IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 UiUS |2.5 I 1^ 12:0 1.4 1.8 IJ4 V] <^ /2 ^ <^. ^^ /: > > V /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER. N.Y. 14S8C (716) 872-45C3 M. (V /y to tl vioLJsly so. ^ some of th ic n ill and ^'■'^^'-''tion. ub/eh h ' ''»'^ may be JO rough sketcl e poeinj ics rr ive beei Jven in 1 recently made T. H. ^''pUiii/^a- iSyS. C O N T R N T S Tin: Ti \ir(.i; ARv i in: Ai .\m\i;ii. . . IIAP .... " In \i>in\ I K( A I .\ liulhAI. . l'(>sri'(iM:Mi:N r A ( 'i ini'i:n>ii i\ 1 1 Xi I I u \i, 'I'l im:>. Si IK .... lIlvK Imiiai.s . IIi:r 1)ii.i:\im\ . Ri:\( i.sio.x . . Si IK, K) lIlM, I II III IV DriTV . . . TiiK Skr(;k.\.m's V.\kknciknm:s . S.\N Skiiasiian Thk SrK.\.\(;i:k's 'I'm: l!rk(;iiKR.-> Lkh'ZU! . . . \Mi:i) A I'l iiN O.N I I IN l"l (il •M.K I <) I I !3 '5 17 19 2<) 21 25 2i) 31 .35 M 4" 42 47 54 ?'> 62 VII C () N r K N T S I Ml'. I'i;asam\ Com i.ssiuN 1 IIK AlAKM nf> llKK I>I:ATII AM) A I IKK <)7 'llIK Danxk at Till; l'|l|)Kk-A(;k Kmiiisiasms ^ In a Wood . 15*^ I o A I.AIiV . . If) I 'I'o AN OKI'IIAN Ciiiii) . . I()3 \ATI KK's (^XKSTlo.MNd j^" 'I'lIK iMI'KKCiriKM .,0 Ins A I AN Inn . . 173 I III-. Sl.OW Naii Ki; . . ,^. 17" In a Kwki.k.v/.k nkar Wkatiikkiiiky ,-,, ... ,, ''V I IIK I'iKK .\i' I"kanikr Swkah.kv'.s ,8g llKIKKSS .\N|) AKCIIUKCI' , , TiiK Two Mkn 2,X) Links 205 "I Look into mv (Ji.ass" joa Hi \VES.Si:X I'Oli.MS III ( S( w THE TEMPORARY THE ALL CHANGE and chanccfulncss in my (low- ering youthtimc, Set me sun by sun near to one unclioscn ; Wrought us fellowly, and despite divergence. Friends interblent us. ! r i THE TEMPORARY THE ALL "Cherish him can I while the true one forth- come — Come the ricli fulfiller of my prevision ; Life is roomy yet, and the odds unbounded." So self-communed L Thwart my wistful way did a damsel saunter, Fair not fairest, good not best of her feather ; *' Maiden meet," held I, " till arise my forefelt Wonder of women." Long a visioned hermitage deep desiring. Tenements uncouih I was fain to house in ; "Let such lodging be for a breath- while," thought I, " Soon a more seemly. II It. ii ** Then, high handiwork will I make my life- deed, Truth and Light outshow; but the ripe time pending, Ip.termissive aim at the thing sufficeth." Thus I . . . But lo, me I 2 t ( THE TEMPORARY THE ALL Mistress, friend, place, aims to be bettered straightway. Bettered not has Fate or my hand s achievin- • Sole the showance those of my onward earth- track — Never transcended I » . AMABEL {MARKED her ruined hues, Her custom-straitened views, And asked, " Can there indwell My Amabel ?" I looked upon her gown, Once rose, now earthen brown : The change was like the knell Of Amabel. 4 AMABEL Her step's mechanic ways Had lost the life of May's ; Her laugh, once sweet in swell, Spoilt Amabel. T mused: "Who sings the strain I sang ere warmth did wane? Who thinks its numbers spell His Amabel ?"— Knowing that, though Love cease, Love's race shows undecrease ; All find in dorp or dell An Amabel. — I felt that I could creep To some housetop, and weep. That Time the tyrant fell Ruled Amabel! I said (the while I sighed That love like ours had died), "Fond things LIl no more tell To Amabel, ''••-Hl^nt-* «» . (^ M. AMABEL " But leave her to her fate, And fling across the gate, ' Till the Last Trump, farewell, O Amabel !' " 1865. I I: li: HAP TF but some vengeful god would call to me 1 From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering" thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy, That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting !" Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die, Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited ; Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I Had willed and meted me the tears I shed. 7 :'A.^"- •-=,#.■*■•«> A !»f <*-.#-. v'-n^^fr-r,. •-^^~ T^'^^^tT^-.-r^, •.-■•S.-'Vi va^ '>*•-••> I HAP But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown ? —Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain. And dicinrj Time for gladness casts a moan. ... These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain. fi!l s r iS66. fit "IN VISION I ROAMED" To I N vision I roamed the flashinj^ Firmament, So fierce in blazon that the Night waxed wan, As though with an awed sense of such ostent ; And as I thought my spirit ranged on and on In footless traverse through ghast heights of sky, To the last chambers of the monstrous Dome, Where stars the brightest here to darkness die : Then, any spot on our own Earth seemed Home ! ' -*.■--..- rf fr* -W ' t" II '• "IN VISION I ROAMED" And the sick grief that you were far a\va>- Grew pleasant tliankfiMncss that you were near. Who might have been, set on some outstep spliere, Less than a Want to me, as day by day I lived unware, uncaring ail that lay Locked in that Universe taciturn and drear. 1866. r T -- ■.- -- -*•'- '"- -• • -- ■ AT A BRIDAL WHKN you paced fortli, to wait mater- nity, A dream of other offspring held my mind, Compounded of us twain as Love designed ; Rare forms, that corporate now will ?r be I Should I, too, wed as skive to Mode's decree, And each thus found apart, of false desire, A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire As had fired ours could ever have mingled we; u Hi AT A HRIDAL And, frriovcd that lives so matched should miscomposc, Each mourn the double waste; and ques- tion dare To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows. Why those high- purposed children never were : What will she answer? That she does not care If the race all such sovereifjn types unknows. iS66. I I '.r".^T.^»; ^T^w... ^. ( ! I !l POSTPONEMENT SNOW-BOUND in woodland, a mournful word, Dropt now and then from the bill of a bird, Reached me on wind-wafts; and thus I heard, Wearily waiting : — " I planned her a nest in a leafless tree. But the passers eyed and twitted me. And said : * How reckless a bird is he, Cheerily mating I' 1 1 1 : tl POSTl'ONKMKNT " I'car-fillcd. I stayed mc till su.nnicr-tidc, In Icwth of leaves to throne her bride; ' Hut alas! her love fo Wearily waitirn r me waned and died. "Ah, had I been like some I see, Horn to an evergreen nesting-tree, None had eyed and twitted me, Cheerily mating!" IS66. A CONFESSION TO A FRIEND IN TROUIiLF YOUR troubles shrink not, though I feel them less Here, far away, than when I tarried near; I even smile old smiles— with listlcssness— Yet smiles they are, not ghastly mockeries mere. A thought too strange to house within my brain Haunting its outer precincts I discern : — That I luill not slioio zeal airain to u.-rn Your griefs, ami, s/tariiig tliem, reneiv my pain. ... »5 Il ) TO A FRIEND IN TROUBLE It goes, like murky bird or buccaneer That shapes its lawless figure on the main, And each new impulse tends to make outflee The unseemly instinct that had lodgment here; Yet, comrade old, can bitterer knowledge be Than that, though banned, such instinct was in me ! 1866. / '■I \' fit I NEUTRAL TONES I i \A/^ ^tood by a pond that winter day, V V And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, —They had fallen from an ash, and were Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles solved years ago; And some words played between us to and fro— On which lost the more by our love. ,7 :• I NEUTRAL TONES The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; i\nd a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird awing. . , . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree. And a pond edged with grayish leaves. 1S67. est ic s. SHE AT HIS FLXKRAI, nPHRY bear him to his resting-place— i In slow procession sweeping by; I follow at a stranger's space ; His kindred they, his sweetheart I. Unchanged my gown of garish dye. Though sable-sad is their attire; But they stand round with griefless eye, Whilst my regret consumes like fire! iS7- 19 n HER INITIALS UPON a poet's page I wrote Of old two letters of her name ; Part seemed she of the efTulgent thought Whence that high singer's rapture came. — Wiien now I turn the leaf the same Immortal light illumes the lay But from the letters of her name The radiance has died away. 1S69. 20 HER DILEMMA (IN CIIUKCJl) T^HE two were silent in a sunless church. 1 Whose mildewed walls, uneven pavin-. stones, And wasted carvings passed antique research ; And nothing broke the clock's dull mono- tones. Leaning against a wormy poppy-head, So wan and worn that he could scarcely stand, 11 KR DILEMMA — For he was soon to die, — lie softly said, " Tell me you love me I"— holding hard her hand. She would have <;iven a world to breathe " yes " trul)-. So much his life seemed hanfn'n()(j I ) I fe-; 1 m ;f'.1 SHE. TO HIM WHEN y'OLi shall sec mc llticd by tool of Time. My lauded beauties carried off from me, My eyes no longer stars as in their prime, My name forgot of Maiden Fair and Free ; When in your being heart concedes to mind. And judgment, though you scarce its proc- ess know. Recalls the excellencies I once enshrined. And you are irked that they have withered so : ^9 II J t If SHE, TO II IM Rcmembcrint^ that with mc lies not the blame, That Sportsman Time but rears his brood to kill, Knowing mc in my soul the very same — One who would die to spare you touch of ill !