The Pre-Raphaelites- From Rossetti to Ruskin

by Dinah Roe

Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

  Till Lizzie urged, ‘O Laura, come;

  I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:

  You should not loiter longer at this brook

  245 Come with me home.

  The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,

  Each glowworm winks her spark,

  Let us get home before the night grows dark:

  For clouds may gather

  250 Though this is summer weather,

  Put out the lights and drench us through;

  Then if we lost our way what should we do?’

  Laura turned cold as stone

  To find her sister heard that cry alone,

  255 That goblin cry,

  ‘Come buy our fruits, come buy.’

  Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits?

  Must she no more that succous pasture find,

  Gone deaf and blind?

  260 Her tree of life drooped from the root:

  She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache;

  But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning,

  Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;

  So crept to bed, and lay

  265 Silent till Lizzie slept;

  Then sat up in a passionate yearning,

  And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and wept

  As if her heart would break.

  Day after day, night after night,

  270 Laura kept watch in vain

  In sullen silence of exceeding pain.

  She never caught again the goblin cry:

  ‘Come buy, come buy;’ –

  She never spied the goblin men

  275 Hawking their fruits along the glen:

  But when the noon waxed bright

  Her hair grew thin and grey;

  She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn

  To swift decay and burn

  280 Her fire away.

  One day remembering her kernel-stone

  She set it by a wall that faced the south;

  Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,

  Watched for a waxing shoot,

  285 But there came none;

  It never saw the sun,

  It never felt the trickling moisture run:

  While with sunk eyes and faded mouth

  She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees

  290 False waves in desert drouth

  With shade of leaf-crowned trees,

  And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

  She no more swept the house,

  Tended the fowls or cows,

  295 Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,

  Brought water from the brook:

  But sat down listless in the chimney-nook

  And would not eat.

  Tender Lizzie could not bear

  300 To watch her sister’s cankerous care

  Yet not to share.

  She night and morning

  Caught the goblins’ cry:

  ‘Come buy our orchard fruits,

  305 Come buy, come buy:’ –

  Beside the brook, along the glen,

  She heard the tramp of goblin men,

  The voice and stir

  Poor Laura could not hear;

  310 Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,

  But feared to pay too dear.

  She thought of Jeanie in her grave,

  Who should have been a bride;

  But who for joys brides hope to have

  315 Fell sick and died

  In her gay prime,

  In earliest Winter time,

  With the first glazing rime,

  With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.

  320 Till Laura dwindling

  Seemed knocking at Death’s door:

  Then Lizzie weighed no more

  Better and worse;

  But put a silver penny in her purse,

  325 Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze

  At twilight, halted by the brook:

  And for the first time in her life

  Began to listen and look.

  Laughed every goblin

  330 When they spied her peeping:

  Came towards her hobbling,

  Flying, running, leaping,

  Puffing and blowing,

  Chuckling, clapping, crowing,

  335 Clucking and gobbling,

  Mopping and mowing,

  Full of airs and graces,

  Pulling wry faces,

  Demure grimaces,

  340 Cat-like and rat-like,

  Ratel- and wombat-like,

  Snail-paced in a hurry,

  Parrot-voiced and whistler,

  Helter skelter, hurry skurry,

  345 Chattering like magpies,

  Fluttering like pigeons,

  Gliding like fishes, –

  Hugged her and kissed her,

  Squeezed and caressed her:

  350 Stretched up their dishes,

  Panniers, and plates:

  ‘Look at our apples

  Russet and dun,

  Bob at our cherries,

  355 Bite at our peaches,

  Citrons and dates,

  Grapes for the asking,

  Pears red with basking

  Out in the sun,

  360 Plums on their twigs;

  Pluck them and suck them.

  Pomegranates, figs.’ –

  ‘Good folk,’ said Lizzie,

  Mindful of Jeanie:

  365 ‘Give me much and many;’ –

  Held out her apron,

  Tossed them her penny.

  ‘Nay, take a seat with us,

  Honour and eat with us,’

  370 They answered grinning:

  ‘Our feast is but beginning.

