Wessex Poems and Other Verses

DITTY
(E. L G.)

 
Beneath a knap where flown
Nestlings play,
Within walls of weathered stone,
Far away
From the files of formal houses,
By the bough the firstling browses,
Lives a Sweet: no merchants meet,
No man barters, no man sells
Where she dwells.
 
 
Upon that fabric fair
“Here is she!”
Seems written everywhere
Unto me.
But to friends and nodding neighbours,
Fellow-wights in lot and labours,
Who descry the times as I,
No such lucid legend tells
Where she dwells.
 
 
Should I lapse to what I was
Ere we met;
(Such can not be, but because
Some forget
Let me feign it) – none would notice
That where she I know by rote is
Spread a strange and withering change,
Like a drying of the wells
Where she dwells.
 
 
To feel I might have kissed —
Loved as true —
Otherwhere, nor Mine have missed
My life through.
Had I never wandered near her,
Is a smart severe – severer
In the thought that she is nought,
Even as I, beyond the dells
Where she dwells.
 
 
And Devotion droops her glance
To recall
What bond-servants of Chance
We are all.
I but found her in that, going
On my errant path unknowing,
I did not out-skirt the spot
That no spot on earth excels,
– Where she dwells!
 

1870.

THE SERGEANT’S SONG
(1803)

 
When Lawyers strive to heal a breach,
And Parsons practise what they preach;
Then Little Boney he’ll pounce down,
And march his men on London town!
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lorum,
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lay!
 
 
When Justices hold equal scales,
And Rogues are only found in jails;
Then Little Boney he’ll pounce down,
And march his men on London town!
Rollicum-rorum, &c.
 
 
When Rich Men find their wealth a curse,
And fill therewith the Poor Man’s purse;
Then Little Boney he’ll pounce down,
And march his men on London town!
Rollicum-rorum, &c.
 
 
When Husbands with their Wives agree,
And Maids won’t wed from modesty;
Then Little Boney he’ll pounce down,
And march his men on London town!
Rollicum-rorum, tol-tol-lorum,
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lay!
 

1878.

VALENCIENNES
(1793)

By Corp’l Tullidge: see “The Trumpet-Major”

In Memory of S. C. (Pensioner). Died 184–

 
   We trenched, we trumpeted and drummed,
And from our mortars tons of iron hummed
Ath’art the ditch, the month we bombed
The Town o’ Valencieën.
 
 
   ’Twas in the June o’ Ninety-dree
(The Duke o’ Yark our then Commander been)
The German Legion, Guards, and we
Laid siege to Valencieën.
 
 
   This was the first time in the war
That French and English spilled each other’s gore;
– Few dreamt how far would roll the roar
Begun at Valencieën!
 
 
   ’Twas said that we’d no business there
A-topperèn the French for disagreën;
However, that’s not my affair —
We were at Valencieën.
 
 
   Such snocks and slats, since war began
Never knew raw recruit or veteran:
Stone-deaf therence went many a man
Who served at Valencieën.
 
 
   Into the streets, ath’art the sky,
A hundred thousand balls and bombs were fleën;
And harmless townsfolk fell to die
Each hour at Valencieën!
 
 
   And, sweatèn wi’ the bombardiers,
A shell was slent to shards anighst my ears:
– ’Twas nigh the end of hopes and fears
For me at Valencieën!
 
 
   They bore my wownded frame to camp,
And shut my gapèn skull, and washed en cleän,
And jined en wi’ a zilver clamp
Thik night at Valencieën.
 
 
   “We’ve fetched en back to quick from dead;
But never more on earth while rose is red
Will drum rouse Corpel!” Doctor said
O’ me at Valencieën.
 
 
   ’Twer true.  No voice o’ friend or foe
Can reach me now, or any livèn beën;
And little have I power to know
Since then at Valencieën!
 
 
   I never hear the zummer hums
O’ bees; and don’ know when the cuckoo comes;
But night and day I hear the bombs
We threw at Valencieën.
 
 
   As for the Duke o’ Yark in war,
There be some volk whose judgment o’ en is mean;
But this I say – a was not far
From great at Valencieën.
 
 
   O’ wild wet nights, when all seems sad,
My wownds come back, as though new wownds I’d had;
But yet – at times I’m sort o’ glad
I fout at Valencieën.
 