— Will you not grant to old affection's claim The hand of friendship down Life's sunless hill? If " i8C6. SHE, TO HIM II PERHAPS, long hence, when I have passed away, Some other's feature, accent, thought like mine, Will carry you back to what I used to say, And bring some memory of your love's decline. Then you may pause awhile and think, " Poor jade !" And yield a sigh to me as gift benign, Not as the tittle of a debt unpaid To one who could to you her all resign— 31 r I -I W «. ' SHK, TO HIM And thus reflecting, you will never see That your thin thought, in two small words conveyed, Was no such fleeting phantom-thought to me, But the Whole Life wherein my part was played ; And you amid its fitful masquerade A Thought— as I in yours but seem to be. t i' I I 1866. ? 1 SHE, TO HIM III I WILL be faithful to thee; aye, I will! And Death shall choose me with a won- dering eye That he did not discern and domicile One his by right ever since that last Good- bye ! I have no care foi friends, or kin. or prime Of manhood who deal gently with me here ; Amid the happy people of my time Who work their love's fulfilment, I appear 33 c Ii i SHE, TO H IM Numb as a vane that cankers on its point, True to the wind that kissed ere canker came ; Despised by souls of Now, who would disjoint The mind from memory, and make Life all aim, 'li ■I =;; My old dexterities of hue quite gone. And nothing left for Love to look upon. 1866. ^1 SHE, TO HIM IV 'T'HIS love puts all humanity from me ; 1 I can but maledict her, pray her dead. For giving love and getting love of thee— ' Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed ! How much I love I know not, life not known, Save as some unit I would add love by ; But this I kno^^, my being is but thine own- Fused from its separateness by ecstasy. SHE, TO HIM And thus I grasp thy amplitudes, of her Ungrasped, tliough he'oed by nigh-regard- ing eyes ; Canst tliou then hate me as an cnvier Who sec unrecked what I so dearly prize? Believe me, Lost One, Love is lovelier The more it shapes its moan in selfish-wise. iS66. DITTY (K. L.d.) BENEATH a knap where flown Nestlings play. Within walls of weathered stone, Far away From the files of formal houses, By the bough the firstling browses, Lives a Sweet: no merchants meet. No man barters, no man sells Where she dwells. 37 ' ->* J*-*: , 46! ,- — V« ■■ 1 I) ; ii: D I T T Y Upon that fabric fair " Here is she !" Seems written everywhere Unto me. But to friends and noddin<^ neic^libors, Fellow wights in lot and labors, Who descry the times as I, No such lucid legend tells Where she dwells. Should I lapse to what I was In days by — (Such cannot be, but because Some loves die Let me feign it) — none would notice That where she I know by rote is Spread a strange and withering change, Like a drying of the wells Where she dwells. To feel I might have kissed — Loved as true — Otherwhere, nor Mine have missed My lite through, 3S il I I) IT TV Had I never wandered near her, Is a smart severe — severer In the thought that she is nought, Even as I, beyond the dells Where she dwells. And Devotion droops her glance To recall What bond-servants of Chance We are all. I but found her in that, going On my errant path unknowing, I did not out-skirt the spot That no spot on earth excels— Where she dwells! i 1870. ■-.•vf^il-fis-.jtf^., W»» ^'-•1M»-^» ff'**^'**... - . » * » ' ie * l i L. v«r^ I. i E; » •3" T--r» = >--iv-. :*^ Hi^TiiMviW'^ THE SERGEANT'S SONG (1S03) WHEN Lawyers strive to heal a breach, And Parsons practise what they preach ; Then Little Boney he'll pounce down, And march his men on London town ! RollicLim-rorum, tol-lol-lorum, Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lay I When Justices hold equal scales, And Rogues are only found in jails; 40 (> '''HK s.\ i<(;ka\ts snsr, Then Little Honey he'll pounce cl..un. And march his men on London toun ! Kollicum-rurum, etc. When Rich. Men find their uealth a curse, And fill thereuid, the Poor Alan's purse; ' Then Little Honey he'll pounce down. And march his men on London town ! Kollicum-rorum, etc. When Husbands with their Wives a-ree, And Maids won't wed from modesty ; Then Little Honey he'll pounce down, And march his men on London town! Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lorum, Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lav ! 1S7S. Piil'lislud iu ^'Th.- Tnimpel-Majorr i S80. Cf Lfiffl*" -.' ' ■,'ii t I Id I li VAT.ENCIKNNES (1793) T • -. " By Corporal Tui.mdck. Sec "The rrumpct-Major In Memory of S. C. (Pensioner). Died 1S4- WE trenched, we trumpeted and drum- med, And from our mortars tons of iron hummed Ath'art the ditch, the month we bombed The Town o' Valencieen. 4-' V A L K X C I K \ \ |.: S 'Twas ill tlic June {)' Xincty-drec (Tlu- Duke o" Vark our then Commander been) The German Le^rj,,,,, (]i,ards, and we Laid s'lQ^c to V'alencieen. This was the first time in tiie war That French and lingHsli spilled each other's gore; — (iod knows what )'ca. will end the roar Jiegun at X'alenciecn ! 'Twas said that we'd no business there A-toppcren the French for disagrccn ; However, that's not my affair — We were at Valencieen. Such snocks and slats, since war bef^an Never knew raw recruit or veteran : Stone-deaf therence went many a man Who served at Valencieen. 43 '-fcft'-MsaSiiti.-rj .^i^^. w ,?;?»&-■. a h ' 1' I ', I: h' V A L E X C I K N N K S Into the streets, ath'art the sky, A hundred thousand balls and bon^ihs were flciJn ; And harmless townsfolk fell to die Each hour at Valencieen ! And, sweaten \vi' the bombardiers, A shell was slent to shards aniirhst mv ears: — 'Twas n\g\\ the end of hopes and fears For me at Valenjieen ! They bore my wownded frame to camp, And shut my t^apen skull, and washed en clean, And jined en wi' a /Jlver clamp Thik niirlit at Valencieen. " We've fetched en back to quick from dead ; But never more on earth while rose is red Will drum rouse Corpel I" Doctor said O' me at Valencieci.. 44 ^.-J-..- jr^ - !.» VALi;\ C I EX.\ KS 'Twer true. No voice o' fn'-jnd or foe Can reacli me now, or an}- liven been; And little have I i^ower to know Since tl:en at Valencieen I I never hear the zumnier hums O' bees; and don't know when the cuckoo comes ; But night iind day I hear the bombs We threw at Valencieen. . . . As for the Duke o' Yark in war. There be some volk whose judgment o' en is meiin ; But this I say — 'a was n; t far From great at Valencieen. O' wild wet nights, when all seems sad. My wownds come back, as though new wownds I'd had ; But yet — at times I'm sort o' glad I fout at Valencieen. 45 4 I VALENCIENNES Well: Heaven \vi' its jasper halls Is now the on'y Town I care to be in. . . . Good Lord, if Nick should bomb the walls As we did Valenciecn ! 1878-1S97. i) ! ! . i : i f ^ m ! f P r SAN SEBASTIAN {August 1S13) With THorcHTs or Sekg.ant M (Pensioner), WHO DIHl) 185— WJ^^^' Sergeant, stray on the Ivcl As though at home there were spectres rife? From first to last 'twas a proud career: And your sunny years with a gracious wife Have brought you a daughter dear. 47 SAX S I'JiA S T I A N " I watched luT to-da)'; a more coiiiel)' maid, As she dancL'tl in her muslin bowed with blue, Round a Ilintock ma\-i)oIe never L;ayed." — " /\)x\ a)'e ; I watched her this tla}', too, As it hapi)cns," the Seri^eant said. " ]\Iy dauL^'htcr is now," he a_L;ain bej^.m, "Of just such an aijje as one I knew \\' hen we of the Line, in the Foot-Guard van. On an August morning;— a chosen few — Stormed San Sebastian. " She's a score less three ; so about was s/ir — The maiden I wronged in Peninsular days. . . . You may prate of your prowess in lusty times. But as years gnaw inward you bhnk your bays, And sec too well }'our crimes! * I JM *' We'd stormed it at night, by the vlankcr-light (^f burning towers, and the mortar's boom : We'd topped the breach but had failed to stay. For our files were misled by the baffling gloom ; And we said we'd storm by day. V, \i I I '4 i 4 at } I I ■'. :! 1 1 if ^i i i i SAN SEBASTIAN "So, out of tlic trenches, with features set. On that hot, still morning, in measured pace, Ou. column climbed ; climbed hi-her yet, Past the fauss'bray, scarp, up the curtain-face, And along the parapet. " From the battcried hornwork the cannoneers Hove crashing balls of iron fire; On the shaking gap mount the volunteers In files, and as they mount expire Amid curses, groans, and cheers. *' Five hours did we storm, five hours re-form, As Death cooled those hot blood pricked on ; Till our cause was helped by a woe within : They swayed from the summit we'd leapt upon, And madly we entered in. " On end for plunder, mid rain and thunder That burst with the lull of our cannonade. We vamped the streets in the stifling air— Our hunger unsoothed, our thirst unstayed— And ransacked the buildings there. 51 S A N S E J J A S r 1 A N "Down the stony steps of the house -fronts white We rolled rich puncheons of Spanish grape, Till at length, with the fire of the wine alight, I saw at a doorway a fair fresh shape — A woman, a sylph, or sprite. i !' I, II n ,1 i I . t I ,(.<;: !!, i' ■('■' V^ " Afeard she fled, and with heated head I pursued to the chamber she called her own ; — When might is right no ([ualms deter. And having her helpless and alone I wreaked my lust on her. " She raised her beseeching eyes to me, And 1 heard the words of prayer she sent In her own soft language. . . . Seemingly I copied those eyes for my punishment In begetting the girl jou see ! "So, to-day I stand with a God-set brand Like Cain's, when he n-uidered from kindred's ken. . . . 52 .i-^-' SAN SKI!.\sriAx\ 1 .