WITCHCRAFT
I SPOSE tis I and yet, so strange
I feel, I doubt if Im all right.
Only since Tuesday last this change,
And this is Friday night.
On Monday, life was very drear,
My missus was so cross,
Cos how Id spilt a jug of beer
She, who calls money dross.
She thinks herself a very saint,
Cos she reads prayers to us;
But Sal the cook, and I, we aint
Imposed on by her fuss.
Tis not the prayers I think is bad,
But those who are so good
Should act as if they feelings had
Towards we who are flesh and blood.
But now if missus gins to scold
I do not care a straw,
For Tom, on Tuesday morning, told
Me not to mind her jaw.
I now can dance, and laugh, and sing,
Altho I work all day.
Surely it is a funny thing,
Im all at once so gay.
All cos Toms in love with me,
And Im sure he says whats true.
He says loves a mystery
Which in Edens garden grew.
I call love witchcraft, that I do;
Its made me quite another;
Instead of being Mary Roe,
I may be any other.
Missus thinks Im going mad,
I work with such good glee;
Tis only that my heart is glad
Cos Toms in love with me.
I wish some man would missus love;
She might be kinder then.
She says her fections are above,
Cos sinful are all men.
If she but had the chance, I blieve,
Shed cept the first with glee,
And would not any longer grieve
Oer mans depravity.
Shed be as different as I
Oh, laws! what fun twould be;
For missus is a very guy,
Twixt you and Tom and me.
Prhaps love would make her young once more,
And change her temper too,
For certain, love has witchcrafts power,
All things he likes, to do.
Tom says so, and so tis true,
Tom never tells a lie;
And what Tom bids Ill always do,
Until at last I die.
CHIVALRY
Chivalry, ho yes, I have heerd of such a thing, but I dont mind owning not allus having a Tomsons Dixonary aside o me as I never rightly unnerstood the full meanin o the word until this very day, when the subjick was suggested and my opinion arxed, which, why should I deny, I had supposed it strictly limited to the man in Brass ninth o November Lord Mayors Show, as they says it is to be abolished in future times, and a great loss Im sure to the rising generation, though apt to be mostly all mud and squeeging and more pains than profit to grownups, and likewise in Christmas pantomines and bur-lesks at theayters I have seen Alls of Chivalry most georgius to beeold with young ladies in uncountless troops coming out o shells and flowers and bells and stars as made the rime of infancy seem quite reesnable, though why slugs and snails only for the other sect is more than I can explain, and I dont blush to own free and frank as I believed the time for it in reel life was past and gone these ages, though efforts made many a year back at the Eglintown Turnamount rung through the country, and well I remember seeing picters of queens o beauty and gentlemen done up in harmer and a hossback as looked when once they was hup it was more than they could do to save their lives to get down again without most competent assistance, and far from comfortable or easy I should say them mettal dresses was, as it stands to reesin, man being of a active character, was never intended by nature to go about with a shell outside of him like snails, which is both slow and useless, I should say, unless making your palings slimy and nibbling at your cabbage sprouts is useful acts, which much I doubt, though how Ive got from Chivalry to snails is most surpriging, only the workings of the huming mind is so surpriging as no one never need be surpriged at nothing of the sort, where was I, ho at harmer which, if you arx my opinion, I do consider such a ill-conwenience as there ought to be a deal to make up for it, and if you cant have Chivalry without harmer I must say I think were better as we are, fur what with crinnerlin the worlds ardly big enough as it is, and if these coats of male was to come in, made of steel likewise, you couldnt walk in London, excep in Portland Place, praps, and in quiet distrix like Islington and Upper Baker Street, while as for omnibuses, my belief is theyre only kep going as it is by the lightness and tightness of manly figgers and costoom, and if they took to harmer thered be an end of twelve inside, much less of thirteen out, and pit seats would have to be enlarged, as also pews in church, and especially pulpits, likewise the Houses of Parliament and the Corts of Lor, and everythink would be deranged together fur no particklar good that I can see, but Mrs. Jones she ses its not the harmer, its not the outside man as needs a haltering in this year age of ourn, its not the costoom she ses, its the manners, she ses, which in ancient times was so much superior to any think we know on in the presint day, she ses, fur in them distant days there was galliant knights which wore a scarve or a ribbing of the lady as they preferred, and went about the world with long spears a defying all the other knights to say as that there lady of theirs wasnt the most beautifulest of all living ladies, and fight they would with them spears, and sometimes got ard nox too, in spite of their harmer, but got up again a hossback mostly, and went off to other parts a doing the same thing, which, if thats chivalry, why I arx you what on erth is the good of such goings on as that, but ho Mrs. Jones ses, thats not all, she ses, and torx at me fur hours on end, she does, a trying to show me what a deal more obliginger and politer was the manners of them there knights to the manners of these year days, and how they was always a helping of the helpless, and a succouring the distressed, and how they thought it a honner and no trouble to put theirselves to all sorts of inconvenience to oblige one of our sect which, especially the unprotected female, was their joy and pride, never you mind how many bangboxes she might have, nor how pouring of rain, outside of the omnibuses of the period them knights would go immediate, and only count it a ordinary part of what they called their devour to the fare, which I will own I have met with quite contrairy condick from well drest pussons, as doubtless calls theirselves gentlemen, and after standing hours, I may say, in Regint Circus or corner of Tottenham Court Road, have been pushed from getting of my place inside by the very harms that in other times Mrs. Jones ses would have been lifted to my haid, but lor! I ses to her, though this may appen occasional, I ses, what can you expeck in London in the midst of millions of snobs as thinks only of theirselves, and has never learned any better, poor deers, which Im sorry fur em, fur sure I am as the feelins is much more comfortabler of a reel and right down gentle man, which the word explains itself, dont it, and we dont want no knights in harmer while theres men left, and proud I am to say I know a many such, and have met with kindness from a many more as I dont know the names on, which if theyd had harmer on twice over couldnt be more ready to lend their strength to the weak, and their elp to the elpless, and chivalry cant mean no more than that, so let alone the harmer, we cant have too much of it, I ses, and Mrs. Jones she ses so too, and we ses it not as wimming only but as humane beings as likes to see their feller creeturs a growing in good arts and appiness, not forgetting as wimming likewise has our duties, which is seldom done as well as one could wish, and so has no manner of rite to preech, which much I fear Ive been a running on most unconscionable, and took up a deal too much of your time, but umbly arx your parding and wont intrude no further.