 
   Well: Heaven wi’ its jasper halls
Is now the on’y Town I care to be in..
Good Lord, if Nick should bomb the walls
As we did Valencieën!
 

1878–1897.

SAN SEBASTIAN
(August 1813)

With Thoughts of Sergeant M – (Pensioner), who died 185–

 
“Why, Sergeant, stray on the Ivel Way,
As though at home there were spectres rife?
From first to last ’twas a proud career!
And your sunny years with a gracious wife
Have brought you a daughter dear.
 
 
“I watched her to-day; a more comely maid,
As she danced in her muslin bowed with blue,
Round a Hintock maypole never gayed.”
– “Aye, aye; I watched her this day, too,
As it happens,” the Sergeant said.
 
 
“My daughter is now,” he again began,
“Of just such an age as one I knew
When we of the Line and Forlorn-hope van,
On an August morning – a chosen few —
Stormed San Sebastian.
 
 
“She’s a score less three; so about was she—
The maiden I wronged in Peninsular days.
You may prate of your prowess in lusty times,
But as years gnaw inward you blink your bays,
And see too well your crimes!
 
 
“We’d stormed it at night, by the vlanker-light
Of burning towers, and the mortar’s boom:
We’d topped the breach; but had failed to stay,
For our files were misled by the baffling gloom;
And we said we’d storm by day.
 
 
“So, out of the trenches, with features set,
On that hot, still morning, in measured pace,
Our column climbed; climbed higher yet,
Past the fauss’bray, scarp, up the curtain-face,
And along the parapet.
 
 
“From the battened hornwork the cannoneers
Hove crashing balls of iron fire;
On the shaking gap mount the volunteers
In files, and as they mount expire
Amid curses, groans, and cheers.
 
 
“Five hours did we storm, five hours re-form,
As Death cooled those hot blood pricked on;
Till our cause was helped by a woe within:
They swayed from the summit we’d leapt upon,
And madly we entered in.
 
 
“On end for plunder, ’mid rain and thunder
That burst with the lull of our cannonade,
We vamped the streets in the stifling air —
Our hunger unsoothed, our thirst unstayed —
And ransacked the buildings there.
 
 
“Down the stony steps of the house-fronts white
We rolled rich puncheons of Spanish grape,
Till at length, with the fire of the wine alight,
I saw at a doorway a fair fresh shape —
A woman, a sylph, or sprite.
 
 
“Afeard she fled, and with heated head
I pursued to the chamber she called her own; —
When might is right no qualms deter,
And having her helpless and alone
I wreaked my will on her.
 
 
“She raised her beseeching eyes to me,
And I heard the words of prayer she sent
In her own soft language.. Seemingly
I copied those eyes for my punishment
In begetting the girl you see!
 
 
“So, to-day I stand with a God-set brand
Like Cain’s, when he wandered from kindred’s ken.
I served through the war that made Europe free;
I wived me in peace-year.  But, hid from men,
I bear that mark on me.
 
 
“And I nightly stray on the Ivel Way
As though at home there were spectres rife;
I delight me not in my proud career;
And ’tis coals of fire that a gracious wife
Should have brought me a daughter dear!”
 

THE STRANGER’S SONG

(As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of “The Three Wayfarers”)

 
            O my trade it is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all —
My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers I tie, and take ’em up on high,
And waft ’em to a far countree!
 
 
My tools are but common ones,
Simple shepherds all —
My tools are no sight to see:
A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing,
Are implements enough for me!
 
 
To-morrow is my working day,
Simple shepherds all —
To-morrow is a working day for me:
For the farmer’s sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta’en,
And on his soul may God ha’ mer-cy!
 

THE BURGHERS
(17–)

 
The sun had wheeled from Grey’s to Dammer’s Crest,
And still I mused on that Thing imminent:
At length I sought the High-street to the West.
 
 
The level flare raked pane and pediment
And my wrecked face, and shaped my nearing friend
Like one of those the Furnace held unshent.
 
 
“I’ve news concerning her,” he said.  “Attend.
They fly to-night at the late moon’s first gleam:
Watch with thy steel: two righteous thrusts will end
 
 
Her shameless visions and his passioned dream.
I’ll watch with thee, to testify thy wrong —
To aid, maybe. – Law consecrates the scheme.”
 