^ served tliroLigli the war that made Europe i\'ce ; I wived me in peace-year. JUit, hid from men, I bear that mark on me. "And I ni-htly stray on the Ivel W^ay As though at home tli.re were spectres rife; I dehght me not in my proud career; And 'tis coals of fire that a j,M-arious wife Should have brought me a daugliter dear I" I ') ( I I I I ( -i' It': i !i TIIK STRANGER'S SOXG (As sn//-- hy Mu. ('(IAki.ks Ciiakkinctox /// the play of "'J'/ir '/'hire ir.iv/d/yrs" ) OAIY trade it is tlic rarest one, Simple shepherds all — My trade is a sight to see ; For my customers I tie, and take 'em up on high, And waft 'em to a far countrec! My tools are but common ones, Simple shepherds all — 54 THE S'J'R Ai\(. KR'S SONG My tools arc no sit;ht to sec : A little hempen strincr, and a post whereon to swnig, Arc implements cnoiiL,di for me! To-morrow is my working- da)-, Simple shepherds all- To-morrow is a workin^r day for mc : For thv' farmer's sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta'en, And on his soul may God ha' mer-cy ! Printed ill " J'hc -rhrcc Utraiis^crs," 1383. I i .1 MV' i\i fi Tin-: HL'RGIIKRS in-) THE sun had wheeled from Grey's to Dammer's Crest, And still I mused on that Thin<^ imminent : At length I soui^ht the High -street to the West. 56 ! rnK i;l'K(;(ikrs The level fl.iie r.ik-ed pane .ind pediment And my wrecked face, and shaped my near- ing friend Like one of those the Furnace held unsheiit. " I've news concernin<,r her," he said. "Attend. They fly to-night at the late moon's first gleam: Watch with thy steel : two righteous thrusts will end •' Her shameless visions and his passioned dream. I'll watch with thee, to testify thy wrong- To aid, maybe— Law consecrates the scheme." 'g I started, and we paced the flags alon^ Till I replied: "Since it has come to this I'll do it! But alone. I can be stron< >g- Three hours past Curfew, when the Froom's mild hiss Reigned sole, unduiled by whirr of mer- chandise. From Pummery-Tout to where the Gibbet is, 57 I J I I ' I, i 1.'. r|; THE BURGHERS I crossed my ploasaunce hard by Glyd'path Rise, And stood beneath the wall. Eleven strokes went, And to the door they came, contrariwise, And met in clasp so close I had but bent My lifted blade upon them to hrvo let Their two souls loose upon the firmament. But something held my arm. " A moment yet As pray-time ere you wantons die !" I said ; And then th.^y saw me. Swift her gaze was set With eye and cry of love illimited Upon her Heart-king. Never upon me Had she thrown look of love so thorough- sped ! . . . At once she flung her faint form shieldingly On his, against the vengeance of my vows ; The which o'erruling, her shape shielded he. 58 *i 1 'i^ THE JJURGHERS Blanked by such love, I stood as in a drowse, And the slow moon edged from the upland nigh, My sad thoughts moving thuswise : " I may hou se "And I may husband her, yet what am I But licensed tyrant to this bonded pair? Says Charity, Do as ye would be done by." Hurling my iron to the bushes there, I bade them stay. And, as if brain and breast Wcic passive, they walked with me to the stair. Inside the house none watched ; and on wc prest Before a mirror, in whose gleam I read Her beauty, his, — and mine own mien un- blest ; 59 i (II .1 "fi '^? i '4' /' • W T H E HUK G HERS Till at her room I turned. " Madam," I said, " Have you the wherewithal for this? Pray speak. Love fills no cupboard. You'll need daily bread." " We've nothing, sire," said she, " and noth- ing seek. 'Twere base in me to rob my lord unware; Our hands will earn a pittance week by week." And next I saw she'd piled her raiment rare Within the garde-robes, and her household purse. Her jewels, and least lace of personal wear ; And stood in homespun. Now grown wholly hers, I handed her the gold, her jewels all, And him the choicest of her robes diverse. jO li I' I'- THE BUR (; H K R S " I'll take you to the doorway in the wall, And then adieu," I to them. " Friends, with- draw." They did so ; and she went— beyond recall. And as I paused beneath the arch I saw Their moonlit figures— slow, as in surprise — Descend the slope, and vanish on the haw. " ' Fooi; some will say," I thought. " But who is wise. Save God alone, to weigh my reasons why.?" — "Hast thou struck home?" came with the boughs' night-sighs. It was my friend. " I have struck well. They fly, But carry wounds that none can cicatrize." — " Not mortal ?" said he. " Lino-crin^^ worse," said I. I? 'H ' I (i I LEIPZIG (1S13) Sane : The Master-tradesmen s Parlor at the Old Ship Inn, Casterbridge. Evening. O LD Norbert with the flat blue cap — A German said to be — Why let your pipe die on your lap, Your eyes blink absently?" — — " Ah ! . . . Well, I had thought till my cheek was wet Of my mother — her voice and mien When she used to sing and pirouette, And touse the tambourine 62 L E I P Z I Cx "To the march that yon street-fiddler ph'cs ; She told me 'twas the same She'd heard from the trumpets, when the Allies Her city overcame. "My tather was one of the German Hussars, My mother of Leipzig; but he, Long quartered here, iached her at close of the wars. And a Wessex lad reared me. "And as I grew up. again and again She'd tell, after trilling that air, Of her youth, and the battles on Leiuzicr plain And of all that was suffered there ! . . . "— 'Twas a time of alarms. Three Chiets-ai- arms Combined them to crush One, And by numbers' might, for in equal fight He stood the matched of ncc. 63 L E I 1' Z I G "Carl Scluvartzenburi^ was of the plot, And Bluchcr, prompt and prow, And Jean the Crown-Prince licrnadotte: liuonaparte was the foe. " City and plain had felt his reign From the North to the Middle Sea, And he'd now sr.t down in the noble town Of the King of Saxony. L ^ " October's deep dew its wet gossamer threw Upon Leipzig's lawns, leaf-strewn. Where lately each fair avenue Wrought shade for summer noon. "To westward two dull rivers crept Through miles of marsh and slough, Whereover a streak of whiteness swept — The Bridge of Lindenau. " Hard by, in the City, the One, care-crossed, Gloomed over his shrunken power ; And without the walls the hemming host Waxed denser every hour. 64 ■ I lkipzh; " He had speech tliat ni.cfht on tlie morrow's designs With his chiefs by the bivoi.ac fire, While the belt of flames from tlie enemy's h'nes Flared nigher him yet and nigher. S"-""g "Three sky -lights then from the girdlin trine Told, 'Ready!' As they rose Their flashes seemed his Judfrment-SicTn For bleeding Europe's woes. " Twas seen how the French watch-fires that night Glowed still and steadily; And the Three rejoiced, for they read in the sight That the One disdained to flee. "—Five hundred guns began the afi'ray On next day morn at nine, Such mad and mangling cannon-play Had never torn human line. E 6; il ' 'I 1 !' J. K 1 I'Zic; " Around the town three battles bent, Contracting like a gin; As nearer marched the million feet Of columns closing in. " The first battle nighed on the low Southern si(! : TiiC set >n/i (A the Western way; The nearin^^ ,4 ti;'' third on the North was heard : — The French held all at bay. " Against the first band did the Emperor stand ; Against the second stood Ney; Marmont against the third gave the order- word . — Thus raged it throughout the da\'. " Fifty thousand sturdy souls on those tramp' cd plains and knolls, Who met the dawn hopefully, And were lotted their shares in a cjuarrel not theirs, Dropt then in their agony. 66 I-KII'/. k; "*0; tlu: ..kl lolks said, 'yc l'rcaclicr.s stern! O so-called Christian lime! When will mars suords to plounh.sjuires turn ? When come the i)r()miscd prime?'. "— Ihe clash of horse and man which that ilay began, Closed not as evening wore; And the morrow's arnn-es. rear and van. Still mustered more and more. "From the City toners the Confederate Powers Were eyed in glittering lines, And up Irom the vast a murmuring passed As from a wood of pines. " * 'Tis well to cover a feeble skill By numbers!' scoffed He; 'But give me a third of their strength, I'd fill Half Hell with their soldiery!' 69 LKl I'/Ui "All that clay ra^od the war they wa^^cd. Aiul a<;ain eliinib iii^Ljht held roij^ii. Save that ever upspread from the dark deatli- bed A miles-wide pant of pain. *' Hard had striven brave Ney, the true licrtrand, Victor, and Augercau, liold Poniatowski, and Lauriston, To stay their overthrow ; " But, as in the dream of one sick to death Tliere comes a narrowing room That pens him, body and limbs and breath. To wait a hideous doom, 1 »^ '! H' '■ • " So to Napoleon, in the hush That held the town and towers Through these dire nights, a creeping crush Seemed inborne with the hours. TO k Jr ••:.■'#■.■• LKI I'/k; "One roul to the rearward, and but one. I)id fitfid Cliaiice allow; 'Tuas ulicrc the I'lciss' and Klstcr run— Tlic Hridtjo of Lindcnau. *' The nineteenth dawned. Down street and I'latz The wasted French sank back. Stretching' long lines across the Mats And on the bridge-way track ; ''When there surged on the sky an earthen wave, And stones, and men, as though Some rebel churchyard crew updrave Their sepulchres from below. " To Heaven is blown Bridge Lindenau ; Wrecked regiments reel therefrom ; A«d rank and file in masses plough Tiie sullen Elster-Strom. 