Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Tennyson Alfred

  ‘Bygones! you kept yours hush’d,’ I said, ‘when you married me!

  By-gones ma’ be come-agains; an’ she — in her shame an’ her sin —

  You’ll have her to nurse my child, if I die o’ my lying in!

  You’ll make her its second mother! I hate her — an’ I hate you!’

  Ah, Harry, my man, you had better ha’ beaten me black an’ blue

  Than ha’ spoken as kind as you did, when I were so crazy wi’ spite,

  ‘Wait a little, my lass, I am sure it ‘ill all come right.’

  XIV.

  An’ he took three turns in the rain, an’ I watch’d him, an’ when he came in

  I felt that my heart was hard, he was all wet thro’ to the skin,

  An’ I never said ‘off wi’ the wet,’ I never said ‘on wi’ the dry,’

  So I knew my heart was hard, when he came to bid me goodbye.

  ‘You said that you hated me, Ellen, but that isn’t true, you know;

  I am going to leave you a bit — you’ll kiss me before I go?’

  XV.

  ‘Going! you’re going to her — kiss her — if you will,’ I said —

  I was near my time wi’ the boy, I must ha’ been light i’ my head —

  ‘I had sooner be cursed than kiss’d!’ — I didn’t know well what I meant,

  But I turn’d my face from him, an’ he turn’d his face an’ he went.

  XVI.

  And then he sent me a letter, ‘I’ve gotten my work to do;

  You wouldn’t kiss me, my lass, an’ I never loved any but you;

  I am sorry for all the quarrel an’ sorry for what she wrote,

  I ha’ six weeks’ work in Jersey an’ go to-night by the boat.’

  XVII.

  An’ the wind began to rise, an’ I thought of him out at sea,

  An’ I felt I had been to blame; he was always kind to me.

  ‘Wait a little, my lass, I am sure it ‘ill all come right’ —

  An’ the boat went down that night — the boat went down that night.

  Rizpah

  17 —

  I.

  WAILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea —

  And Willy’s voice in the wind, ‘O mother, come out to me.’

  Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go?

  For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow.

  II.

  We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town.

  The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down,

  When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain,

  And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain.

  III.

  Anything fallen again? nay — what was there left to fall?

  I have taken them home, I have number’d the bones, I have hidden them all.

  What am I saying? and what are you? do you come as a spy?

  Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it lie.

  IV.

  Who let her in? how long has she been? you — what have you heard?

  Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word.

  O — to pray with me — yes — a lady — none of their spies —

  But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken my eyes.

  V.

  Ah — you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the night,

  The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright?

  I have done it, while you were asleep — you were only made for the day.

  I have gather’d my baby together — and now you may go your way.

  VI.

  Nay — for it’s kind of you, Madam, to sit by an old dying wife.

  But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life.

  I kiss’d my boy in the prison, before he went out to die.

  ‘They dared me to do it,’ he said, and he never has told me a lie.

  I whipt him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child —

  ‘The farmer dared me to do it,’ he said; he was always so wild —

  And idle — and couldn’t be idle — my Willy — he never could rest.

  The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best.

  VII.

  But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let him be good;

  They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that he would;

  And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done

  He flung it among his fellows — I’ll none of it, said my son.

  VIII.

  I came into court to the Judge and the lawyers. I told them my tale,

  God’s own truth — but they kill’d him, they kill’d him for robbing the mail.

  They hang’d him in chains for a show — we had always borne a good name —

  To be hang’d for a thief — and then put away — isn’t that enough shame?

  Dust to dust — low down — let us hide! but they set him so high

  That all the ships of the world could stare at him, passing by.

  God ‘ill pardon the hell — black raven and horrible fowls of the air,

  But not the black heart of the lawyer who kill’d him and hang’d him there.

  IX.

  And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last goodbye;

  They had fasten’d the door of his cell. ‘O mother!’ I heard him cry.

  I couldn’t get back tho’ I tried, he had something further to say,

  And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away.

  X.

  Then since I couldn’t but hear that cry of my boy that was dead,

  They seized me and shut me up: they fasten’d me down on my bed.