  Night yet is early,

  Warm and dew-pearly,

  Wakeful and starry:

  375 Such fruits as these

  No man can carry;

  Half their bloom would fly,

  Half their dew would dry,

  Half their flavour would pass by.

  380 Sit down and feast with us,

  Be welcome guest with us,

  Cheer you and rest with us.’ –

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lizzie: ‘But one waits

  385 At home alone for me:

  So without further parleying,

  If you will not sell me any

  Of your fruits though much and many,

  Give me back my silver penny

  390 I tossed you for a fee.’ –

  They began to scratch their pates,

  No longer wagging, purring,

  But visibly demurring,

  Grunting and snarling.

  395 One called her proud,

  Cross-grained, uncivil;

  Their tones waxed loud,

  Their looks were evil.

  Lashing their tails

  400 They trod and hustled her,

  Elbowed and jostled her,

  Clawed with their nails,

  Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,

  Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,

  405 Twitched her hair out by the roots,

  Stamped upon her tender feet,

  Held her hands and squeezed their fruits

  Against her mouth to make her eat.

  White and golden Lizzie stood,

  410 Like a lily in a flood, –

  Like a rock of blue-veined stone

  Lashed by tides obstreperously, –

  Like a beacon left alone

  In a hoary roaring sea,

  415 Sending up a golden fire, –

  Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree

  White with blossoms honey-sweet

  Sore beset by wasp and bee, –

  Like a royal virgin town

  Topped with gilded dome and spire

  420 Close beleaguered by a fleet

  Mad to tug her standard down.

  One may lead a horse to water,


  Twenty cannot make him drink.

  Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,

  425 Coaxed and fought her,

  Bullied and besought her,

  Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,

  Kicked and knocked her,

  Mauled and mocked her,

  430 Lizzie uttered not a word;

  Would not open lip from lip

  Lest they should cram a mouthful in:

  But laughed in heart to feel the drip

  Of juice that syrupped all her face,

  435 And lodged in dimples of her chin,

  And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.

  At last the evil people

  Worn out by her resistance

  Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit

  440 Along whichever road they took,

  Not leaving root or stone or shoot;

  Some writhed into the ground,

  Some dived into the brook

  With ring and ripple,

  445 Some scudded on the gale without a sound,

  Some vanished in the distance.

  In a smart, ache, tingle,

  Lizzie went her way;

  Knew not was it night or day;

  450 Sprang up the bank, tore thro’ the furze,

  Threaded copse and dingle,

  And heard her penny jingle

  Bouncing in her purse, –

  Its bounce was music to her ear.

  455 She ran and ran

  As if she feared some goblin man

  Dogged her with gibe or curse

  Or something worse:

  But not one goblin skurried after,

  460 Nor was she pricked by fear;

  The kind heart made her windy-paced

  That urged her home quite out of breath with haste

  And inward laughter.

  465 She cried ‘Laura,’ up the garden,

  ‘Did you miss me?

  Come and kiss me.

  Never mind my bruises,

  Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices

  470 Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,

  Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

  Eat me, drink me, love me;

  Laura, make much of me:

  For your sake I have braved the glen

  475 And had to do with goblin merchant men.’

  Laura started from her chair,

  Flung her arms up in the air,

  Clutched her hair:

  ‘Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted

  480 For my sake the fruit forbidden?

  Must your light like mine be hidden,

  Your young life like mine be wasted,

  Undone in mine undoing

  And ruined in my ruin,

  485 Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?’ –

  She clung about her sister,

  Kissed and kissed and kissed her:

  Tears once again

  Refreshed her shrunken eyes,

  490 Dropping like rain

  After long sultry drouth;

  Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

  She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.

  Her lips began to scorch,

  495 That juice was wormwood to her tongue,

  She loathed the feast:

  Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,

  Rent all her robe, and wrung

  Her hands in lamentable haste,

  500 And beat her breast.

  Her locks streamed like the torch

  Borne by a racer at full speed,

  Or like the mane of horses in their flight,

  Or like an eagle when she stems the light

  505 Straight toward the sun,

  Or like a caged thing freed,

  Or like a flying flag when armies run.

  Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,

  Met the fire smouldering there

  510 And overbore its lesser flame;

  She gorged on bitterness without a name:

  Ah! fool, to choose such part

  Of soul-consuming care!