71 k U 1 LKi pzk; " i'l om Quatre-Bras and Ligny ; till the dun Twilight suppressed tlie fray ; Albeit therein — as lated tongues bespoke- Brunswick's high heart was drained, And Prussia's Line and Landwehr, though unbroke, Stood cornered and constrained. And at next noon-time Grouchy slowly passed With thirty thousand men : We hoped thenceforth no army, small or vast, Would trouble us acrain. 75 ^1 ' ) f 'l ' 1 ! : 'I y I ■■f ■ 1 I'' " !'■ i! J'' fi'r T HEP J^ A S A N T ' S CO \ I ' K S S I () N My liut lay deeply in a vale recessed, And never a soid seemed n\<^\\ When, reassured at lent^th, we went to rest- My children, wife, and 1. Ikit what was this that broke our humble ease ? What noise, above the rain, Above the drippin V y /A Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 145S0 (716) 872-4503 SJ \ N> % '4^% ^ ^ ^ ^ '% » 1 THE PEASANT'S CONFESSION Smith, IMiclips, Fuller, Lind, and Battcrsby, And hosts of ranksmcn round . . . Memorials linger yet to speak to thee Of those that bit the ground ! The Guards' last column yielded ; dykes of dead Lay between vale and ridge, As, thinned yet closing, faint yet fierce, they sped In packs to Genappe Bridge. Safe was my stock ; my capple cow unslain ; Intact each cock and hen ; But Grouchy far at Wavre all day had lain, And thirty thousand men. O Saints, had I but lost my earing corn And saved the cause once prized ! O Saints, why such false witness had I borne When late I'd sympathized ! . . . 84 - <-. i.» -aii i «»< i r i — iir [ .^iamaijippiin THE TEAS AN TS CONFESSION So now, being old, my children eye askance My slowly dwindling store, And crave my mite ; till, worn with tarriance, I care for life no more. To Almighty God henceforth I stand con- fessed. And Virgin-Saint Marie , O Michael, John, and Holy Ones in rest, Entreat the Lord for me ! THE ALARM t ni (1S03) Sit' " 77/(' l'nt)»p,-t-Mfijo)" Ik Mh.mokv ok osn of tiii-: W'kitkk's Family who was a Volinterk i)iNiN(. ruK Wan with Naioi.kon I N a ferny byway Near the great South - Wessex Highway, A homestead raised its breakfast - smoke aloft ; Tlie dew-damps still lay steamless, for the sun had made no sky-way, And twilight cloaked the croft. o 86 THE ALARM 'Twas hard to realize on Tliis siuifT side the mute horizon That beyond it hostile armaments might steer, Save from seeinfr in the porchway a fair woman weep with eyes on A harnessed Volunteer. In haste he'd flown there To his comely wife alone there. While marching south hard by, to still her fears, P'or she soon would be a mother, and few messengers were known there In these campaigning years. 'Twas time to be Good-bying, Since the assembly-hour was nighing In royal George's town at six that morn : And betwixt its wharves and this retreat were ten good miles of hieing Ere ring of bugle-horn. «7 ■^lAMHifc^ .■■tr-ifjr-Tni.ii i« THE ALARM *' I've laid in food, Dear, And broaclied tlic spiced and brewed, Dear ; And if our July hope should antedate, Let tile char-ucnch mount and gallop by the halterpath and wood, Dear, And fetch assistance straijiht. th " As for Buonaparte, forijet him ; He's not like to land I l^ut let him, Those strike with \v;iy And following swift the liighway. Car and chariot met he. farinir fast inland 11 e s anchored, Soldier dioiited some God save thee, marching thy way, Th'lt front him on the strand !' Me slowed ; he stopped ; he paltered iVwhile with self, and faltered, " Why courting misadventure shoreward roam ? To Molly, surely I Seek the woods with her till times have altered ; Charity favors home. " Else, my denying He w^ould come she'll read as lying — Think the liarrow- Beacon must have met m}' eyes— That my words were not unwareness, but deceit of her, while trying My life to jeopardize. 92 .4 THE ALARM " At home is stocked provision, And to-iii[4ht, witliout suspicion, Wo mii^lit bear it with us to a covert near ; Such sin. to save a childing wife, would earn it Clirist's remission. Though none forgive it here!" While thus he. think-incr. A little bird, (luick drinkinir Among the crowfoot tufts the river bore. Was tangled in their stringy arms, and flut- tered, well-nigh sinking. Near him, upon the moor. He stepped in, reached, and seized it, And, preening, had released it Hut that a thought of Holy Writ oc- curred, And Signs Divine ere battle, till it seemed him Heaven had pleased it As guide to send the bird. 93 1 T H K ALARM I llf ' f ■* \'\ *' () Lord, direct mc ! . . . Uoth Duty now cxi)cct mc To march a-coast, or guard my weak ones near? Give tliis bird a flight according, that 1 thence know to elect me The southward or the rear." He loosed his clasp ; when, rising, The bird — as if surmising — Bore due to southward, crossing by the Froom, And Durnovcr Great-Field and Fort, the soU dier clear advising — Prompted he wist by Whom. Then on he panted By grim Mai-Don, and slanted Up the steep Ridge- way, hearkening be- twixt whiles; Till, nearing coast and harbor, he beheld the shore-line planted With Foot and Horse for miles. 94 111 THK ALARM Mistrustini; not the Dmcn. He {gained the beach, wliere Yeo- men, Militia, Keiiciblcs, and IMkenien l)()Itl. With Ke^uhirs in thousands, were cnmassed to meet tlie I'oemcn, Whose fleet liad not yet shoaled. ! Captain and Colonel, Sere Generals, Ensigns vernal. Were there, of neighbor- natives, Michel, Smith, Meggs, Bingham, Gambler, Cunningham, roused by the hued nocturnal Swoop on their land and kith. But Buonaparte still tarried ; His project had miscarried; At the last hour, equipped for victory, The fleet had paused ; his subtle combinations had been parried By British strategy. 95 ^ THE ALARM Homeward rctuniiiifj Anon, no beacons burning, No alarms, tlic Volunteer, in modest bliss, Te Deum sang with wife and friends : " We praise Thee, Lord, discerning That Thou hast helped in this !" V ' I ■ip,.iii..j,.Mimiiiiiii:niMiini HER DEATH AND AFTER 'T^VVAS a death- bed summons, and forth went By the way of the Western Wall, so drear On that winter night, and sought a gate— The home, by Fate, Of one I had long held dear. And there, as I paused by her tenement. And the trees shed on me their rime and hoar, I thought of the man who had left her lone— Him who made her his own When I loved her, long before. ^' 97 i^ SWST***- # I HER DEATH AND AFTER The rooms within had the piteous shine That home-things wear which the housewife miss ; From the stairway floated the rise and fall Of an infant's call, Whose birth had brought her to this. Her life was the price she would pay for that whine — For a child by the man she did not love. " But let that rest forever," I said, And bent my tread To the chamber up above. She took my hand in her thin white own. And smiled her thanks — though nigh too weak — And made them a sign to leave us there ; Then faltered, ere She could bring herself to speak. " 'Twas to see you before I go — he'll condone Such a natural thing now my time's not much — 98 HER DEATH AND AFTER When Death is so near it hustles hence All passioned sense Between woman and man as such ! *' My husband" is absent. As heretofore The City detains him. But, in truth, He has not been kind. ... I will speak no blame, But — the child is lame ; O, I pray she may reach his ruth ! " Forgive past days — I can say no more — Maybe if we'd wedded you'd now repine ! . . . But I treated you ill. I was punished. Fare- well ! —Truth shall I tell? Would the child were yours and mine ! ii If " As a wife I was true. But, such my un- ease That, could I insert a deed back in Time, I'd make her yours, to secure your care ; And the scandal bear. And the penalty for the crime !" 99 I ■WWI^W.'.".'f*T^"' ■ri£ rill < mg^y^ i HER DEATH AND AFTER f i — When I had left, and the swinfring trees Rang above me, as lauding her candid say. Another was I. ITer words were enough: Came smooth, came rough, 1 felt I could live my day. Next night she died ; and her obsequies In the I^^ield of Tombs, by the Via re- nowned, Had her husband's heed. His tendance spent, I often wont And pondered by her mound. All that year and the next year whiled. And I still went thitherward in the gloam ; But the Town forgot her and her nook, And her husband took Another Love to his home. And the rumor flew that the lame lone child Whom she wished for its safety child of mine, loo I ■Mb JiSl^^ . .iMt^^X t HER DEATH AND AFTER Was treated ill when offspring came Of the new-made dame, And marked a more vigorous line. A smarter grief within me wrought Than even at loss of her so dear; Dead the being whose soul my soul suffused, Her child ill-used, I helpless to interfere! I One eve as I stood at my spot of thought In the white-stoned Garth, brooding thus her wrong, Her husband ncared ; and to shun his view Hy her hallowed mew I went from the tombs amono- To the Cirque of the Gladiators which faced — That haggard mark of Imperial Rome, Whose Pagan echoes mock the chime Of our Christian time: It was void, and I inward clomb. HEK DEATH AND AFTER Scarce had night the sun's gold touch dis- placed From the vast Rotund ;ind the neighboring dead When her husband followed ; bowed ; half- passed, With lip upcast ; Then, halting, sullenly said : I ■I " It is noised that you visit my first wife's tomb. Now, T gave her an honored name to bear While living, when dead. So I've claim to ask By what right you task My patience by vigiling there ? •' " There's decency even in death, I assume ; Preserve it, sir, and keep away ; For the mother of my first-born you Show mind undue ! —Sir, I've nothing more to say." A desperate stroke discerned I then — God pardon — or pardon not — the lie ; 104 nHe* HKR DKATH AND AFTER She had sighed that she wislicd (lest the child should pine Of sligiits) 'twere mine, So I said : " lint the father I. " That you thought it yours is the way of men ; Hut I won her troth long ere your day : You learnt how, in dying, she summoned me? 