Chapter 3
Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground. Out of their coats They slipped right soon, And neat and nicesome Put each his shoon. One--Two--Three!-- And away they go, Not too fast, And not too slow; Out from the elm-tree's Noonday shadow, Into the sun And across the meadow. Past the schoolroom, With knees well bent Fingers a-flicking, They dancing went. Up sides and over, And round and round, They crossed click-clacking, The Parish bound, By Tupman's meadow They did their mile, Tee-to-tum On a three-barred stile. Then straight through Whipham, Downhill to Week, Footing it lightsome, But not too quick, Up fields to Watchet, And on through Wye, Till seven fine churches They'd seen skip by-- Seven fine churches, And five old mills, Farms in the valley, And sheep on the hills; Old Man's Acre And Dead Man's Pool All left behind, As they danced through Wool. And Wool gone by, Like tops that seem To spin in sleep They danced in dream: Withy--Wellover-- Wassop--Wo-- Like an old clock Their heels did go. A league and a league And a league they went, And not one weary, And not one spent. And lo, and behold! Past Willow-cum-Leigh Stretched with its waters The great green sea. Says Farmer Bates, "I puffs and I blows, What's under the water, Why, no man knows!" Says Farmer Giles, "My wind comes weak, And a good man drownded Is far to seek." But Farmer Turvey, On twirling toes Up's with his gaiters, And in he goes: Down where the mermaids Pluck and play On their twangling harps In a sea-green day; Down where the mermaids, Finned and fair, Sleek with their combs Their yellow hair.... Bates and Giles-- On the shingle sat, Gazing at Turvey's Floating hat. But never a ripple Nor bubble told Where he was supping Off plates of gold. Never an echo Rilled through the sea Of the feasting and dancing And minstrelsy. They called--called--called: Came no reply: Nought but the ripples' Sandy sigh. Then glum and silent They sat instead, Vacantly brooding On home and bed, Till both together Stood up and said:-- "Us knows not, dreams not, Where you be, Turvey, unless In the deep blue sea; But excusing silver-- And it comes most willing-- Here's us two paying Our forty shilling; For it's sartin sure, Turvey, Safe and sound, You danced us square, Turvey, Off the ground!"
SADLY, O, SADLY
Sadly, O, sadly, the sweet bells of Baddeley Played in their steeples when Robin was gone, Killed by an arrow, Shot by Cock Sparrow, Out of a Maybush, fragrant and wan.
Grievedly, grievedly, tolled distant Shieveley, When the Dwarfs laid poor Snow-white asleep on the hill, Drowsed by an apple, The Queen, sly and subtle, Had cut with her knife on the blossomy sill.
THE DWARF
"Now, Jinnie, my dear, to the dwarf be off, That lives in Barberry Wood, And fetch me some honey, but be sure you don't laugh,-- He hates little girls that are rude, are rude, He hates little girls that are rude."
Jane tapped at the door of the house in the wood, And the dwarf looked over the wall, He eyed her so queer, 'twas as much as she could To keep from laughing at all, at all, To keep from laughing at all.
His shoes down the passage came clod, clod, clod, And when he opened the door, He croaked so harsh, 'twas as much as she could To keep from laughing the more, the more, To keep from laughing the more.
As there, with his bushy red beard, he stood, Pricked out to double its size, He squinted so cross, 'twas as much as she could To keep the tears out of her eyes, her eyes, To keep the tears out of her eyes.
He slammed the door, and went clod, clod, clod, But while in the porch she bides, He squealed so fierce, 'twas as much as she could To keep from cracking her sides, her sides, To keep from cracking her sides.
He threw a pumpkin over the wall, And melons and apples beside, So thick in the air that to see them all fall, She laughed, and laughed, till she cried, cried, cried; Jane laughed and laughed till she cried.
Down fell her teardrops a-pit-a-pat-pat, And red as a rose she grew;-- "Kah! kah," said the dwarf, "is it crying you're at? It's the very worst thing you could do, do, do, It's the very worst thing you could do."
He slipped like a monkey up into a tree, He shook her down cherries like rain; "See now," says he, cheeping, "a blackbird I be, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again--gain--gain, Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again."
Ah me! what a strange, what a gladsome duet From a house in the deeps of a wood! Such shrill and such harsh voices never met yet A-laughing as loud as they could, could, could, A-laughing as loud as they could.
Come Jinnie, come dwarf, cocksparrow, and bee, There's a ring gaudy-green in the dell, Sing, sing, ye sweet cherubs, that flit in the tree; La! who can draw tears from a well, well, well, Who ever drew tears from a well!
