Times Laughingstocks | Page 5

my quite involuntary dismay, Up she started, and--her wasted figure all throughout it heaving -
Said, "Ah, yes: I am THUS by day!
"Can you really wince and wonder?That the sunlight should reveal you such a thing of skin and bone, As if unaware a Death's-head must of need lie not far under
Flesh whose years out-count your own?
"Yes: that movement was a warning?Of the worth of man's devotion!--Yes, Sir, I am OLD," said she, "And the thing which should increase love turns it quickly into scorning -
And your new-won heart from me!"
Then she went, ere I could call her,?With the too proud temper ruling that had parted us before, And I saw her form descend the slopes, and smaller grow and smaller,
Till I caught its course no more . . .
True; I might have dogged her downward;?- But it MAY be (though I know not) that this trick on us of Time Disconcerted and confused me.--Soon I bent my footsteps townward,
Like to one who had watched a crime.
Well I knew my native weakness,?Well I know it still. I cherished her reproach like physic-wine, For I saw in that emaciate shape of bitterness and bleakness
A nobler soul than mine.
Did I not return, then, ever? -?Did we meet again?--mend all?--Alas, what greyhead perseveres! - Soon I got the Route elsewhither.--Since that hour I have seen her never:
Love is lame at fifty years.
A TRAMPWOMAN'S TRAGEDY?(182-)
I
From Wynyard's Gap the livelong day,
The livelong day,?We beat afoot the northward way
We had travelled times before.?The sun-blaze burning on our backs,?Our shoulders sticking to our packs,?By fosseway, fields, and turnpike tracks
We skirted sad Sedge-Moor.
II
Full twenty miles we jaunted on,
We jaunted on, -?My fancy-man, and jeering John,
And Mother Lee, and I.?And, as the sun drew down to west,?We climbed the toilsome Poldon crest,?And saw, of landskip sights the best,
The inn that beamed thereby.
III
For months we had padded side by side,
Ay, side by side?Through the Great Forest, Blackmoor wide,
And where the Parret ran.?We'd faced the gusts on Mendip ridge,?Had crossed the Yeo unhelped by bridge,?Been stung by every Marshwood midge,
I and my fancy-man.
IV
Lone inns we loved, my man and I,
My man and I;?"King's Stag," "Windwhistle" high and dry,
"The Horse" on Hintock Green,?The cosy house at Wynyard's Gap,?"The Hut" renowned on Bredy Knap,?And many another wayside tap
Where folk might sit unseen.
V
Now as we trudged--O deadly day,
O deadly day! -?I teased my fancy-man in play
And wanton idleness.?I walked alongside jeering John,?I laid his hand my waist upon;?I would not bend my glances on
My lover's dark distress.
VI
Thus Poldon top at last we won,
At last we won,?And gained the inn at sink of sun
Far-famed as "Marshal's Elm."?Beneath us figured tor and lea,?From Mendip to the western sea -?I doubt if finer sight there be
Within this royal realm.
VII
Inside the settle all a-row -
All four a-row?We sat, I next to John, to show
That he had wooed and won.?And then he took me on his knee,?And swore it was his turn to be?My favoured mate, and Mother Lee
Passed to my former one.
VIII
Then in a voice I had never heard,
I had never heard,?My only Love to me: "One word,
My lady, if you please!?Whose is the child you are like to bear? -?HIS? After all my months o' care?"?God knows 'twas not! But, O despair!
I nodded--still to tease.
IX
Then up he sprung, and with his knife -
And with his knife?He let out jeering Johnny's life,
Yes; there, at set of sun.?The slant ray through the window nigh?Gilded John's blood and glazing eye,?Ere scarcely Mother Lee and I
Knew that the deed was done.
X
The taverns tell the gloomy tale,
The gloomy tale,?How that at Ivel-chester jail
My Love, my sweetheart swung;?Though stained till now by no misdeed?Save one horse ta'en in time o' need;?(Blue Jimmy stole right many a steed
Ere his last fling he flung.)
XI
Thereaft I walked the world alone,
Alone, alone!?On his death-day I gave my groan
And dropt his dead-born child.?'Twas nigh the jail, beneath a tree,?None tending me; for Mother Lee?Had died at Glaston, leaving me
Unfriended on the wild.
XII
And in the night as I lay weak,
As I lay weak,?The leaves a-falling on my cheek,?The red moon low declined -?The ghost of him I'd die to kiss?Rose up and said: "Ah, tell me this!?Was the child mine, or was it his?
Speak, that I rest may find!"
XIII
O doubt not but I told him then,
I told him then,?That I had kept me from all men?Since we joined lips and swore.?Whereat he smiled, and thinned away?As the wind stirred to call up day . . .?- 'Tis past! And here alone I stray
Haunting the Western Moor.
NOTES.--"Windwhistle" (Stanza iv.). The highness and dryness of Windwhistle Inn was impressed upon the writer two or three years ago, when, after climbing on a hot afternoon to the beautiful spot near which it stands and entering the inn for tea, he was informed by the landlady that none could be had, unless he would