'Twas in fealty. — Sir, I've nothing more to say, " Save that, if you'll hand me my little maid, I'll take her, and rear her, and spare you toil. Think it more than a friendly act none can ; I'm a lonely man, While you've a large pot to boil. " If not, and you'll put it to . or blade- To-night, to-morrow night, any when— I'll meet you here. . . . But think of it, And in season fit Let me hear from you again." lo: ! : I i r. HER IJEATII AND AFTER — Well, I went away, hoping ; but nought I heard Of my stroke for the child, till there greeted me A little voice that one day came To my window-frame And babbled innocently: h !t ** My father who's not my own, sends word I'm to stay here, sir, where I belong !" Next a writing came : " Since the child was the fruit Of your passions brute, Pray take her, to right a wrong." And I did. And I gave the child my love, And the child loved mc, and estranged us none. But compunctions loomed ; for I'd harmed the dead By what I'd said For the good of the living one. 1 06 HKR DKATH AND AFTKR — Yet though, God wot, 1 am sinner cnousli. And unworthy the woman who drew me so, Perhaps this wrong for her darling's good She forgives, or would, If only she could know! - I. , H |! — < - ■ tf , - — ,Jpi^::^'^P'^--^i4fen THK DANCE AT THE PHCKNIX I. :!' TO Jenny came a gentle youth From inland leazes lone ; His love was fresh as apple-blooth By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone. And duly he entreated her To be his tender minister, And call him aye her own. Fair Jenny's life had hardly been A life of modesty ; At Casterbridge experience keen Of many loves had she 1 08 ". *..".-.»->■* M-.^rm Til K DANCK AT Til K PIKKNI \ r>om scarcely sixteen years above : Amonjif them sundry troo|)ers of Tile Kiii^''s-()\vn Cavalry. But each with cliarj^cr, sword, and pfun, Mad biuffed the JJiscay wave; And Jenny prized her j^entle one I'^or all the love he gave. She vowed to be, if they were wed, His honest wife in heart and head From bride-ale hour to yrave. Wedded they were. Her husband's trust In Jenny knew no bound. And Jenny kept her pure and just. Till even malice found No sin or sign of ill to be In one who walked so decently The duteous helpmate's round. I Two sons were born, and bloomed to men, And roamed, and were as not : Alone was Jenny left again As ere her mind had sought 109 ' 'i** l t f ^i Wi»«v - | p j y» c i w, jy '. w THE DANCE AT THE PHOENIX A solace in domestic joys, And ere the vanished pair of boys Were sent to sun her cot. I w n She numbered near on sixty years, And passed as elderly, When, in the street, with flush of fears, One day discovered she, From shine of swords and thump of drum, Her early loves from war had come, The King's-Own Cavalry. She turned aside, and bowed her head Anigh Saint Peter's door -, "Alas for chastened thoughts I" she said; " I'm faded now, and hoar, And yet those notes — they thrill me through^ And those gay forms move me anew As in the years of yore!" . . . — 'Twas Christmas, and the Phoenix Inn Was lit with tapers tall, For thirty of the trooper men Had vowed to give a ball no I I THE DANCE AT THE PHCENIX As " Theirs " had done (fame handed down) When lying in the self-same town Ere Buonaparte's fall. That night the throbbing "Soldier's Joy," The measured tread and sway Of " Fancy-Lad " and " Maiden Coy," Reached Jenny as she lay Beside her spouse; till springtide blood Seemed scouring through her like a flood That whisked the years away. She rose, and rayed, and decked her head To hide her ringlets thin; Upon her cap two bows of red She fixed with hasty pin ; Unheard descending to the street, She trod the flags with tune-led feet, And stood before the Inn. Save for the dancers', not a sound Disturbed the icy air; No watchman on his midnight round Or traveller was there; III i Ji f Jt THE DANCE AT THE PHCKNIX |!f But over All-Saints', high and bright, Pulsed to the music Sirius white, The Wain by Bullstake Square. She knocked, but found her further stride Checked by a sergeant tall: *^ Gay Granny, whence come you ?" he cried ; " This is a private ball." — "No one has more right here than me! Ere you were born, man," answered she, "I knew the regiment all!" "Take not the lady's visit ill!" Upspoke the steward free; " We lack sufficient partners still, So, prithee let her be!" They seized and whirled her 'mid the maze, And Jenny felt as in the days Of her immodesty. Hour chased each hour, and night advanced; She sped as shod with wings : Each time and every time she danced- Reels, jigs, poussettes, and flings : I 12 THE DANCE AT THE IMKEiVIX They cheered her as she soared and swooped (She'd learnt ere art in dancing dniopcd From hops to slothful swings). The favorite Quick-step " Speed the Ploueh "— (Cross hands, cast off, and wheel)— *'The Triumph," "Sylph," "The Row-dow dow," Famed "Major Malley's Reel," " The Duke of York's," " The Fairy Dance," "The Bridge of Lodi " (brought from France), She beat out, toe and heel. ' H The " Fall of Paris " clanged its close. And Peter's chime told four, When Jenny, bosom-beating, rose To seek her silent door. They tiptoed in escorting her. Lest stroke of heel or clink of spur Should break her goodman's snore. H II i .'•-«■-* V^-i'-^.^ ;.i 4,, » J ■ THE DANCE AT THE PHCENIX The fire that late had burnt fell slack When lone at last stood she; Her nine-and-fifty years came back; She sank upon her knee Beside the durn, and like a dart A something arrowed through her heart In shoots of agony. Their footsteps died as she leant there, Lit by the morning star Hanging above the moorland, where The aged elm-rows are ; And, as o'ernight, from Pummery Ridge To Maembury Ring and Standfast Bridge No life stirred, near or far. Though inner mischief worked amain, She reached her husband's side ; Where, toil-weary, as he had lain Beneath the patchwork pied When ycstereve she'd forthward crept, And as unwitting, still he slept Who did in her confide. 114 r ■! I THE DANCE AT THE PH(ENIX A tear sprang as she turned and viewed His features free from guile; She kissed hiai long, as when, just wooed. She chose his domicile. Death menaced now; yet less for h'fe She wished than that she were the wife That she had been erstwhile. Time wore to six. Her husband rose And struck the steel and stone ; He glanced at Jenny, whose repose Seemed deeper than his own. With dumb dismay, on closer sight, He gathered sense that in the night, Or morn, her soul had flown. Wiien told that some too mighty strain For one so many-yeared Had burst her bosom's master-vein, His doubts remained unstirred. His Jenny had not left his side Betwixt the eve and morning-tide : —The King's said not a word. '15 ] ■' »J THE DANCE AT THE P H CE N 1 X Well ! times are not as times were tlien, Nor fair ones half so free ; And truly they were martial men, The Kinj^'s-(3wn Cavalry. And when they went from Casterbridge And vanished over Mellstock Ridge, 'Twas saddest morn to see. u il ,\^ ^ '\ ':-v ■ '- powers in- clikn> . . . I have lain in dead men's beds, liavc walked The tombs of those with whom I'd talked. Called many a gone and goodly one to shape a sign, And panted for response. But none rcphes ; No warnings loom, nor whisperings To open out my iimitings, And Nescience mutely muses: When a man falls he lies. il i^: MY CICELY (17—) A LIVE?" — And I leapt in my wonder. Was faint of my joyance, And grasses and grove shone in garments Of glory to me. " She lives, in a plenteous well-being, To-day as aforehand ; The dead bore the name — thoug!i a rare one — The name that bore she." 124 MY CICELY She lived ... I, afar in the city Of frenzy-led factions, Had -squandered green years and maturer In bowing the knee To Baals illusive and specious, Till chance had tliere voiced me That one I loved vainly in nonage Had ceased her to be. The passion the planets had scowled And change had let dwindle, Her death-rumor smartly relifted To full apogee. on. 'g I mounted a steed in the dawninj With acheful remembrance. And made for the ancient West Highway To far Exonb'ry. Passing heaths, and the House of Lon Sieging, I neared the thin steeple I2S '-•«•.-. t«^^ I 1. 11 (-' i i MY CICELY That tops the fair fane of Poore's olden Episcopal see ; And, changing anew my onbearer, I traversed the downland Whereon the bleak hill-graves of Chieftains Bulge barren of tree ; And still sadly onward I followed That Highway the Icen, Which trails its pale ribbon down Wessex O'er lynchet and lea. Along through the Stour-bordered Forum, Where Legions had wayfared, And where the slow river upglasses Its green canopy, And by Weathcrbury Castle, and therence Through Tasterbridge, bore I, To tomb her whose light, in my deeming, Extinguished bad He. 126 MY cicp:lv No highwayman's trot blew the night-wind To me so life- weary, But only the creak of the gibbets Or wagoners' jee. / Triple-ramparted Maidon gloomed grayly Above me from southward, And north the hill-fortress of Eggar, And square Pummerie. The Nine-Pillared Cromlech, the Bride-streams, The Axe, and the Otter I passed, to the gate of the city Where Exe scents the sea; Till, spent, in the graveacre pausing, I learnt 'twas not my Love To whom Mother Church had just murmured A last lullaby. -"Then, where dwells the Canon's kins- woman. My friend of afciretime?" — 127 ^ /'/ MY CICELY (Twas hard to repress my hcart-heavings And new ecstasy.) " She wedded."