Wessex Poems and Other Verses | Page 6

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.
Published in "The Trumpet-Major," 1880.
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' Valencieen.
'Twas in the June o' Ninety-dree?(The Duke o' Yark our then Commander been)
The German Legion, Guards, and we
Laid siege to Valencieen.
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 Valencieen!
'Twas said that we'd no business there?A-topperen the French for disagreen;
However, that's not my affair -
We were at Valencieen.
Such snocks and slats, since war began?Never knew raw recruit or veteran:
Stone-deaf therence went many a man
Who served at Valencieen.
Into the streets, ath'art the sky,?A hundred thousand balls and bombs were fleen;
And harmless townsfolk fell to die
Each hour at Valencieen!
And, sweaten wi' the bombardiers,?A shell was slent to shards anighst my ears:?--'Twas nigh the end of hopes and fears
For me at Valencieen!
They bore my wownded frame to camp,?And shut my gapen skull, and washed en clean,
And jined en wi' a zilver clamp
Thik night at Valencieen.
"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 Valencieen.
'Twer true. No voice o' friend or foe?Can reach me now, or any liven been;
And little have I power to know
Since then at Valencieen!
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 Valencieen . . .
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 Valencieen.
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 Valencieen.
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 Valencieen!
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