CHILDHOODS CASTLES IN THE AIR
Gently, no pushing; theres room to sit
All three without grumbling,
One in front, two behind, well you fit,
And mamma to hold you from tumbling.
Rock, rock, old rocking chair,
Youll last us a long time with care,
And still without balking
Of us four any one,
From rocking and talking
That is what we call fun.
Curtains drawn, and no candles lit,
Great red caves in the fire,
This is the time for us four to sit
Rocking and talking all till we tire.
Rock, rock, old rocking chair,
How the fire-light glows up there,
Red on the white ceiling;
The shadows every one
Might be giants, reeling
On their great heads, for fun.
Shall we call this a boat out at sea,
We, four sailors rowing?
Can you fancy it well? As for me
I feel the salt wind blowing.
Up, up and down, lazy boat,
On the top of a wave we float,
Down we go with a rush;
Far off I see a strand
Glimmer; our boat well push
Ashore on Fairy-land.
The fairy people come running
To meet us down on the sand,
Each holding out toward us the very thing
Weve long wished for, held in his hand.
Up, up again; one wave more
Holds us back from the fairy shore;
Lets pull all together,
Then with it, up well climb,
To the always fine weather
That makes up fairy time.
Come to us through the dark, children,
Hark! the fairy people call,
But a step between us and you, children,
And in Fairy-land room for us all.
Climb the main and you will be
Landed safe in gay Fairie,
Sporting, feasting, both night and noon,
No pause in fairy pleasures;
Silver ships that sail to the moon,
Magic toys for treasures.
Ah! the tide sweeps us out of our track,
The glimmer dies in the fire,
Theres no climbing the wave that holds back
Just the things that we all most desire!
Never mind, rock, rocking-chair;
While theres room for us four there,
To sit by fire-light swinging,
Till some one open the door,
Birds in their own nest singing
Aint happier than we four.
AUTUMN LEAVES
IWho cares to think of autumn leaves in spring?
When the birds sing,
And buds are new, and every tree is seen
Veild in a mist of tender gradual green;
And every bole and bough
Makes ready for the soft low-brooding wings
Of nested ones to settle there and prove
How sweet is love;
Alas, who then will notice or avow
Such bygone things?
For, hath not spring the promise of the year?
Is she not always dear
To those who can look forward and forget?
Her woods do nurse the violet;
With cowslips fair her fragrant fields are set;
And freckled butterflies
Gleam in her gleaming skies;
And life looks larger, as each lengthening day
Withdraws the shadow, and drinks up the tear:
Youth shall be youth for ever; and the gay
High-hearted summer with her pomps is near.
Yes; but the soul that meditates and grieves,
And guards a precious past,
And feels that neither joy nor loveliness can last
To her, the fervid flutter of our Spring
Is like the warmth of that barbarian hall
To the scared bird, whose wet and wearied wing
Shot through it once, and came not back at all.
Poor shrunken soul! she knows her fate too well;
Too surely she can tell
That each most delicate toy her fancy made,
And she herself, and what she prized and knew,
And all her loved ones too,
Shall soon lie low, forgotten and decayd,
Like autumn leaves.
SILENCE.
(OF A DEAF PERSON.)
I SEE the small birds fluttering on the trees,
And know the sweet notes they are softly singing;
I see the green leaves trembling in the breeze,
And know the rustling that such breeze is bringing;
I see the waters rippling as they flow,
And know the soothing murmur of their noise;
I see the children in the fire-lights glow,
Laughing and playing with their varied toys;
I see the signs of merriment and mirth;
I see the music of Gods lovely earth;
I see the earnest talk of friend with friend,
And wish my earnest thoughts with theirs could blend;
But oh! to my deaf ears there comes no sound,
I live a life of silence most profound.