  ‘Mother, O mother!’ — he call’d in the dark to me year after year —

  They beat me for that, they beat me — you know that I couldn’t but hear;

  And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid and still

  They let me abroad again — but the creatures had worked their will.

  XI.

  Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left —

  I stole them all from the lawyers — and you, will you call it a theft? —

  My baby, the bones that had suck’d me, the bones that had laughed and had cried —

  Theirs? O no! they are mine — not theirs — they had moved in my side.

  XII.

  Do you think I was scared by the bones? I kiss’d ‘em, I buried ‘em all —

  I can’t dig deep, I am old — in the night by the churchyard wall.

  My Willy ‘ill rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment ‘ill sound,

  But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground.

  XIII.

  They would scratch him up — they would hang him again on the cursed tree.

  Sin? O yes — we are sinners, I know — let all that be,

  And read me a Bible verse of the Lord’s good will toward men —

  ‘Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord’ — let me hear it again;

  ‘Full of compassion and mercy — long — suffering.’ Yes, O yes!

  For the lawyer is born but to murder — the Saviour lives but to bless.

  He’ll never put on the black cap except for the worst of the worst,

  And the first may be last — I have heard it in church — and the last may be first.

  Suffering — O long — suffering — yes, as the Lord must know,

  Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and the snow.

  XIV.

  Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never repented his sin.

  How do they know it? are they his mother? are you of his kin?

  Heard! have you ever heard, when the storm on the downs began, />
  The wind that ‘ill wail like a child and the sea that ‘ill moan like a man?

  XV.

  Election, Election and Reprobation — it’s all very well.

  But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in Hell.

  For I cared so much for my boy that the Lord has look’d into my care,

  And He means me I’m sure to be happy with Willy, I know not where.

  XVI.

  And if he be lost — but to save my soul, that is all your desire:

  Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the fire?

  I have been with God in the dark — go, go, you may leave me alone —

  You never have borne a child — you are just as hard as a stone.

  XVII.

  Madam, I beg your pardon! I think that you mean to be kind,

  But I cannot hear what you say for my Willy’s voice in the wind —

  The snow and the sky so bright — he used but to call in the dark,

  And he calls to me now from the church and not from the gibbet — for hark!

  Nay — you can hear it yourself — it is coming — shaking the walls —

  Willy — the moon’s in a cloud — Good-night. I am going. He calls.

  The Northern Cobbler

  I.

  WAÄIT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a’ sights1 to tell.

  Eh, but I be maäin glad to seeä tha sa ‘arty an’ well.

  ‘Cast awaäy on a disolut land wi’ a vartical soon2!’

  Strange fur to goä fur to think what saäilors a’ seeän an’ a’ doon;

  ‘Summat to drink — sa’ ‘ot?’ I ‘a nowt but Adam’s wine:

  What’s the ‘eät o’ this little ‘ill-side to the ‘eät o’ the line?

  II.

  ‘What’s i’ tha bottle a-stanning theer? I’ll tell tha. Gin.

  But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goä fur it down to the inn.

  Naay — fur I be maäin-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,

  Thou gits naw gin fro’ the bottle theer, an’ I’ll tell tha why.

  III.

  Meä an’ thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o’ June,

  Ten year sin’, and wa ‘greed as well as a fiddle i’ tune:

  I could fettle and clump owd booöts and shoes wi’ the best on ‘em all,

  As fer as fro’ Thursby thurn hup to Harmsby and Hutterby Hall.

  We was busy as beeäs i’ the bloom an’ ‘appy as ‘art could think,

  An’ then the babby wur burn, and then I taäkes to the drink.

  IV.