—" Ah !"— " Wedded beneath her— She kee])s the stage-hostel Ten miles hence, beside the great Highway — The famed Lions-Three. " Her spouse was her lackey — no option 'Twixt wedlock and worse things ; A lapse over-sad for a lady Of her pedigree !" ^1, I shuddered, said nothing, and wandered To shades of green laurel : Too ghastly had grown those first tidings So brightsome of blec ! For, on my ride hither, Fd halted Awhile at the Lions, And her — her whose name had once opened My heart as a key — 128 ; MV CICELY I'd looked on. unknowing, and witnessed Her jests with the tapsters. Her hquor-fired face, her thick accents In naminq- her fee. "O God, why this hocus satiric!" I cried in my anguish: ^'O once Loved, O fair Unforgotten- That Thing— meant it thee! - Inurned and at peace, lost but sainted. Were grief I could compass; l^epraved-'tis for Christ's poor dependent A cruel decree!" not I backed on the Highway; but passed The hostel. Within there Too mocking to Love's re-expression Was Time's repartee ! Uptracking where Legions had wayfared. By cromlechs unstoried, And lynchets, and sepultured Chieftains, In self-colloquy, ^ 129 »w.«ii. i.» i- • MV CICELY A feeling stirred in mc .ind strengthened That slic was not my Love, ViwX. she of the garth, who lay rapt in Mer long reverie. h' And thence till to-day I persuade me That this was the true one ; That Death stole intact her young dearness And innocency. \\ m Frail-witted, illuded they call me ; I may be. 'Tis better To dream than to own the debasement Of sweet Cicely. Moreover 1 rate it unseemly To hold that kind Heaven Could work such device — to her ruin And my misery. So, lest I disturb my choice vision, I shun the West Highway, Even now, when the knaps ring with rhythms From blackbird and bee ; y MV CICELY And feel that with slumber half-conscious She rests in tlic church-hay, Mcr spirit unsoiled as in youth-time When lovers were we. ■r I ■■■^:^# n t^ -. L»^ If o*'*''- -«iiLil ^'^^r /J !. . i-. J HER IMMORTALITY l( Ul'ON a noon I pilgrimed through A pasture, mile by mile, Unto the place where I last saw My dead Love's living smile. M a; 1^1: And sorrowing I lay me down Upon the heated sod : It seemed as if my body pressed The very ground she trod. •3^ n ■ .''■*>i<.-..«4i&l i. i.„- ^N ^^ .A\ 0''\« ovih^"^i .,f r-, , .'t'^'^'-'f*f^'i(^t*y,' FRIENDS BEYOND ^il/ILLIAM DEWY, Tranter Reuben, V V Farmer Ledlow late at ploucrh Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's, And the Squire, and Lad)- Susan, h'e in Mell- stock churcliyard now I ''Gone," I call them, gone for good, that group of local hearts and heads ; Yet at mothy curfew-tide. And at midnight when the noon-heat breathes it back from walls and leads, ^ 145 i « i. V^f^': FRIKNDS HKYOXU They've a way of whisperini^ to mc — ■ fellow-wijrht who yet abide — In the muted, measured note Of a ripple under arcliways, or a lone cave's stillicide: f'f t it "We have triumphed: this achievement t'.rns the bane to antidote, Unsuccesses to success, Many thought-worn eves and morrows to a morrow f.ce of tliought. \fa " No more need we corn and clothing, feel of old terrestrial stress ; Chill detraction stirs no sigh ; Fear of death has even bygone us: death gave all that we possess." ^- IV. D. — "Ye mid burn the wold bass-viol that I set sr.'^h vallie bv." Squire. — "You may bold the manse in fee. You may wed my spouse, my children's memory of me may decr\\" 146 ,»> nc nt \'S I'KJENDS JiKYONI) ^'''O'—'^Vou may have my rich brocades, my laces ; take eacli household key ; Ransack coffer, desk, bureau ; Quiz the few poor treasures hid there, con the letters kept by me." /v^A-.-^Ye mid zeJl my favorite lieifcr, ye mid let the charlock grow. Foul the grinterns, give up thrift." /rV/;-._-if y^. break my best blue ch children, I sha'n't care or ho." ma, nr 3' h gs, A// -" We've no wish to hear the tidin how the people's fortunes shift ; What your daily doings are ; Who are wedded, born, divided ; ii youi lives beat slow or swift. "Curious not the least are we if our intents you make or mar. If you quire to our old tune, If the City stage still passes, if the wei •still roar afar." H7 rs FRIENDS BEYOND -Thus, witli very gods' composure, freed those crosses Kite and soon Wliich, in life, tlie Trine allow (Wliy, none witteth), and ignoring all that haps beneath the moo' , William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, l^'armer Ledlow late at plough, Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's, And the Squire, and Lady Susan, mur- mur mildly to me now. TO OUTER NATURE OHOW thee as I thourrht thee O When I early soucrht thee, Omen-scoLitinj irr All undoubti'no- Love alone had wrought thee— 149 11 ^i TO (U'TKR N A rU R K Wr()u«^lu tlic'c for my pleasure, Planned thee as a measure I'\)r ;xi )OU ndin OLTKR \.\Ti;rk Why not scnipitcM-ii.il Thou aiul I? ()i,r vernal Hriglitncss keeping, Time outlcapinjj ; I'assecl tiic hodiernal ! 1 1 I" THOUGHTS OF PM A AT NEWS OF IIKK DEATH NOT a line of her writing have I, Not a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby I may picture her there ; And in vain do I urge my unsight To conceive my lost prize At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with Mght, And with laughter her eyes. 152 li^ I! ' l\ Vi 1^ .f THOUGHTS OF PH A What scenes spread around her last days, Sad, shining, or dim ? Did her gitts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways With an aureate nimb ? Or did life-h'ght decline from her years, And mischances control Her full day-star ; unease, or regret, or fore- bodings, or fears Diseimoble her soul? Thus I do but the phantom retain Of the maiden of yore As my relic; yet haply the best of her — fined in my brain It may be the more That no line of her writing have I, Nor a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby I may picture her there. Mil irk, 1S90. 1 1 *'l \ ! MIDDLE-AGE ENTHUSIASMS To M. II. WE passed where flag and flower Signalled a jocund throng ; We said : " Go to, the hour Is apt!" — and joined the song; And, kindling, langhed at li\e and care, Although we knew no laugh lay there. h ■J ^^1 We walked where shy birds stood Watching us, wonder-dumb ; 156 MIDDLE-AGE ENTHUSIASMS Their friendship met our mood ; We cried: "We'll ofien come: We'll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen !" —We doubted we should come again. We joyed to see strange sheens Leap from quaint leaves in shade ; A secret light of greens They'd for the:i pleasure made. We said : - We'll set such sorts as these !" —We knew with night the wish would cease. " So sweet the place," we said, " Its tacit tales so dear, Our thoughts, when breath has sped, Will meet and mingle here!" ^' Words!" mused we. "Passed the mortal door, Our thoughts will reach this no. /0-» »AV^ / IN A WOOD St'c ''The IVoiH/laiuiers" PALE beech and pine-tree blue, Set in one clay, Bough to bough cannot you Bide out your day? When the rains skim and skip, Why mar sweet comradeship, Blighting with poison-drip Neighborly spray ? Heart-halt and spirit-lame, City-opprest, 158 f IN A WOOD Unto this wood I came As to a nest ; Dreaming that syivar, peace Offered the harrowed ease- Nature a soft release From men's unrest. Hut, having entered in, Great growths and small Show them to men akin — Combatants all ! Sycamore shoulders oak. Bines the slim sapling yoke, Ivy-spun halters choke Elms stout and tall. Touches from ash, O wych, Sting you like scorn ! You, too, brave hollies, twitch Sidelong from thorn. Even the rank poplars bear Jlly a rival's air. Cankering in black despair If overborne. 159 it ■i I Ml IN A WOOD Since, then, no grace I find Taught me of trees, Turn 1 back to my kind, Worthy a.s these. There at least smiles abound, Thc"T disn ir; i trills n round, t'hc' .. ii •- a.ia then, are found Life loya'ties. 1887-1896. TO A LADY DFFKXDEI) P.V A P.OOK OF THK \VK' vh's NOW that my pac^^e upcloscs, doomed, maybe, Never to press tliy cosy cusliions more, Or wake thy ready Yeas as heretofore, Or stir thy gentle vows of faitli in me : Knowing thy natural receptivity, I figure tliat, as flambeaux banish eve, My sombre image, warped b>' insidious heave Of those less forthright, must lose place in thee. I: / TO A LAIJV So be it. I have borne sucli. Let thy dreams Of me and mine diminish day by day, And yield their space to shine of smugger tilings ; Till I shape to thee but in fitful gleams, And then in far and feeble visitings. And then surcease. Truth will be truth alway. I i \' -1, TO AN ORPHAN CHILD A WIILMSEV AH, child, thou art but half thy darling mother's ; Hers couldst thou wholly be, My light in thee would outglow all in others ; She would relive to me. I?ut niggard Nature's trick of birth Bars, lest she overjoy, Renewal of the loved on earth Save with alloy. 163 i'>,l TO AN ORPHAN (11 1 1J> Tlic Dame has no regard, alas, my maiden, \'ov love and loss like mine- No sympathy with mind-sight memory-laden ; Old)' with ficlde eync. To her mechanic artistry My dreams are all uidaiown, And why I wish that thou couldst be Hut One's alone I •■I, J I y \, .K NATURE'S QUESTIONING WHEN I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, ilock, and lonely tree, All seem to look at mc Like chastened children sitting silent in a school ; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's ways Through the long teaching days 1 '-leir first terrestrial zest had chilled and overborne. 