 
I started, and we paced the flags along
Till I replied: “Since it has come to this
I’ll do it!  But alone.  I can be strong.”
 
 
Three hours past Curfew, when the Froom’s mild hiss
Reigned sole, undulled by whirr of merchandize,
From Pummery-Tout to where the Gibbet is,
 
 
I crossed my pleasaunce hard by Glyd’path Rise,
And stood beneath the wall.  Eleven strokes went,
And to the door they came, contrariwise,
 
 
And met in clasp so close I had but bent
My lifted blade upon them to have let
Their two souls loose upon the firmament.
 
 
But something held my arm.  “A moment yet
As pray-time ere you wantons die!” I said;
And then they saw me.  Swift her gaze was set
 
 
With eye and cry of love illimited
Upon her Heart-king.  Never upon me
Had she thrown look of love so thorough-sped!.
 
 
At once she flung her faint form shieldingly
On his, against the vengeance of my vows;
The which o’erruling, her shape shielded he.
 
 
Blanked by such love, I stood as in a drowse,
And the slow moon edged from the upland nigh,
My sad thoughts moving thuswise: “I may house
 
 
And I may husband her, yet what am I
But licensed tyrant to this bonded pair?
Says Charity, Do as ye would be done by.”.
 
 
Hurling my iron to the bushes there
I bade them stay.  And, as if brain and breast
Were passive, they walked with me to the stair.
 
 
Inside the house none watched; and on we prest
Before a mirror, in whose gleam I read
Her beauty, his, – and mine own mien unblest;
 
 
Till at her room I turned.  “Madam,” I said,
“Have you the wherewithal for this?  Pray speak.
Love fills no cupboard.  You’ll need daily bread.”
 
 
“We’ve nothing, sire,” said she; “and nothing seek.
’Twere base in me to rob my lord unware;
Our hands will earn a pittance week by week.”
 
 
And next I saw she’d piled her raiment rare
Within the garde-robes, and her household purse,
Her jewels, and least lace of personal wear;
 
 
And stood in homespun.  Now grown wholly hers,
I handed her the gold, her jewels all,
And him the choicest of her robes diverse.
 
 
“I’ll take you to the doorway in the wall,
And then adieu,” I to them.  “Friends, withdraw.
”They did so; and she went – beyond recall.
 
 
And as I paused beneath the arch I saw
Their moonlit figures – slow, as in surprise —
Descend the slope, and vanish on the haw.
 
 
“‘Fool,’ some will say,” I thought.  “But who is wise,
Save God alone, to weigh my reasons why?”
– “Hast thou struck home?” came with the boughs’ night-sighs.
 
 
It was my friend.  “I have struck well.  They fly,
But carry wounds that none can cicatrize.”
– “Not mortal?” said he.  “Lingering – worse,” said I.
 

LEIPZIG
(1813)

Scene: The Master-tradesmen’s Parlour at the Old Ship Inn, Casterbridge. Evening

 
“Old Norbert with the flat blue cap —
A German said to be —
Why let your pipe die on your lap,
Your eyes blink absently?” —
 
 
– “Ah!.. Well, I had thought till my cheek was wet
Of my mother – her voice and mien
When she used to sing and pirouette,
And touse the tambourine
 
 
“To the march that yon street-fiddler plies:
She told me ’twas the same
She’d heard from the trumpets, when the Allies
Her city overcame.
 
 
“My father was one of the German Hussars,
My mother of Leipzig; but he,
Long quartered here, fetched her at close of the wars,
And a Wessex lad reared me.
 
 
“And as I grew up, again and again
She’d tell, after trilling that air,
Of her youth, and the battles on Leipzig plain
And of all that was suffered there!.
 
 
“ – ’Twas a time of alarms.  Three Chiefs-at-arms
Combined them to crush One,
And by numbers’ might, for in equal fight
He stood the matched of none.
 
 
“Carl Schwarzenberg was of the plot,
And Blücher, prompt and prow,
And Jean the Crown-Prince Bernadotte:
Buonaparte was the foe.
 
 
“City and plain had felt his reign
From the North to the Middle Sea,
And he’d now sat down in the noble town
Of the King of Saxony.
 