  An’ I weant gaäinsaäy it, my lad, thaw I be hafe shaämed on it now,

  We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow;

  Thaw once of a frosty night I slither’d an hurted my huck,3

  An’ I coom’d neck-an-crop soomtimes slaäpe down i’ the squad an’ the muck:

  An’ once I fowt wi’ the Taäilor — not hafe ov a man, my lad —

  Fur he scrawm’d an’ scratted my faäce like a cat, an’ it maäde’er sa mad

  That Sally she turn’d a tongue-banger4 an’ raäted ma, ‘Sottin’ thy braäins

  Guzzlin’ an’ soäkin’ an’ smoäkin’ an’ hawmin’5 about i’ the laänes,

  Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy ‘at to the Squire;’

  An’ I looök’d cock-eyed at my noäse an’ I seeäd ‘im a-gittin’ o’ fire;

  But sin’ I wur hallus i’ liquor an’ hallus as droonk as a king,

  Foälks’ coostom flitted awaäy like a kite wi’ a brokken string.

  V.

  An’ Sally she wesh’d foälks’ cloäths to keep the wolf fro’ the door,

  Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor,

  Fur I fun’, when ‘er hack wur turn’d, wheer Sally’s owd stockin’ wur ‘id,

  An’ I grabb’d the munny she maäde, and I weär’d it o’ liquor, I did.

  VI.

  An’ one night I cooms ‘oäm like a bull gotten loose at a faäir,

  An’ she wur a-waäitin’ fo’mma, an’ cryin’ and teärin’ ‘er ‘aäir,

  An’ I tummled athurt the craädle an’ sweär’d as I’d break ivry stick

  O’ furnitur ‘ere i’ the ‘ouse, an’ I gied our Sally a kick,

  An’ I mash’d the taäbles an’ chairs, an’ she an’ the babby beäl’d,6

  Fur I knaw’d naw moor what I did nor a mortal beäst o’ the feäld.

  VII.

  An’ when I waäked i’ the murnin’ I seeäd that our Sally went laämed

  Cos’ o’ the kick as I gied ‘er, an’ I wur dreadful ashaämed;

  An’ Sally wur sloomy7 an’ draggle taäil’d in an owd turn gown,

  An’ the babby’s faäce wurn’t wesh’d an’ the ‘ole ‘ouse hupside down.

  VIII.

  An’ then I minded our Sally sa patty an’ neät an’ sweeät,

  Strait as a pole an’ cleän as a flower fro’ ‘ead to feeät:

  An’ then I minded the fust kiss I gied ‘er by Thursby thurn;

  Theer wur a lark a-singin’ ‘is best of a Sunday at murn,

  Couldn’t see ‘im, we ‘eärd ‘im a-mountin’ oop ‘igher an’ ‘igher,

  An’ then ‘e turn’d to the sun, an’ ‘e shined like a sparkle o’ fire.

  ‘Doesn’t tha see ‘im,’ she axes, ‘fur I can see ‘im?’ an’ I

  Seeäd nobbut the smile o’ the sun as danced in ‘er pratty blue eye;

  An’ I says ‘I mun gie tha a kiss,’ an’ Sally says ‘Noä, thou moänt,’

  But I gied ‘er a kiss, an’ then anoother, an’ Sally says ‘doänt!’

  IX.

  An’ when we coom’d into Meeätin’, at fust she wur all in a tew,

  But, arter, we sing’d the ‘ymn togither like birds on a beugh;

  An’ Muggins ‘e preäch’d o’ Hell-fire an’ the loov o’ God fur men,

  An’ then upo’ coomin’ awaäy Sally gied me a kiss ov ‘ersen.

  X.

  Heer wur a fall fro’ a kiss to a kick like Saätan as fell

  Down out o’ heaven i’ hell-fire — thaw theer’s naw drinkin’ i’ Hell;

  Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf fro’ the door,

  All along o’ the drink, fur I loov’d ‘er as well as afoor.

  XI.

  Sa like a greät num-cumpus I blubber’d awaäy o’ the bed —

  ‘Weänt niver do it naw moor;’ an’ Sally loookt up an’ she said,

  ‘I’ll upowd it8 tha weänt; thou’rt like the rest o’ the men,

  Thou’ll goä sniffin’ about the tap till tha does it agëan.

  Theer’s thy hennemy, man, an’ I knaws, as knaws tha sa well,

  That, if tha seeäs ‘im an’ smells ‘im tha’ll foller ‘im slick into Hell.’

  XII.

  ‘Naäy,’ says I, ‘fur I weänt goä sniffin’ about the tap.’