LONGLEGS
Longlegs--he yelled "Coo-ee!" And all across the combe Shrill and shrill it rang--rang through The clear green gloom. Fairies there were a-spinning, And a white tree-maid Lifted her eyes, and listened In her rain-sweet glade. Bunnie to bunnie stamped; old Wat Chin-deep in bracken sate; A throstle piped, "I'm by, I'm by!" Clear to his timid mate. And there was Longlegs straddling, And hearkening was he, To distant Echo thrilling back A thin "Coo-ee!"
THE MERMAIDS
Sand, sand; hills of sand; And the wind where nothing is Green and sweet of the land; No grass, no trees, No bird, no butterfly, But hills, hills of sand, And a burning sky.
Sea, sea, mounds of the sea, Hollow, and dark, and blue, Flashing incessantly The whole sea through; No flower, no jutting root, Only the floor of the sea, With foam afloat.
Blow, blow, winding shells; And the watery fish, Deaf to the hidden bells, In the water splash; No streaming gold, no eyes, Watching along the waves, But far-blown shells, faint bells, From the darkling caves.
THE LITTLE CREATURE
Twinkum, twankum, twirlum and twitch My great grandam--She was a Witch. Mouse in wainscot, Saint in niche-- My great grandam--She was a Witch; Deadly nightshade flowers in a ditch-- My great grandam--She was a Witch; Long though the shroud it grows stitch by stitch-- My great grandam--She was a Witch; Wean your weakling before you breech-- My great grandam--She was a Witch; The fattest pig's but a double flitch-- My great grandam--She was a Witch; Nightjars rattle, owls scritch-- My great grandam--She was a Witch.
Pretty and small, A mere nothing at all, Pinned up sharp in the ghost of a shawl, She'd straddle her down to the kirkyard wall, And mutter and whisper and call; and call-- And--call.
Red blood out and black blood in, My Nannie says I'm a child of sin-- How did I choose me my witchcraft kin! Know I as soon as dark's dreams begin Snared is my heart in a nightmare's gin; Never from terror I out may win; So dawn and dusk I pine, peak, thin, Scarcely beknowing t'other from which-- My great grandam--She was a Witch.
SAM
When Sam goes back in memory, It is to where the sea Breaks on the shingle, emerald-green, In white foam, endlessly; He says--with small brown eye on mine-- "I used to keep awake, And lean from my window in the moon, Watching those billows break. And half a million tiny hands, And eyes, like sparks of frost, Would dance and come tumbling into the moon, On every breaker tossed. And all across from star to star, I've seen the watery sea, With not a single ship in sight, Just ocean there, and me; And heard my father snore. And once, As sure as I'm alive, Out of those wallowing, moon-flecked waves I saw a mermaid dive; Head and shoulders above the wave, Plain as I now see you, Combing her hair, now back, now front, Her two eyes peeping through; Calling me, 'Sam!'--quietlike--'Sam!'... But me ... I never went, Making believe I kind of thought 'Twas some one else she meant.... Wonderful lovely there she sat, Singing the night away, All in the solitudinous sea Of that there lonely bay."
"P'raps," and he'd smooth his hairless mouth, "P'raps, if 'twere now, my son, P'raps, if I heard a voice say, 'Sam!'... Morning would find me gone."
THE WITCH
Weary went the old Witch, Weary of her pack, She sat her down by the churchyard wall, And jerked it off her back.
The cord brake, yes, the cord brake, Just where the dead did lie, And Charms and Spells and Sorceries Spilled out beneath the sky.
Weary was the old Witch; She rested her old eyes From the lantern-fruited yew trees, And the scarlet of the skies;
And out the dead came stumbling, From every rift and crack, Silent as moss, and plundered The gaping pack.
They wish them, three times over, Away they skip full soon: Bat and Mole and Leveret, Under the rising moon; Owl and Newt and Nightjar: They take their shapes and creep, Silent as churchyard lichen, While she squats asleep.
All of these dead were stirring: Each unto each did call, "A Witch, a Witch is sleeping Under the churchyard wall;
"A Witch, a Witch is sleeping...." The shrillness ebbed away; And up the way-worn moon clomb bright, Hard on the track of day.
She shone, high, wan and silvery; Day's colours paled and died: And, save the mute and creeping worm, Nought else was there beside.
Names may be writ; and mounds rise; Purporting, Here be bones: But empty is that churchyard Of all save stones.