165 N A T U R E • S (1 U E S 1' I O N I N G And on them stirs, in lippinc^s mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce brcatheci at all) — " We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here I h I 'I ; I i 1 1 I'i' \\\ I ( :i " Has some Vast Imbecility, Michtv to build and blend, But impotent to tend, Framed us in jesr, and left us now to hazardry ? " Or come we of an Automaton Unconscious of our pains? . . . Or are we live remains Of Godhead dying downwards, biain and eye now gone ? " Or is it that some high Plan betides. As yet not understood, Of Evil stormed by Good, We the Forlorn Hope over which Achieve- ment .-.trides?" 1 66 NATURE'S QUESTIONING Thus things around. No answerer I. . . , Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth's old glooms and pains Are still the same, and gladdest Life Death neighbors nigh. ^ li!' i T HE m ? R R C T r I R N T (AT A CATIIKDRAI. SKRVKi:) i f I l» THAT from this bri^c^ht bclicviiirv band An outcast I should be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a drear destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, 1 68 Y t4 \ . , ■ .J ■:^C^r-^:^^^ "=-:r'^ ..-^:-^^;^^^^^ >:->i.-:.-aBr^£-_- ■^^^ P-'- 4^^ S. fc I t I i 1 ! 1' i i f THE IM PERCIPIENT Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren sec, Why joys they've found 1 cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Wiiich they know ; since it be That He who breathes All's Well to these Breathes no All's Well to me. My lack mi^rht move their s\'mpathies And Christian charity .' i I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company Standing upfingcred, with, " Hark' hark! The glorious distant seal" And feel, "Alas, 'tis but yon d..rk And wind-swept pine to me I" Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillit}-, But for the charge that blessed thin I'd liefer have unbe. '71 f I I THE I M P E R CI P I E N T O, dotli a bird deprived of wings Go cartli-bound wilfully ! • • • • Enough. As yet disquiet clings About us. Rest shall we. '.. I AT AX IXN w HEN we as strant^r.-s >.:.ught Their catering care, Veiled smiles bespoke their thought Of wliat we were. Tiiey warmed as they opined Us m.ore than friends — That we had all resigned For love's dear ends. And that swift sympathy With living love 173 A T A \ I N N Which quicks the world —maybe The spheres above. Made them our ministers. Moved them to sa\'. "Ah, God. that bhss hkr theirs Woukl flush our day!" And \vc were left alone As Love's own pair ; Yet never the love-licfht shone Between us there ! But that which chilled the breath Of afternoon. And palsied unto death The pane-fly's tune. The kiss their zeal foretold, ^-xud now deemed come, Came not: within his hold Love lincjercd numb. Why cast he on our port A bloom not ours? Why shaped us for his sport Tn after-hours? 1 7-1- Ar AN INN As 'vc seemed we were not That day afar, And now we seem not what We aching are. O severini,^ sea and land, () laws of men, Ere death, once let us stand As we stood then ! II € TIIK SLOW NATURE (AN IN'CIDKX'I' ol' FKOO.M NAl.I.KV) T I IV hLi>b.incl — poor, pour Heart I — is dead — Dead, out by Alorcford Rise; A bull escaped the barton-shed, Gored him, and there he lies!" — "Ha, ha — go away! 'Tis a talc, mcthink, Thou joker Kit !" laughed she. " I've known thee many a year, Kit Twink, And ever hast thou fooled me !" 176 m TIM-; SLOW XArURE — " IJut, Mistress Damon— I can swear Thy f^foodman John is dead! And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear His body to his bed." So unwontediy sad was tlie merry man's face — That face which had lon^,' deceived— That she '^a/.cd and gazed; and then could trace The truth there; and siie believed. She laid a hand on the dresser-ledn-c And scanned far Egdon-side ; And stood ; and you lieard the wind-swept sedge And the rippling Froom ; till she cried : " O my chamber's untie! ied, unmade my bed, Though the day has begun to wear! * What a slovenly hussif !' it will be said, When they all go up my stair!" M 177 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. ^.<.^ '9, ^> / ^M^ 1.0 I.I IAAI21 |2.5 it m 12.2 yH 1.8 1.25 1 1.4 .6 4 6" ► V] y] >> V c> / z!^ Photogr^hic Scifaices Corporation 23 WEST MAIN ST9EET WEBSTFR.N.Y. 14S80 (716) 872-4503 > ,^ '^ t/. ».^p liiiiiw>-ii rnff un J, THE S L O \V N A 1' U R E She disappeared ; and the joker stood Depressed by his neighbor's doom, And amazed that a wife struclc to widow- hood Thought first of her unkempt room. But a fortiu'ght thence she could take no food* And she pined in a slow decay ; While Kit soon lost his mournful mood And laughed in his ancient way. 1894. :t i IN A EWELEAZE NEAR WEATHERBURY THE years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gayly Love's fitful ecstasies ! But despite the term as teacher, I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. Yet I note the little chisel Of ever-napping Time, 179 IN A EWELEAZE Defacing ghast and grizzcl The blazon of my prime. When at night he thinks me sleeping, I feel him boring sly Within my bones, and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. Still, I'd go the world with Ik'auty, I would laugh with her and sing, 1 would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. * But she'd scorn my brave endeavor, She would not balm the breeze By murmuring "Thine for ever!" As she did upon this leazc 1S90. I ADDITIONS . i.i.-iai.ij-i-5.j.. .1 a'^uiMii" i ww I THE FIRE AT TRANTER SWEATLEV'S THEY had long met o' Zundays — her true love and she — And at junketings, maypoles, and flings; But she bode vvi' a thirtover uncle, and he Swore by noon and by night that her good- man should be Naibor Sweatley — a gaffer oft weak at the knee From taking o' sommat more cheerful than tea — Who tranted, and moved people's things. 185 I'- I K I-: A r 'i' R A \ T K K S W K A T L E ^ " S She cried. "O j)ra\' jjity me I" Nought would he liear ; Then with wild rainy eyes she obcj'ed. Slie chid when her Love was for clinUing off wi' her. The pa'son was told, as the season drew near To throw over pu'pit the names of the pciiir As fittinii one flesh to be made. The wedding-day dawned and the morning drew on ; The couple stood bridegroom and bride ; The evening was passed, and when midnight had gone The folks horned out, " God save the King," and anon The two home-along gloomily liied. ' / The lover Tim Tankens mourned heart-sick and drear To be thus of his darling deprived : He roamed in the dark ath'art field, mound, and mere, 1-IRK AT TRANTER S\V E A 1' L K V S And, a'most without know iii-^r Jt, found liiinsclf near The house of the tranter, and now of his Dear. Where the hintern-H^^ht showed 'em anivcd. The bride sought her cham'er so calm and so pale That a Northern had tliought her resii^ned : But to eyes that had seen her in tide-times of weal. Like the white cloud o' smoke, the red battle- field's vail, That look spak' of havoc behind. The bridegroom yet laitercd a beaker to drain, Then reeled to the linhay for more, When the candle-snoff kindled some chaff from his grain — Flames spread, and red vlankers, wi' might and wi' main. And round beams, thatch, and chimlcy-tuii roar. 187 -*-^ *,.___ Y i h * I' I K K A T r R A N 1 !•: R S W K A T I, I-: V ' S Youii^ Tim away yoiul, rafted ui) by tlic li-ht, Throii^fli brimble and underwood tears, Till lie comes to the orchet, when crooping thereriyht In the lewth of a codlin-tree, biverint,' wi' frijrht, Wi* on'y her nij^ht-rail to screen her from slight, His lonesome young IJarbree appears. Her cwold little figure half-naked he views Played about by the frolicsome breeze, Her light-tripping totties, her ten little toocs, All bare and besprinkled wi' Fall's chilly dews, While her great gallied eyes, through her hair hanging loose, Sheened as stars through a tardle o' trees. She eyed en ; and, as when a weir-hatch is drawn, Her tears, penned by terror afore, 1 88 II I I K I'. A T 'I' k A N r !•: K s w I-: \ i' i . v. \ ' s With ;i rushiii;^ of sobs in a sh()\V(*r were strawn, Till her power to pour 'imti scciiicd wasted and ^oiic l''rom the lieft o' misfortune she bore. "O Tim. my (>:<.'