  ‘Weänt tha?’ she says, an’ mysen I thowt i’ mysen ‘mayhap.’

  ‘Noä:’ an’ I started awaäy like a shot, an’ down to the Hinn,

  An’ I browt what tha seeäs stannin’ theer, yon big black bottle o’ gin.

  XIII.

  ‘That caps owt,’9 says Sally, an’ saw she begins to cry,

  But I puts it inter ‘er ‘ands an’ I says to ‘er, ‘Sally,’ says I,

  ‘Stan’ ‘im theer i’ the naäme o’ the Lord an’ the power ov ‘is Graäce,

  Stan’ ‘im theer, fur I’ll looök my hennemy strait i’ the faäce,

  Stan’ ‘im theer i’ the winder, an’ let ma looök at ‘im then,

  ‘E seeäms naw moor nor watter, an’ ‘e’s the Divil’s oän sen.’

  XIV.

  An’ I wur down i’ tha mouth, couldn’t do naw work an’ all,

  Nasty an’ snaggy an’ shaäky, an’ poonch’d my ‘and wi’ the hawl,

  But she wur a power o’ coomfut, an’ sattled ‘ersen o’ my
knee,

  An’ coäxd an’ coodled me oop till ageän I feel’d mysen free.

  XV.

  An’ Sally she tell’d it about, an’ foälk stood a-gawmin’10 in,

  As thaw it wur summat bewitch’d istead of a quart o’ gin;

  An’ some on ‘em said it wur watter — an’ I wur chousin’ the wife,

  Fur I couldn’t ‘owd ‘ands off gin, wur it nobbut to saäve my life;

  An’ blacksmith ‘e strips me the thick ov ‘is airm, an’ ‘e shaws it to me,

  Feeäl thou this! thou can’t graw this upo’ watter!’ says he.

  An’ Doctor ‘e calls o’ Sunday an’ just as candles was lit,

  ‘Thou moänt do it,’ he says, ‘tha mun break ‘im off bit by bit.’

  ‘Thou’rt but a Methody-man,’ says Parson, and laäys down ‘is ‘at,

  An’ ‘e points to the bottle o’ gin, ‘but I respeeks tha fur that;’

  An’ Squire, his oän very sen, walks down fro’ the ‘All to see,

  An’ ‘e spanks ‘is ‘and into mine, ‘fur I respecks tha,’ says ‘e;

  An’ coostom ageän draw’d in like a wind fro’ far an’ wide,

  And browt me the booöts to be cobbled fro’ hafe the coontryside.

  XVI.

  An’ theer ‘e stans an’ theer ‘e shall stan to my dying daäy;

  I ‘a gotten to loov ‘im ageän in anoother kind of a waäy,

  Proud on ‘im, like, my lad, an’ I keeäps ‘im cleän an’ bright,

  Loovs ‘im, an’ roobs ‘im, an’ doosts ‘im, an’ puts ‘im back i’ the light.

  XVII.

  Wouldn’t a pint a’ sarved as well as a quart? Naw doubt:

  But I liked a bigger fetter to fight wi’ an fowt it out.

  Fine an’ meller ‘e mun be by this, if I cared to taäste,

  But I moänt, my lad, and I weänt, fur I’d feäl mysen cleän disgraäced.

  XVIII.

  An’ once I said to the Missis, ‘My lass, when I cooms to die,

  Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil’s in ‘im,’ said I.

  But arter I chaänged my mind, an’ if Sally be left aloän,

  I’ll hev ‘im a-buried wi’mma an’ taäkt ‘im afoor the Throän.

  XIX.

  Coom thou ‘eer — yon laädy a-steppin along the streeät,

  Doesn’t tha knaw ‘er — sa pratty, an’ feät, an’ neät, an’ sweeät?

  Look at the cloäths on ‘er back, thebbe ammost spick-span-new,

  An’ Tommy’s faäce be as fresh as a codlin wesh’d i’ the dew.

  XX.

  ‘Ere he our Sally an’ Tommy, an’ we be a-goin to dine,

  Baäcon an’ taätes, an’ a beslings-pud-din’11 an’ Adam’s wine;