The Village Wifes Lament | Page 2

in the grave;?Thither my wasted eyes?Turn for the only home they have,?Where my true love lies.
There alongside his clay-cold corse?I pray that mine may rest;?I'll warm him with my lover's force?And feed him at my breast:?I'll nurse him as I nurst his child,?The child he never saw,?The stricken child that never smil'd.?And scarce my milk could draw.
Poor girls, whose argument's the same?For seeking or denying,?Who kiss to shield yourselves from blame,?And kiss for justifying;?How am I better now or worse,?Beguiler or beguiled,?Who crave to nurse a clay-cold corse,?And kiss a dead child?
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O I was shap't in comeliness,?My face was fashion'd fair,?My breath was sweet, I used to bless?The treasure of my hair;?A many prais'd my body's grace,?And follow'd with the eye?My faring in the village ways,?And I knew why.
Love came my way, fire-flusht and gay,?Where I did stand:?"This is the day your pride to lay?Under a true man's hand."?I bow'd my head to hear it said?In words of long ago;?For ever since the world was made?Our lot was order'd so.
And I was bred in pious bed,?Brought up to be good:?Respect yourself, my mother said,?And rule your own mood.?Fend for yourself while you're a may,?And keep your own counsel,?And pick at what the neighbours say?As a bird picks at groundsel.
But Love said Nay to Watch and Pray?When the birds were singing,?And taught my heart a roundelay?Like the bells a-ringing;?And so blindfast I ran and cast?My treasure on the gale--?Would the storm-blast had snapt the mast?Before I fared to sail!
II
i
Now that the Lord has open'd me?The evil with the good,?I am as one wise suddenly?Who never understood.?I see the shaping of my days?From the beginning,?When, a young child, I walkt the ways?And knew nought of sinning.
I see how Nature ripen'd me?Under sun and shower,?As she ripens herb and tree?To bud and to flower.?As she ripens herb and tree?Unto flowering shoot,?So it was she ripen'd me?That I might fruit.
I see--alas, how should I not,?With all joy behind?--?How that in love I was begot?And for love design'd.?Consentient, my mother lent,?Blessing, who had been blest,?That fount unspent, my nourishment,?Which after swell'd my breast.
ii
I learned at home the laws of Earth:?The nest-law that says,?Stray not too far beyond the hearth,?Keep truth always;?And then the law of sip and bite:?Work, that there may be some?For you who crowd the board this night,?And the one that is to come.
The laws are so for bird and beast,?And so we must live:?They give the most who have the least,?And gain of what they give.?For working women 'tis the luck,?A child on the lap;?And when a crust he learn to suck,?Another's for the pap.
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I know 'tis true, the laws of Life?Are holy to the poor:?Cleave you to her who is your wife,?Trust you in her store;?Eat you with sweat your self-won meat,?Labour the stubborn sod,?And that your heat may quicken it,?Wait still upon God.
Hallow with praise the wheeling days?Until the cord goes slack,?Until the very heartstring frays,?Until the stiffening back?Can ply no more; keep then the door,?And, thankful in the sun,?Watch you the same unending war?Ontaken by your son.
iv
Who is to know how she does grow?Or how shapes her mind??The seasons flow, not fast or slow,?We cannot lag behind.?The long winds blow, a tree lies low?That was an old friend:?The winter snow, the summer's glow--?Shall these things have an end?
When I was young I used to think?I should not taste of death;?And now I faint to reach the brink,?And grudge my every breath?That streameth to the utter air?Leaving me to my tears?And outlook bare, with eyes astare?Upon the creeping years.
v
That little old house that seems to stoop?Yellow under thatch,?Like a three-sided chicken-coop,?Where, if you watch,?You'll see the starlings go and come?All a spring morn--?Half of that is my old home?Where I was born.
One half a little old cottage?The five of us had,?Five tall sisters in a cage?With our Mother and Dad.?Alice she was the eldest one,?Then Mary, and then me,?And then Fanny, and little Joan,?The last-born was she.
Never a boy that liv'd to grow?Did our mother carry;?She us'd to wonder how she'd do?With five great girls to marry.?But once I heard her say to Dad,?A chain of pretty girls?Made out her neck the comelier clad?Than diamonds or pearls.
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How we did do on Father's money?Is more than I can tell:?There was the money from the honey,?And Mother's work as well;?For she did work with no more rest?Than the buzzing bees,?And the sight 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