// Tim I must call 'ee— I will ! All the world ha' turned round on me sol Can you help her who loved 'ce, though actinia so ill? (Jan you pity her misery— feel for her still? When worse than her b(Kly so ipiiveriiii; and chill Is her heart in its winter o' woe! "I think I mid almost ha' borne it," she saiil, "Had my griefs one by one come to hand ; l^ut O, to be slave to thik husbird for bread. And then, upon top o' that, driven to wed. And then, upon top o' that, burnt out o' bed, Is more than ni)- nater can stand I" F I R K A r T R A N '1' K K S W E .V 1' L E V ' S Tim's soul like a lion 'ithin en outspruiig — (Tim had a <^rcat soul when his feelings were wrung)— " I'eel for 'ee, dear Harbrcc ?" he cried; And his warm working -jacket about her he flung, Made a back, horsed her up, till behind him she clunii Like a chiel on a gipsy, her figure uphung By the sleeves that around her he tied. Over piggeries, and mixens, and apples, and hay, They Jumpered straight into the night; And iip.ding bylong where a halter-path lay. At dawn reached Tim's house, on'y seen on their way By a naibor or two who were up wi' the day ; But they gathered no clue to the sight. W A I i Then tender Tim Tankens he searched here and there For some garment to clothe her fair skin ; 190 FIRE AT TRANTKR SWKATLEVS But though he had breeches and waistcoats to spare, He had nothing quite seemly for Barbree to wear, Who, half shrammed to death, stood and cried on a chair At the caddie she found herself in. There was one thing to do, and that one thing he did. He lent her some clouts of his own, And she took 'em perforce; and while in 'em she slid, Tim turned to the winder, as modesty bid, Thinking, "O that the picter my duty keeps hid To the sight o' my eyes mid be shown !" In the tallet he stowed her; there huddied she lay. Shortening sleeves, legs, and tails to her limbs ; Rut most o' the time in a mortal bad way. 191 FIRE A T r R A X T E K S W E A T L E V ' S Well knowing that thcre'd be the divel to pay If 'twere found that, instead o' the elements' prey. She was living in lodgings at Tim's. W "Where's the tranter?" said men and boys; " where can er be?" " Where's the tranter?" said Barbree alone. "Where on c'th is the tranter?" said ever\'- bod-y : They sifted the dust of his perished roof-tree, And all they could find was a bone. Then the uncle cried, " Lord, pray have mercy on me I" And in terror began to repent. But before 'twas complete, and till sure she was free, Barbree drew up her loft-ladder, tight turned her key — Tim bringing up breakfast and dinner and tea — Till the news of her hiding got vent. 192 FIRE AT TRANTER SWEATLEVS have Then followed the custom -kept rout, shout. and flare Of a skimmington-ridc through the naibor- hood, ere Folk had proof o' wold Sweatley's deca\-. Whereupon decent people all stood in a stare, Saying Tim and his lodger should risk it, and pair: So he took her to church. An' some laugh- ing lads there Cried to Tim, "After Swcatleyl" She said, " I declare I stand as a maiden to-day!" U'litteu 1866; printed 1575. N and Il w, V ^1 HEIRESS AND ARCHITECT For a. W. 1!. SHE sought the Studios, beckoning to her side An arch-designer, for she planned to build. He was of wise contrivance, deeply skilled In every intervolve of high and wide — Well fit to be her guide. " Whatever it be," Responded he, With cold, clear voice, and cold, clear view, HEIRP:sS AM) ARCHITECT " In true accord with prudent fashioninos For such vicissitudes as Hviiitr brinj^s. And thwarting not the law of stable thin-s. That will I do." "Shape me," she said, "high walls with tracery And open ogive-work, that scent and hue Of buds, and travelling bees, may come in through. The note of birds, and singings of the sea, For these are much to me." " An idle whim !" Broke forth from him Whom nought could warm to gallantries: "Cede all these buds and birds, the zephyr's call. And scents, and hues, and things that falter all. And choose as best the close and surly wall, For winter's freeze. '95 HEIRESS AND ARCHITECT "Then frame," she cried, "wide fronts of crystal glass, That I may sliow my laughter and my light — Light like the sun's by day, the stars' by night — Till rival heart-([uccns, envying, wail, * Alas, Her glory I' as they pass." " O maid misled I" He sternly said, Whose facile foresight pierced her dire; " Where shall abide the soul when, sick of glee. It shrinks, and hides, and prays no eye may see? Those house them best who house for secrecy, For you will tire." "A little chamber, then, with swan and dove Ranged thickly, and engrailed with rare device Of reds and purples, for a Paradise Wherein my Love may greet me, I my Love, When he shall know thereof?" iq6 HEIRESS AND ARCHITECT "This, too. is ill," He answered still. The man who swayed her like a shade. *'An hour will come when sight of such sweet nook- Would brinsT a bitterness too sharp to brook, When brighter ejcs have won away his look : For you will fade." Then said she faintly: " O. contrive some way — Some narrow winding turret, quite mine own, To reach a loft where I may grieve alone I It is a slight thing; hence do not, I pray, This last dear fancy slay!" " Such winding ways Fit not your days," Said he, the man of measuring eye ; " I must even fashion as my rule declares. To wit: Give space ( ' -e life ends unawares) To hale a cofflned coipse adown the stairs; For you will die." 1867. i TIIK TWO MEN TIIKRR were two youths of equal ai^e, Wit, station, strent:jth, and parenta^^e ; They studied at the self-same schools. And sha[)ed their thoughts by common rules. One pondered on the life of man, I lis hopes, his ending, and began To rate the Market's sordid war As something scarce worth livincf for. 200 .'.« I I » T H E T \\ () M 1-: N " I'll brace to hi^licr aims," said he, " I'll further Truth and Purity ; Thereby to mend the mortal lot And sweeten sorrow. Thrive I not, "Winning their hearts, m\ kind will give Enough that I may lowly live, And house my Love in some dim dell, [•'or pleasing them and theirs so well." Idly attired, with features wan, In secret swift he labored on ; Such press of [)owcr had brought much gold Applied to things of meaner mould. Sometimes he wished his aims had been To gather gains like other men ; Then thanked his God he'd traced his track Too far for wish to drag him back. He looked from his loft one day To where his slighted garden lay ; Nettles and hemlock hid each lawn. And every flower was starved and gone. 20 1 If THE TWO MKN I Ic fainted in his lioart, wlicicoii He rose, and sought liis plij^htcd one, Resolved to loose her bond withal, Lest slie should perish in his fall. 1 ' lie met her with a careless air, i\s though he'd ceased to find her fair, And said; "True love is dust to me; I cannot kiss : I tire of thee !" ^1 (That she mi^ht scorn him was he fain, To put her sooner out of p.iin ; Vor incensed love breathes quick ;uid dies, When famished love a-lingerin|^ lies.) Once done, his soul was so betossed. It found no more the force it lost : Hope was his only drink and food, And hope extinct, decay ensued. And, living long so closely penned, He had not kept a single friend ; He dwindled thin as phantoms be. And drooped to death in poverty. . . . 202 ■n i THE TWO MKN Meantime his scluxiliiiatL- had throne out To join the fortuiic-ruuliiii^ rout : lie liked the wimiiiiL^s of the mart, lUil wearied of the \vorkin«' •)art. lie turned to seek a privy kiir, Ne<,dectin^' note of ^rarb and liair, And day by ikiy reclined and tlioui,dit How lie mi^dit Hve by doinj,^ nouglit. " I phm a vahied scheme," he said To some. " Hut lend me of your bread, And when the vast result looms nir's Onijinnl, Manii- Krrij)f.s (Hill Xdic hddhs. Kdilcd by Mrs. Anxk Thackkkay Kin iiik. 1. VANITY FAIIi. 7. IvSMOXF) Kt.- ,'. IMONDKNNIS. s. TIIK XKWCOMKS :{. YEI.LOWI'LUSII !). CIIRISTMAS IJOOKS PAIMOIJS. Hie. . Ki(. 4. TJAHKVLVNDOX, Etc. |(). TIIK VIIJGINI VXS .-). SKKTCII IJOOKS. Eic. 1 1. PIIILI I> Kt,. -- mnal'ia fresh to most readers or not before collected, will to- .trether invest this eilition with uniciue interest and "ive ' i value which will easily place it at the head of edition's of the great English novfjist.— AZ/^/v/zy/ Worh}^ Moston IIARPEIl & BROTHERS, Pi nnsHEiis NEW YORK AM) LONDON iH^.l))!/ of ilir nhri,',- w„rh:< will !„■ .; Tliicr-iiuiirtcr Calf, $o '•(»; 'riin'<'-i|ii,ntfi' ("nisli('(l Levant, ^l .ix; h'l/ifinii tic Lii.fi. Killl N'clllllil, !j>ltl oil. (A (ilu.-s;ll\ of till' Kicilfil uii'l haiiii cxiiriv-r-ioii^ in ilir stoi'V is iiiclinitMi.) S(»(,'IAL IMCTdlMAL SATIKIv Ucmiiiiswnccs and Apinc- (•iiiiidiis of Kn^'lisli Il]iisti;itoi> of liic I'ust (it'iicriilion. Witli Illnsliiiliniis liy tlic Aullior ami Others. I'ost Nvo. Cloth, (Mna iit;il, iftl 5(1. A LE(;KN'I) (•!•"< 'AM KLoT. I'ielmvs and V.ises. (H.loii},' 'III), Cloth, t »i naineni.il, Full (iili, S.") (in. TUirdJV. A Novel. Illiistialed hv ihe Author. l'o.>t Svo, Cloth, Oi iiaiiieiiial. Si T'l ; Threi>-(|narier Calf, jj;;; ."ill; Thiee i|iiarter Cnisiied Levant, SI .Ml. I'F/rKil lUKKTSON. With an Introdnetioii hv his Cousin, Lady "•■""•::• (•• .Madue I'liinUel "). Kdiled and 1 1 Ins Ira toil liy Ckoiiok III- M.uiiiKit I'osi s\o. Cloth, (tiiiainonliii, $1 f)0; 'I'liiee i|naiter Calf, $;; '.Ti : Thiei-i|uai'toi CnisIied Levant, SI l!."). KNTJLISII StiCILTV, Sketched by (iKoiiiiK w Wwww.w. About liiit Hiiisirations. With an Inlrnduetioii l)y \V. I). IIowKi.i.s. Ohlonn 'Ito, Cloth, (hn.iniental, Sli ."iii. Mr. ilii M.iiirii':'-^ .-l\le lias imii'li ili-lini'linii— ,i lil'inliim nt' roliiie- iiii'lil ami iiiieniivi'iiliiiiialilN I ha I i.< ili'li^'lillnl. 1 1 Is vrliciiii'iilly alive, iMiiri'ovcr ; llicie IS mil a werd vvlm-li rmilil he s|i,iri'il uiihniil iiiariiii;,' Ihe I'U'ei't. ml a lini' whieli ilnes mil tall liilii i.iiik uiih \ i;;iiriii;s slrp. It has pni'lji- ;.'iaie. Iiiu. .1 liillsical aiiil \viU:hiiiy ihythlil hel'e aiiil there. — ,^'> "' l'i//7, 'I'litiiiin. IIAKPEK c^: nROTlIEUS, Pi iu.ismkks m;\v yokk .\ni) t.ondon j;^~'.l/(// of tin ahdi'i ii'orks irill hi: suit bii iniiil, tuistai/i' prc- pitid, lo an;/ jHirf of the Cnilid Slalin, Ooiaihi, or Mexico, on )•(<'<} Jit of till prici . If\ utiior. rCilf, '.iHliitn 'rciicli •iition. t 8v<>, ll)Ioiig t Svo, I! nil; Diisin, t rat 0(1 Olltlll, iislu'd IMMKI!. W. 1). roliiii'- ■ illlVl-, iiiri'iii,i{ s step, li; iiiul I' prc-