to its recalled delight,
Though tears may throng!
TWO SERENADES
I - On Christmas Eve
Late on Christmas Eve, in the street alone,
Outside a house, on the pavement-stone,
I sang to her, as we’d sung together
On former eves ere I felt her tether. -
Above the door of green by me
Was she, her casement seen by me;
But she would not heed
What I melodied
In my soul’s sore need -
She would not heed.
Cassiopeia overhead,
And the Seven of the Wain, heard what I said
As I bent me there, and voiced, and fingered
Upon the strings. . . . Long, long I lingered:
Only the curtains hid from her
One whom caprice had bid from her;
But she did not come,
And my heart grew numb
And dull my strum;
She did not come.
II - A Year Later
I skimmed the strings; I sang quite low;
I hoped she would not come or know
That the house next door was the one now dittied,
Not hers, as when I had played unpitied;
- Next door, where dwelt a heart fresh stirred,
My new Love, of good will to me,
Unlike my old Love chill to me,
Who had not cared for my notes when heard:
Yet that old Love came
To the other’s name
As hers were the claim;
Yea, the old Love came
My viol sank mute, my tongue stood still,
I tried to sing on, but vain my will:
I prayed she would guess of the later, and leave me;
She stayed, as though, were she slain by the smart,
She would bear love’s burn for a newer heart.
The tense-drawn moment wrought to bereave me
Of voice, and I turned in a dumb despair
At her finding I’d come to another there.
Sick I withdrew
At love’s grim hue
Ere my last Love knew;
Sick I withdrew.
From an old copy.
THE WEDDING MORNING
Tabitha dressed for her wedding:-
”Tabby, why look so sad?”
“ - O I feel a great gloominess spreading, spreading,
Instead of supremely glad! . . .
”I called on Carry last night,
And he came whilst I was there,
Not knowing I’d called. So I kept out of sight,
And I heard what he said to her:
”‘ - Ah, I’d far liefer marry
You, Dear, to-morrow!’ he said,
‘But that cannot be.’ - O I’d give him to Carry,
And willingly see them wed,
”But how can I do it when
His baby will soon be born?
After that I hope I may die. And then
She can have him. I shall not mourn!’
END OF THE YEAR 1912
You were here at his young beginning,
You are not here at his agèd end;
Off he coaxed you from Life’s mad spinning,
Lest you should see his form extend
Shivering, sighing,
Slowly dying,
And a tear on him expend.
So it comes that we stand lonely
In the star-lit avenue,
Dropping broken lipwords only,
For we hear no songs from you,
Such as flew here
For the new year
Once, while six bells swung thereto.
THE CHIMES PLAY LIFE’S A BUMPER!
“Awake! I’m off to cities far away,”
I said; and rose, on peradventures bent.
The chimes played “Life’s a Bumper!” on that day
To the measure of my walking as I went:
Their sweetness frisked and floated on the lea,
As they played out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.
“Awake!” I said. “I go to take a bride!”
- The sun arose behind me ruby-red
As I journeyed townwards from the countryside,
The chiming bells saluting near ahead.
Their sweetness swelled in tripping tings of glee
As they played out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.
“Again arise.” I seek a turfy slope,
And go forth slowly on an autumn noon,
And there I lay her who has been my hope,
And think, “O may I follow hither soon!”
While on the wind the chimes come cheerily,
Playing out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.
1913.
I WORKED NO WILE TO MEET YOU
(SONG)
I worked no wile to meet you,
My sight was set elsewhere,
I sheered about to shun you,
And lent your life no care.
I was unprimed to greet you
At such a date and place,
Constraint alone had won you
Vision of my strange face!
You did not seek to see me
Then or at all, you said,
- Meant passing when you neared me,
But stumblingblocks forbade.
You even had thought to flee me,
By other mindings moved;
No influent star endeared me,
Unknown, unrecked, unproved!
What, then, was there to tell us
The flux of flustering hours
Of their own tide would bring us
By no device of ours
To where the daysprings well us
Heart-hydromels that cheer,
Till Time enearth and swing us
Round with the turning sphere.
AT THE RAILWAY STATION, UPWAY
”There is not much that I can do,
For I’ve no money that’s quite my own!”