Owl and Newt and Nightjar, Leveret, Bat and Mole Haunt and call in the twilight, Where she slept, poor soul.
THE JOURNEY
Heart-sick of his journey was the Wanderer; Footsore and parched was he; And a Witch who long had lurked by the wayside, Looked out of sorcery.
"Lift up your eyes, you lonely Wanderer," She peeped from her casement small; "Here's shelter and quiet to give you rest, young man, And apples for thirst withal."
And he looked up out of his sad reverie, And saw all the woods in green, With birds that flitted feathered in the dappling, The jewel-bright leaves between.
And he lifted up his face towards her lattice, And there, alluring-wise, Slanting through the silence of the long past, Dwelt the still green Witch's eyes.
And vaguely from the hiding-place of memory Voices seemed to cry; "What is the darkness of one brief life-time To the deaths thou hast made us die?"
"Heed not the words of the Enchantress Who would us still betray!" And sad with the echo of their reproaches, Doubting, he turned away.
"I may not shelter 'neath your roof, lady, Nor in this wood's green shadow seek repose, Nor will your apples quench the thirst A homesick wanderer knows."
"'Homesick, forsooth!'" she softly mocked him: And the beauty in her face Made in the sunshine pale and trembling A stillness in that place.
And he sighed, as if in fear, the young Wanderer, Looking to left and to right, Where the endless narrow road swept onward, In the distance lost to sight.
And there fell upon his sense the briar, Haunting the air with its breath, And the faint shrill sweetness of the birds' throats, Their tent of leaves beneath.
And there was the Witch, in no wise heeding; Her arbour, and fruit-filled dish, Her pitcher of well-water, and clear damask-- All that the weary wish.
And the last gold beam across the green world Faltered and failed, as he Remembered his solitude and the dark night's Inhospitality.
And he looked upon the Witch with eyes of sorrow In the darkening of the day; And turned him aside into oblivion; And the voices died away....
And the Witch stepped down from her casement: In the hush of night he heard The calling and wailing in dewy thicket Of bird to hidden bird.
And gloom stole all her burning crimson, Remote and faint in space As stars in gathering shadow of the evening Seemed now her phantom face.
And one night's rest shall be a myriad, Midst dreams that come and go; Till heedless fate, unmoved by weakness, bring him This same strange by-way through:
To the beauty of earth that fades in ashes, The lips of welcome, and the eyes More beauteous than the feeble shine of Hesper Lone in the lightening skies:
Till once again the Witch's guile entreat him; But, worn with wisdom, he Steadfast and cold shall choose the dark night's Inhospitality.
AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING
As Lucy went a-walking one morning cold and fine, There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine: Then "O!" said Lucy, in the snow, "it's very plain to see A witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me."
Then stept she light and heedfully across the frozen snow, And plucked a bunch of elder-twigs that near a pool did grow: And, by and by, she comes to seven shadows in one place Stretched black by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.
She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she sees A little pool of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees; Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels, And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.
Clear sang the faint far merry peal, then silence on the air, And icy-still the frozen pool and poplars standing there: Then lo! as Lucy turned her head and looked along the snow She sees a witch--a witch she sees, come frisking to and fro.
Her scarlet, buckled shoes they clicked, her heels a-twinkling high; With mistletoe her steeple-hat bobbed as she capered by; But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see, Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she lissomely.
It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost; It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tossed; It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose: "Nay!" Lucy said, "it is the wind that through the branches flows."
And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three, And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree, And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four--
"O! who are ye," sweet Lucy cries, "that in a dreadful ring, All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?" "A witch, and witches, one and nine," they straight to her reply, And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.
Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold green cherry trees up-grow, And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow; She smells, all faint, the almond-boughs blowing so wild and fair And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.
Clear flowers she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds, With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words; And, as with ropes of amethyst, the boughs with lamps were hung, And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.
"O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three! Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?" But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word, Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;
Nor warbling flame, nor gleaming-rope of amethyst there shows, Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose, Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindle shawl, But like a dream that vanishes, so vanished were they all.
When Lucy sees, and only sees three crows upon a bough, And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow, Then "O!" said Lucy, "three times three is nine--I plainly see Some witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me."
THE WORLD OF DREAM
BEWARE!
An ominous bird sang from its branch "Beware, O Wanderer! Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled Draws swiftly near:
"Night with her darkened caravans, Piled deep with silver and myrrh, Draws from the portals of the East, O Wanderer near.
"Night who walks plumèd through the fields Of stars that strangely stir-- Smitten to fire by the sandals of him Who walks with her."
