The Village Wifes Lament | Page 3

I
knew and lov'd the best
Was Mother on her knees.
When we were fed and clean for school,
Out Mother goes,
Rinsing,
rubbing, her hands full
Of other people's clothes.
If there's one
thought above another
Sets my heart singing,
It's thinking of my
little sweet Mother,
Her arms full of linen.
And yet she rul'd her house and all
Us girls within it;
There was no
meal but we could fall
To it at the minute;
Thing there was none,
said, thought or done,
But she must know it,
Nor any errand to be
run
But she made us go it.
She with her anxious, watchful glance,
Blue under her glasses,
Was
meat and drink and providence
To us five lasses.
Out she fetcht
from hidden stores
White frocks for Sundays,
And always nice
clean pinafores
Against school, Mondays.
She and Dad were little people,
But most of us were tall,
And I shot
up like Chichester steeple;
Fan, she was small.
You never saw a
kinder face
Or met with bluer eyes:
If ever there was a kissing-case

On her mouth it lies.
vii
When I was old enough for skipping

My school days began;
By
Mary's side you'd see me tripping--
I was baby then.
A B C and
One-two-three
Were just so much Greek;
But I could read, it seems

to me,
As soon as I could speak.
Before I knew how fast I grew
I was the tallest there;
Before my
time was two-thirds thro'
I must plait my hair;
Before our Alice
took a place
And walkt beside her fancy,
I had on my first pair of
stays
And saw myself Miss Nancy.
And then goodbye to form and desk
And sudden floods of noise

When fifteen minutes' fun and frisk
Make happy girls and boys.
As
shrill as swifts in upper air
Was our young shrillness:
'Twas joy of
life, 'twas strength to fare
Broke the morning stillness.
I see us flit, as here I sit
With wet-fring'd eyes,
And never rime or
reason to it--
Like a maze of flies!
The boys would jump and catch
your shoulder
Just for the fun of it--
They tease you worse as you
grow older
Because you want none of it.
I hear them call their saucy names--
Mine was Maypole Nance;
I
see our windy bickering games,
Half like a dance;
The opening and
closing ring
Of pinafored girls,
And the wind that makes the cheek
to sting
Blowing back their curls!
There in the midst is Sally Waters,
As it might be I,
With the idle
song of Sons and Daughters
Drifting out and by
Sons and daughters!
Break, break,
Heart, if you can--
How have they taught us treat sons and daughters

Since I began?
viii
There is a bank that always gets
The noon sun full;
There we'd hunt
for violets
After morning school.
White and blue we hunted them


In the moss, and gave them,
Dropping-tir'd and short in stem,
To
Mother. She must have them.

Primrose-mornings in the copse,
Autumn berrying
Where the dew
for ever stops,
And the serrying,
Clinging shrouds of gossamers

Glue your eyes together;
Gleaning after harvesters
In the mild blue
weather--
Life so full of bud and blossom,
Fallen like a tree!
Who gave me a
woman's bosom--
And who has robb'd me?
III
i
When from the folds the shepherd comes
At the shut of day,
The
fires are lit in valley homes,
The smoke blue and grey--
So still, so
still!--hangs o'er the thatch;
So still the night falls,
My love might
know me at the latch
By my heart-calls.
And hear you me, my love, this night
Where Grief and I are set?

And look you for the beacon light,
And can you see it yet?
Or is the
sod too deep, my love,
Which they piled over you?
Or are you
bound in sleep, my love,
Lying in the dew?
ii
When I was done with schooling days,
Turn'd sixteen,
My mother
found me in a place
My own bread to win.
I had not been a month
in place,
A month from the start,
When there show'd grace upon my
face
That smote a man's heart.
Tho' I was young and full of play,
As full as a kitten,
I knew to
reckon to a day
When his heart was smitten.
You'll pick my logic
all to holes,
But here's my wonder:
It is that God should knit two
souls,
And men tear them asunder.
For we were knit, no doubt of it,

I as well as he;
I peered in glass,

my eyes were lit
After he'd lookt at me.
I knew not why my heart
was glad,
Or why it leapt, but so 'tis,
The sharpest, sweetest pang
I've had
Was when he took notice.
And 'tis not favour makes a lad
To a girl's mind,
But 'tis himself
makes good of bad,
Or her stone-blind.
And men may cheer at tales
of wars,
But every girl knows
What makes her eyes to shine like
stars
And her face a rose.
iii
No word he said, but turned his head
After he'd lookt at me;
I
coloured up a burning red,
Setting the cloth for tea.
The board was
spread with cakes and bread
For farmer in his sleeves,
For mistress
and the shepherd Ted;
They talkt of hogs and theaves--
But nothing ate I where I sat,
So bashful as I was,
But kept my eyes
upon my plate
And pray'd the minutes pass.
Tic-toc, tic-toc from
great old clock,
The long hand did creep;
And every stroke in my