Part 17

“I suppose,” with a laugh, she said, “I should blush that I’m not a wife; But how can it matter, so soon to be dead, What one does in life!”

When we sat making the mourning By her death-bed side, said she, “Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning In honour of me!”

Bubbling and brightsome eyed! But now—O never again. She chose her bearers before she died From her fancy-men.

NOTE.—It is, or was, a common custom in Wessex, and probably other country places, to prepare the mourning beside the death-bed, the dying person sometimes assisting, who also selects his or her bearers on such occasions.

“Coats” (line 7).—Old name for petticoats.

NEWS FOR HER MOTHER

ONE mile more is Where your door is Mother mine!— Harvest’s coming, Mills are strumming, Apples fine, And the cider made to-year will be as wine.

Yet, not viewing What’s a-doing Here around Is it thrills me, And so fills me That I bound Like a ball or leaf or lamb along the ground.

III

Tremble not now At your lot now, Silly soul! Hosts have sped them Quick to wed them, Great and small, Since the first two sighing half-hearts made a whole.

Yet I wonder, Will it sunder Her from me? Will she guess that I said “Yes,”—that His I’d be, Ere I thought she might not see him as I see!

Old brown gable, Granary, stable, Here you are! O my mother, Can another Ever bar Mine from thy heart, make thy nearness seem afar?

THE FIDDLER

THE fiddler knows what’s brewing To the lilt of his lyric wiles: The fiddler knows what rueing Will come of this night’s smiles!

He sees couples join them for dancing, And afterwards joining for life, He sees them pay high for their prancing By a welter of wedded strife.

He twangs: “Music hails from the devil, Though vaunted to come from heaven, For it makes people do at a revel What multiplies sins by seven.

“There’s many a heart now mangled, And waiting its time to go, Whose tendrils were first entangled By my sweet viol and bow!”

THE HUSBAND’S VIEW

“CAN anything avail Beldame, for my hid grief?— Listen: I’ll tell the tale, It may bring faint relief!—

“I came where I was not known, In hope to flee my sin; And walking forth alone A young man said, ‘Good e’en.’

“In gentle voice and true He asked to marry me; ‘You only—only you Fulfil my dream!’ said he.

“We married o’ Monday morn, In the month of hay and flowers; My cares were nigh forsworn, And perfect love was ours.

“But ere the days are long Untimely fruit will show; My Love keeps up his song, Undreaming it is so.

“And I awake in the night, And think of months gone by, And of that cause of flight Hidden from my Love’s eye.

“Discovery borders near, And then! . . . But something stirred?— My husband—he is here! Heaven—has he overheard?”—

“Yes; I have heard, sweet Nan; I have known it all the time. I am not a particular man; Misfortunes are no crime:

“And what with our serious need Of sons for soldiering, That accident, indeed, To maids, is a useful thing!”

ROSE-ANN