SOME ONE
Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Some one came knocking, I'm sure--sure--sure; I listened, I opened, I looked to left and right, But nought there was a-stirring In the still dark night; Only the busy beetle Tap-tapping in the wall, Only from the forest The screech-owl's call, Only the cricket whistling While the dewdrops fall, So I know not who came knocking, At all, at all, at all.
MUSIC
When music sounds, gone is the earth I know, And all her lovely things even lovelier grow; Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies.
When music sounds, out of the water rise Naiads whose beauty dims my waking eyes, Rapt in strange dreams burns each enchanted face, With solemn echoing stirs their dwelling-place.
When music sounds, all that I was I am Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came; While from Time's woods break into distant song The swift-winged hours, as I haste along.
HAUNTED
The rabbit in his burrow keeps No guarded watch, in peace he sleeps; The wolf that howls in challenging night Cowers to her lair at morning light; The simplest bird entwines a nest Where she may lean her lovely breast, Couched in the silence of the bough. But thou, O man, what rest hast thou?
Thy emptiest solitude can bring Only a subtler questioning In thy divided heart. Thy bed Recalls at dawn what midnight said. Seek how thou wilt to feign content, Thy flaming ardour's quickly spent; Soon thy last company is gone, And leaves thee--with thyself--alone.
Pomp and great friends may hem thee round, A thousand busy tasks be found; Earth's thronging beauties may beguile Thy longing lovesick heart awhile; And pride, like clouds of sunset, spread A changing glory round thy head; But fade will all; and thou must come, Hating thy journey, homeless, home.
Rave how thou wilt; unmoved, remote, That inward presence slumbers not, Frets out each secret from thy breast, Gives thee no rally, pause, nor rest, Scans close thy very thoughts, lest they Should sap his patient power away, Answers thy wrath with peace, thy cry With tenderest taciturnity.
THEY TOLD ME
They told me Pan was dead, but I Oft marvelled who it was that sang Down the green valleys languidly Where the grey elder-thickets hang.
Sometimes I thought it was a bird My soul had charged with sorcery; Sometimes it seemed my own heart heard Inland the sorrow of the sea.
But even where the primrose sets The seal of her pale loveliness, I found amid the violets Tears of an antique bitterness.
THE SUNKEN GARDEN
Speak not--whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower. Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh, Lean-stalked, purple lavender; Hides within her bosom, too, All her sorrows, bitter rue. Breathe not--trespass not; Of this green and darkling spot, Latticed from the moon's beams, Perchance a distant dreamer dreams; Perchance upon its darkening air, The unseen ghosts of children fare, Faintly swinging, sway and sweep, Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep; While, unmoved, to watch and ward, Amid its gloomed and daisied sward, Stands with bowed and dewy head That one little leaden Lad.
SNOW
No breath of wind, No gleam of sun-- Still the white snow Swirls softly down-- Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in an icy Quiet, forlorn. Whispering, nestling, Through the air, On sill and stone, Roof--everywhere, It heaps its powdery Crystal flakes, Of every tree A mountain makes: Till pale and faint At shut of day, Stoops from the West One wintry ray. Then, feathered in fire, Where ghosts the moon, A robin shrills His lonely tune; And from her dark-gnarled Yew-tree lair Flits she who had been In hiding there.
THE WORLD OF DREAM
Now, through the dusk With muffled bell The Dustman comes The World to tell, Night's elfin lanterns Burn and gleam In the twilight, wonderful World of Dream.
Hollow and dim Sleep's boat doth ride, Heavily still At the waterside. Patter, patter, The children come, Yawning and sleepy, Out of the gloom.
Like droning bees In a garden green, Over the thwarts They clamber in. And lovely Sleep With long-drawn oar Turns away From the whispering shore.
Over the water Like roses glide Her hundreds of passengers Packed inside, To where in her garden Tremble and gleam The harps and lamps Of the World of Dream.
QUEEN DJENIRA
When Queen Djenira slumbers through The sultry noon's repose, From out her dreams, as soft she lies, A faint thin music flows.
Her lovely hands lie narrow and pale With gilded nails, her head Couched in its banded nets of gold Lies pillowed on her bed.
The little Nubian boys who fan Her cheeks and tresses clear, Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful voices Seem afar to hear.
They slide their eyes, and nodding, say, "Queen Djenira walks to-day The courts of the lord Pthamasar Where the sweet birds of Psuthys are."
And those of earth about her porch Of shadow cool and grey Their sidelong beaks in silence lean, And silent flit away.
NIGHTFALL