Part 30

III

Thus far the lady’s story.— Now she, too, Reclines within that hoary Last dark mew In Mellstock Quire with him she loved so true.

A yellowing marble, placed there Tablet-wise, And two joined hearts enchased there Meet the eyes; And reading their twin names we moralize:

Did she, we wonder, follow Jealously? And were those protests hollow?— Or saw he Some semblant dame? Or can wraiths really be?

Were it she went, her honour, All may hold, Pressed truth at last upon her Till she told— (Him only—others as these lines unfold.)

Riddle death-sealed for ever, Let it rest! . . . One’s heart could blame her never If one guessed That go she did. She knew her actor best.

UNREALIZED

DOWN comes the winter rain— Spoils my hat and bow— Runs into the poll of me; But mother won’t know.

We’ve been out and caught a cold, Knee-deep in snow; Such a lucky thing it is That mother won’t know!

Rosy lost herself last night— Couldn’t tell where to go. Yes—it rather frightened her, But mother didn’t know.

Somebody made Willy drunk At the Christmas show: O ’twas fun! It’s well for him That mother won’t know!

Howsoever wild we are, Late at school or slow, Mother won’t be cross with us, Mother won’t know.

How we cried the day she died! Neighbours whispering low . . . But we now do what we will— Mother won’t know.

WAGTAIL AND BABY

A BABY watched a ford, whereto A wagtail came for drinking; A blaring bull went wading through, The wagtail showed no shrinking.

A stallion splashed his way across, The birdie nearly sinking; He gave his plumes a twitch and toss, And held his own unblinking.

Next saw the baby round the spot A mongrel slowly slinking; The wagtail gazed, but faltered not In dip and sip and prinking.

A perfect gentleman then neared; The wagtail, in a winking, With terror rose and disappeared; The baby fell a-thinking.

ABERDEEN (April: 1905)

“And wisdom and knowledge shall be the stability of thy times.”—Isaiah xxxiii. 6.

I LOOKED and thought, “All is too gray and cold To wake my place-enthusiasms of old!” Till a voice passed: “Behind that granite mien Lurks the imposing beauty of a Queen.” I looked anew; and saw the radiant form Of Her who soothes in stress, who steers in storm, On the grave influence of whose eyes sublime Men count for the stability of the time.

GEORGE MEREDITH 1828–1909

FORTY years back, when much had place That since has perished out of mind, I heard that voice and saw that face.

He spoke as one afoot will wind A morning horn ere men awake; His note was trenchant, turning kind.

He was of those whose wit can shake And riddle to the very core The counterfeits that Time will break . . .

Of late, when we two met once more, The luminous countenance and rare Shone just as forty years before.

So that, when now all tongues declare His shape unseen by his green hill, I scarce believe he sits not there.

No matter. Further and further still Through the world’s vaporous vitiate air His words wing on—as live words will.