 
“October’s deep dew its wet gossamer threw
Upon Leipzig’s lawns, leaf-strewn,
Where lately each fair avenue
Wrought shade for summer noon.
 
 
“To westward two dull rivers crept
Through miles of marsh and slough,
Whereover a streak of whiteness swept —
The Bridge of Lindenau.
 
 
“Hard by, in the City, the One, care-tossed,
Gloomed over his shrunken power;
And without the walls the hemming host
Waxed denser every hour.
 
 
“He had speech that night on the morrow’s designs
With his chiefs by the bivouac fire,
While the belt of flames from the enemy’s lines
Flared nigher him yet and nigher.
 
 
“Three sky-lights then from the girdling trine
Told, ‘Ready!’  As they rose
Their flashes seemed his Judgment-Sign
For bleeding Europe’s woes.
 
 
“’Twas seen how the French watch-fires that night
Glowed still and steadily;
And the Three rejoiced, for they read in the sight
That the One disdained to flee.
 
 
“ – Five hundred guns began the affray
On next day morn at nine;
Such mad and mangling cannon-play
Had never torn human line.
 
 
“Around the town three battles beat,
Contracting like a gin;As nearer marched the million feet
Of columns closing in.
“The first battle nighed on the low Southern side;
 
 
The second by the Western way;
The nearing of the third on the North was heard:
– The French held all at bay.
“Against the first band did the Emperor stand;
 
 
Against the second stood Ney;
Marmont against the third gave the order-word:
– Thus raged it throughout the day.
“Fifty thousand sturdy souls on those trampled plains and knolls,
 
 
Who met the dawn hopefully,
And were lotted their shares in a quarrel not theirs,
Dropt then in their agony.
“‘O,’ the old folks said, ‘ye Preachers stern!
 
 
O so-called Christian time!
When will men’s swords to ploughshares turn?
When come the promised prime?’.
“ – The clash of horse and man which that day began,
 
 
Closed not as evening wore;
And the morrow’s armies, rear and van,
Still mustered more and more.
“From the City towers the Confederate Powers
 
 
Were eyed in glittering lines
And up from the vast a murmuring passed
As from a wood of pines.
“‘’Tis well to cover a feeble skill
 
 
By numbers!’ scoffèd He;
‘But give me a third of their strength, I’d fill
Half Hell with their soldiery!’
“All that day raged the war they waged,
 
 
And again dumb night held reign,
Save that ever upspread from the dark deathbed
A miles-wide pant of pain.
“Hard had striven brave Ney, the true Bertrand,
 
 
Victor, and Augereau,
Bold Poniatowski, and Lauriston,
To stay their overthrow;
“But, as in the dream of one sick to death
 
 
There comes a narrowing room
That pens him, body and limbs and breath,
To wait a hideous doom,
“So to Napoleon, in the hush
 
 
That held the town and towers
Through these dire nights, a creeping crush
Seemed inborne with the hours.
“One road to the rearward, and but one,
 
 
Did fitful Chance allow;
’Twas where the Pleiss’ and Elster run —
The Bridge of Lindenau.
“The nineteenth dawned.  Down street and Platz
 
 
The wasted French sank back,
Stretching long lines across the Flats
And on the bridge-way track;
“When there surged on the sky an earthen wave,
 
 
And stones, and men, as though
Some rebel churchyard crew updrave
Their sepulchres from below.
“To Heaven is blown Bridge Lindenau;
 
 
Wrecked regiments reel therefrom;
And rank and file in masses plough
The sullen Elster-Strom.
“A gulf was Lindenau; and dead
 
 
Were fifties, hundreds, tens;
And every current rippled red
With Marshal’s blood and men’s.
“The smart Macdonald swam therein,
 
 
And barely won the verge;
Bold Poniatowski plunged him in
Never to re-emerge.
“Then stayed the strife.
 
 
The remnants wound
Their Rhineward way pell-mell;
And thus did Leipzig City sound
An Empire’s passing bell;
 
 
“While in cavalcade, with band and blade,
Came Marshals, Princes, Kings;
And the town was theirs.. Ay, as simple maid,
My mother saw these things!
 
 
“And whenever those notes in the street begin,
I recall her, and that far scene,
And her acting of how the Allies marched in,
And her touse of the tambourine!”