If you could zee their comely gaït, An' steppen off the stiles; A-gwaïn to church, as bells do swing You'd own the pretty maïdens' pleäce If you vrom Wimborne took your road, An' all the farmers' housen show'd You'd cry to bachelors at hwome- You'll vind ten maïdens to your mind, An' if you looked 'ithin their door, A-doèn housework up avore You'd cry-'Why, if a man would wive As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May There out upon the beäten grass Wer maïdens at their play; An' as the pretty souls did twile An' smile, I cried,' The flow'r O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour.' W. BARNES. 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 303 THE WIFE A-LOST Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce, Since you noo mwore be at my zide, I'll goo alwone where mist do ride, Below the rain-wet bough, my love, Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Below the darksome bough, my love, 5 10 15 20 An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, Since I do miss your vaïce an' feäce 25 In prayer at eventide, I'll pray wi' oone sad vaïce vor greäce Above the tree an' bough, my love, An' be a-waïtèn vor me now, W. BARNES. 30 304 THE NAMELESS ONE Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river, My soul of thee! Tell thou the world, when my bones lie whitening Amid the last homes of youth and eld, 6 That once there was one whose veins ran lightning No eye beheld. Tell how his boyhood was one drear night-hour, How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom, No star of all heaven sends to light our Path to the tomb. Roll on, my song, and to after ages Tell how, disdaining all earth can give, 11 He would have taught men, from wisdom's pages, The way to live. And tell how trampled, derided, hated, And worn by weakness, disease, and wrong, He fled for shelter to God, who mated His soul with song— With song which alway, sublime or vapid, A mountain stream. 16 20 26 Tell how this Nameless, condemned for years long 30 Go on to tell how, with genius wasted, 133 Μα Till spent with toil, dreeing death for others, And some whose hands should have wrought for him (If children live not for sires and mothers), His mind grew dim; And he fell far through that pit abysmal, But yet redeemed it in days of darkness, And shapes and signs of the final wrath, When death, in hideous and ghastly starkness, Stood on his path. And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow, And want, and sickness, and houseless nights, And lives he still, then? Yes! Old and hoary Will never know. Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble, Deep in your bosoms: there let him dwell! J. C. MANGAN. 35 40 45 50 55 305 BRAHMA If the red slayer think he slays, Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out ; And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. But thou, meek lover of the good! Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. 10 15 R. W. EMERSON. 306 TO EVA O fair and stately maid, whose eyes At the same torch that lighted mine; For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o'er my will, 5 Ah! let me blameless gaze upon 307 R. W. EMERSON. AND SHALL TRELAWNY DIE ? A good sword and a trusty hand! King James's men shall understand What Cornish lads can do. And have they fixed the where and when? And shall Trelawny die? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why! 6 |