Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800 Volume I Part 6

No joyless forms shall regulate Our living Calendar: We from to-day, my friend, will date The opening of the year.

Love, now an universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth, --It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more Than fifty years of reason; Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts may make, Which they shall long obey; We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above; We'll frame the measure of our souls, They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my sister I come, I pray, With speed put on your woodland dress, And bring no book; for this one day We'll give to idleness.

_THE FEMALE VAGRANT_

By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood, (The Woman thus her artless story told) One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold.

Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd: With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the sh.o.r.e My father's nets, or from the mountain fold Saw on the distant lake his twinkling oar Or watch'd his lazy boat still less'ning more and more

My father was a good and pious man, An honest man by honest parents bred, And I believe that, soon as I began To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed, And in his hearing there my prayers I said: And afterwards, by my good father taught, I read, and loved the books in which I read; For books in every neighbouring house I sought, And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.

Can I forget what charms did once adorn My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme, And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn?

The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time; My hen's rich nest through long gra.s.s scarce espied; The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime; The swans, that, when I sought the water-side, From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.

The staff I yet remember which upbore The bending body of my active sire; His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore When the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire; When market-morning came, the neat attire With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd; My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire, When stranger pa.s.sed, so often I have check'd; The red-breast known for years, which at my cas.e.m.e.nt peck'd.

The suns of twenty summers danced along,-- Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away: Then rose a stately hall our woods among, And cottage after cottage owned its sway.

No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray Through pastures not his own, the master took; My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay; He loved his old hereditary nook, And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook.

But when he had refused the proffered gold, To cruel injuries he became a prey, Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold: His troubles grew upon him day by day, Till all his substance fell into decay.

His little range of water was denied; [3]

All but the bed where his old body lay.

All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side, We sought a home where we uninjured might abide.

[Footnote 3: Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines drawn from rock to rock.]

Can I forget that miserable hour, When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed, Peering above the trees, the steeple tower That on his marriage-day sweet music made?

Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid, Close by my mother in their native bowers: Bidding me trust in G.o.d, he stood and prayed,-- I could not pray:--through tears that fell in showers, Glimmer'd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!

There was a youth whom I had loved so long.

That when I loved him not I cannot say.

'Mid the green mountains many and many a song We two had sung, like gladsome birds in May.

When we began to tire of childish play We seemed still more and more to prize each other; We talked of marriage and our marriage day; And I in truth did love him like a brother, For never could I hope to meet with such another.

His father said, that to a distant town He must repair, to ply the artist's trade.

What tears of bitter grief till then unknown?

What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed!

To him we turned:--we had no other aid.

Like one revived, upon his neck I wept, And her whom he had loved in joy, he said He well could love in grief: his faith he kept; And in a quiet home once more my father slept.

Four years each day with daily bread was blest, By constant toil and constant prayer supplied.

Three lovely infants lay upon my breast; And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed, And knew not why. My happy father died When sad distress reduced the childrens' meal: Thrice happy! that from him the grave did hide The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel, And tears that flowed for ills which patience could not heal.

'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come; We had no hope, and no relief could gain.

But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain.

My husband's arms now only served to strain Me and his children hungering in his view: In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain: To join those miserable men he flew; And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew.

There foul neglect for months and months we bore, Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred.

Green fields before us and our native sh.o.r.e, By fever, from polluted air incurred, Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard.

Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew, 'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferr'd, That happier days we never more must view: The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew.

But from delay the summer calms were past.

On as we drove, the equinoctial deep Ran mountains-high before the howling blast.

We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep Of them that perished in the whirlwind's sweep, Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue, Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap, That we the mercy of the waves should rue.

We readied the western world, a poor, devoted crew.

Oh I dreadful price of being to resign All that is dear _in_ being! better far In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine, Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star; Or in the streets and walks where proud men are, Better our dying bodies to obtrude, Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war, Protract a curst existence, with the brood That lap (their very nourishment!) their brother's blood.

The pains and plagues that on our heads came down; Disease and famine, agony and fear, In wood or wilderness, in camp or town, It would thy brain unsettle even to hear.

All perished--all, in one remorseless year, Husband and children! one by one, by sword And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board A British s.h.i.+p I waked, as from a trance restored.

Peaceful as some immeasurable plain By the first beams of dawning light impress'd; In the calm suns.h.i.+ne slept the glittering main, The very ocean has its hour of rest, That comes not to the human mourner's breast.

Remote from man, and storms of mortal care, A heavenly silence did the waves invest: I looked and looked along the silent air, Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.

Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps!

And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke: The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps!

The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke!

The shriek that from the distant battle broke!

The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish toss'd, Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!

Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame, When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape, While like a sea the storming army came, And Fire from h.e.l.l reared his gigantic shape, And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!

But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape!

--For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild, And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled.

Some mighty gulph of separation past, I seemed transported to another world:-- A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd, And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home, And from all hope I was forever hurled.

For me--farthest from earthly port to roam Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.

And oft, robb'd of my perfect mind, I thought At last my feet a resting-place had found: Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,) Roaming the illimitable waters round; Here watch, of every human friend disowned, All day, my ready tomb the ocean-flood-- To break my dream the vessel reached its bound: And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.

By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift, Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock; Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.

I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the c.o.c.k From the cross timber of an out-house hung; How dismal tolled, that night, the city clock!

At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.

So pa.s.sed another day, and so the third: Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort, In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd, Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort: There, pains which nature could no more support, With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall; Dizzy my brain, with interruption short Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl, And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital.

Recovery came with food: but still, my brain Was weak, nor of the past had memory.

I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain Of many things which never troubled me; Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, Of looks where common kindness had no part.

Of service done with careless cruelty, Fretting the fever round the languid heart, And groans, which, as they said, would make a dead man start.