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS
Dear heart! what a little time it is, since Francis and I used to walk
From church in the still June evenings together, busy with loving talk;
And now he is gone far away over seas, to some strange foreign country, and I
Shall never rise from my bed any more, till the day when I come to die.
I tried not to think of him during the prayers; but when his dear voice I heard
I faild to take part in the hymns, for my heart flutterd up to my throat like a bird;
And scarcely a word of the sermon I caught. I doubt twas a grievous sin;
But twas only one poor little hour in the week that I had to be happy in.
When the blessing was given, and we left the dim aisles for the light of the evening star,
Though I durst not lift up my eyes from the ground, yet I knew that he was not far;
And I hurried on, though I fain would have stayed, till I heard his footstep draw near,
And love rising up in my breast like a flame, cast out every shadow of fear.
Ah me! twas a pleasant pathway home, a pleasant pathway and sweet,
Ankle deep through the purple clover, breast high mid the blossoming wheat:
I can hear the landrails call through the dew, and the night-jars tremulous thrill,
And the nightingale pouring her passionate song from the hawthorn under the hill.
One day, when we came to the wicket gate, neath the elms, where we used to part,
His voice began to falter and break as he told me I had his heart;
And I whisperd that mine was his; we knew what we felt long ago:
Six weeks are as long as a lifetime almost when you love each other so.
So we put up the banns, and were man and wife in the sweet fading time of the year,
And till Christmas was over and past I knew neither sorrow nor fear.
It seems like a dream already, a sweet dream vanished and gone;
So hurried and brief while passing away, so long to look back upon.
I had only had him three months, and the world lay frozen and dead,
When the summons came which we feared and hoped, and he saild over sea for our bread.
Ah well! it is fine to be wealthy and grand, and never to need to part;
But tis better to love and be poor, than be rich with an empty heart.
Though I thought twould have killd me to lose him at first, yet was he not going for me?
So I hid all the grief in my breast which I knew it would pain him to see.
Hed be back by the autumn, he said; and since his last passionate kiss
He has scarcely been out of my thoughts, day or night, for a moment, from that day to this.
When I wrote to him how I thought it would be, and he answered so full of love;
Ah! there was no angel happier than I, in all the bright chorus above;
And I seemd to be lonely no longer, the days slippd so swiftly away;
And the March winds died, and the sweet April showers gave place to the blossoms of May.
And then came the sad summer eve, when I sat with the little frock in the sun,
And Annie ran in with the news of the ship. Ah, well! may His will be done!
They said that all hands were lost, and I swoond away like a stone,
And another life came ere I knew he was safe, and that mine was over and gone.
So now I lie helpless here, and shall never rise up again,
I grow weaker and weaker, day by day, till my weakness itself is a pain.
Every morning the creeping dawn, every evening I see from my bed
The orange-gold fade into lifeless grey, and the old evening star overhead.
Sometimes in the twilight dim, or the awful birth of the day,
As I lie, not asleep nor awake, my soul seems to flutter away,
And I seem to be floating beyond the stars, till I thrill with an exquisite pain,
And the feeble touch of a tiny hand recalls me to life again.
And the doctor says she will live. Ah! tis hard to leave her alone,
And to think she will never know in the world the love of the mother whos gone!
He will tell her of me, by and by, she will shed me a childish tear;
But if I should stoop to her bed in the night, she would start with a horrible fear.
She will grow into girlhood, I trust, and will bask in the light of love,
And I, if I see her at all, shall only look on from above
I shall see her, and cannot help, though she fall into evil and woe.
Ah! how can the angels find heart to rejoice when they think of their loved ones below?
And Francis, he too, will forget me, and will go on the journey of life,
And I hope, though I dare not think of it yet, will take him another wife.
It will scarcely be Annie, I think, though she liked him in days gone by;
Was that why she came? but what thoughts are these for one who is going to die?
I hope he will come ere I go, though I feel no longer the thirst
For the sound of his voice, and the light of his eye, that I used to feel at first:
Tis not that I love him less, but death dries, like a whirlwind of fire,
The tender springs of innocent love, and the torrents of strong desire.
And I know we shall meet again. I have done many things that are wrong,
But, surely, the Lord of Life and of Love, cannot bear to be angry long.
I am only a girl of eighteen, and have had no teacher but love;
And, it may be, the sorrow and pain I have known will be counted for me, above;
For I doubt if the minister knows all the depths of the goodness of God,
When he says He is jealous of earthly love, and bids me bow down neath the rod.
He is learnèd and wise, I know, but, somehow, to dying eyes
God opens the secret doors of the shrine that are closed to the learnèd and wise.
So now I am ready to go, for I know He will do what is best,
Though he call me away while the sun is on high, like a child sent early to rest.
I should like to see Francis look on our child, though the longing is over and past
But what is that footstep upon the stair? Oh! my darling at last! at last!