Spoke up the pitying child -
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in, -
“But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one ‘tis, and good in tone!”
The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled, too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
Uproariously:
”This life so free
Is the thing for me!”
And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in -
The convict, and boy with the violin.
SIDE BY SIDE
So there sat they,
The estranged two,
Thrust in one pew
By chance that day;
Placed so, breath-nigh,
Each comer unwitting
Who was to be sitting
In touch close by.
Thus side by side
Blindly alighted,
They seemed united
As groom and bride,
Who’d not communed
For many years -
Lives from twain spheres
With hearts distuned.
Her fringes brushed
His garment’s hem
As the harmonies rushed
Through each of them:
Her lips could be heard
In the creed and psalms,
And their fingers neared
At the giving of alms.
And women and men,
The matins ended,
By looks commended
Them, joined again.
Quickly said she,
“Don’t undeceive them -
Better thus leave them:”
“Quite so,” said he.
Slight words! - the last
Between them said,
Those two, once wed,
Who had not stood fast.
Diverse their ways
From the western door,
To meet no more
In their span of days.
DREAM OF THE CITY SHOPWOMAN
‘Twere sweet to have a comrade here,
Who’d vow to love this garreteer,
By city people’s snap and sneer
Tried oft and hard!
We’d rove a truant cock and hen
To some snug solitary glen,
And never be seen to haunt again
This teeming yard.
Within a cot of thatch and clay
We’d list the flitting pipers play,
Our lives a twine of good and gay
Enwreathed discreetly;
Our blithest deeds so neighbouring wise
That doves should coo in soft surprise,
“These must belong to Paradise
Who live so sweetly.”
Our clock should be the closing flowers,
Our sprinkle-bath the passing showers,
Our church the alleyed willow bowers,
The truth our theme;
And infant shapes might soon abound:
Their shining heads would dot us round
Like mushroom balls on grassy ground . . .
- But all is dream!
O God, that creatures framed to feel
A yearning nature’s strong appeal
Should writhe on this eternal wheel
In rayless grime;
And vainly note, with wan regret,
Each star of early promise set;
Till Death relieves, and they forget
Their one Life’s time!
WESTBOURNE PARK VILLAS, 1866.
A MAIDEN’S PLEDGE
(SONG)
I do not wish to win your vow
To take me soon or late as bride,
And lift me from the nook where now
I tarry your farings to my side.
I am blissful ever to abide
In this green labyrinth - let all be,
If but, whatever may betide,
You do not leave off loving me!
Your comet-comings I will wait
With patience time shall not wear through;
The yellowing years will not abate
My largened love and truth to you,
Nor drive me to complaint undue
Of absence, much as I may pine,
If never another ‘twixt us two
Shall come, and you stand wholly mine.
THE CHILD AND THE SAGE
You say, O Sage, when weather-checked,
”I have been favoured so
With cloudless skies, I must expect
This dash of rain or snow.”
“Since health has been my lot,” you say,
”So many months of late,
I must not chafe that one short day
Of sickness mars my state.”
You say, “Such bliss has been my share
From Love’s unbroken smile,
It is but reason I should bear
A cross therein awhile.”
And thus you do not count upon
Continuance of joy;
But, when at ease, expect anon
A burden of annoy.
But, Sage - this Earth - why not a place
Where no reprisals reign,
Where never a spell of pleasantness
Makes reasonable a pain?
December 21, 1908.
MISMET
I
He was leaning by a face,
He was looking into eyes,
And he knew a trysting-place,
And he heard seductive sighs;
And the eyes,
And the place,
And the sighs,
Were not, alas, the right ones - the ones meet for him -
Though fine and sweet the features, and the feelings all abrim.
II
She was looking at a form,
She was listening for a tread,
She could feel a waft of charm
When a certain name was said;
But the form,
And the tread,
And the charm
Of name said,
Were the wrong ones for her, and ever would be so,
While the heritor of the right it would have saved her soul to know!
AN AUTUMN RAIN-SCENE
There trudges one to a merry-making
With a sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.
To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.
One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.
This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.
One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.
No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves one,
On whom the rain comes down.
And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him at all,
On whom the rain comes down.
October 1904.
MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY
(A NEW THEME TO AN OLD FOLK-JINGLE)