  Sense failed in the mortal strife:

  515 Like the watch-tower of a town

  Which an earthquake shatters down,

  Like a lightning-stricken mast,

  Like a wind-uprooted tree

  Spun about,

  520 Like a foam-topped waterspout

  Cast down headlong in the sea,

  She fell at last;

  Pleasure past and anguish past,

  Is it death or is it life?

  525 Life out of death.

  That night long Lizzie watched by her,

  Counted her pulse’s flagging stir,

  Felt for her breath,

  Held water to her lips, and cooled her face

  530 With tears and fanning leaves:

  But when the first birds chirped about their eaves,

  And early reapers plodded to the place

  Of golden sheaves,

  And dew-wet grass

  535 Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,

  And new buds with new day

  Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream,

  Laura awoke as from a dream,

  Laughed in the innocent old way,

  540 Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;

  Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey,

  Her breath was sweet as May

  And light danced in her eyes.

  Days, weeks, months, years,

  545 Afterwards, when both were wives

  With children of their own;

  Their mother-hearts beset with fears,

  Their lives bound up in tender lives;

  Laura would call the little ones

  550 And tell them of her early prime,

  Those pleasant days long gone

  Of not-returning time:

  Would talk about the haunted glen,

  The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,

  555 Their fruits like honey to the throat

  But poison in the blood;

  (Men sell not such in any town:)

  Would tell them how her sister stood

  In deadly peril to do her good,

  560 And win the fiery antidote:

  Then joining hands to little hands

  Would bid them cling together,

  ‘For there is no friend like a sister

  In calm or stormy weather;

  565 To cheer one on the tedious way,

  To fetch one if one goes astray,

  To lift one if one totters down,

  To strengthen whilst one stands.’

  A Birthday

  My heart is like a singing bird

  Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

  My heart is like an appletree

  Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;

  5 My heart is like a rainbow shell

  That paddles in a halcyon sea;

  My heart is gladder than all these

  Because my love is come to me.

  Raise me a dais of silk and down;

  10 Hang it with vair and purple dyes;

  Carve it in doves, and pomegranates,

  And peacocks with a hundred eyes;

  Work it in gold and silver grapes,

  In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys;

  15 Because the birthday of my life

  Is come, my love is come to me.

  After Death

  Sonnet

  The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept

  And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may

  Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,

  Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.

  5 He leaned above me, thinking that I slept

  And could not hear him; but I heard him say:

  ‘Poor child, poor child:’ and as he turned away

  Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.

  He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold

  10 Th
at hid my face, or take my hand in his,

  Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:

  He did not love me living; but once dead

  He pitied me; and very sweet it is

  To know he still is warm though I am cold.

  My Dream

  Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night,

  Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

  I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled

  Like overflowing Jordan in its youth:

  5 It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight;

  Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled

  Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew,

  Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew.

  The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend

  10 My closest friend would deem the facts untrue;

  And therefore it were wisely left untold;

  Yet if you will, why hear it to the end.

  Each crocodile was girt with massive gold

  And polished stones that with their wearers grew:

  15 But one there was who waxed beyond the rest,

  Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown,

  Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast.

  All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale,

  But special burnishment adorned his mail

  20 And special terror weighed upon his frown;

  His punier brethren quaked before his tail,

  Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail.

  So he grew lord and master of his kin:

  But who shall tell the tale of all their woes?

  25 An execrable appetite arose,

  He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in.

  He knew no law, he feared no binding law,

  But ground them with inexorable jaw:

  The luscious fat distilled upon his chin,

  30 Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes,

  While still like hungry death he fed his maw;

  Till every minor crocodile being dead

  And buried too, himself gorged to the full,

  He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw.

  35 Oh marvel passing strange which next I saw:

  In sleep he dwindled to the common size,

  And all the empire faded from his coat.

  Then from far off a wingèd vessel came,

  Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame:

  40 I know not what it bore of freight or host,

  But white it was as an avenging ghost.

  It levelled strong Euphrates in its course;

  Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote

  It seemed to tame the waters without force

  45 Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat:

  Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands,

  The prudent crocodile rose on his feet

  And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.