Chapter 6

The dew falls over the Heath, Brother Donkeys, and the darkness falls, but still through the gathering night All around us spreads the Heath Bed-straw[6] in glimmering sheets of white. Dragged and trampled, and plucked and wasted, it patiently spreads and survives; Kicked and thwacked, and prodded and over-laden, we patiently cling to our lives. Hee-haw! for the rest and silence of darkness that follow the labours of light. Hee-haw! for the hours from night to morning, that balance the hours from morning to night. Hee-haw! for the sweet night air that gives human beings cold in the head. Hee-haw! for the civilization that sends human beings to bed. Rest, Brother Donkeys, rest, from the bit, the burden, the blow, The dust, the flies, the restless children, the brutal roughs, the greedy donkey-master, the greedier donkey-hirer, the holiday-maker who knows no better, and the holiday-makers who ought to know! When the odorous furze-bush prickles the seeking nose, and the short damp grass refreshes the tongue,--lend, Brother Donkeys, lend a long and attentive ear! Whilst I proudly bray Of the one bright day In our hard and chequered career. I've dragged pots, and vegetables, and invalids, and fish, and I've galloped with four costermongers to the races; I've carried babies, and sea-coal, and sea-sand, and sea-weed in panniers, and been sold to the gypsies, and been bought back for the sea-side, and ridden (in a white saddle-cloth with scarlet braid) by the fashionable visitors. (There was always a certain distinction in my paces, Though I say it who shouldn't) I've spent a summer on the Heath, and next winter near Covent Garden, and moved the following year to the foot of a mountain, to take people up to the top to show them the view. But how little we know what's before us! And how little I guessed I should ever be chief charger at a Queen's Birthday Review! Did I triumph alone? No, Brother Donkeys, no! You also took your place with the defenders of the nation; Subordinate positions to my own, but meritoriously filled, though a little more style would have well become so great an occasion. That malevolent old Moke--may his next thistle choke him!--disgraced us all with his jibbing--the ill-tempered old ass! Young Neddy is shaggy and shy, but not amiss, if he'd held his ears up, and not kept his eyes on the grass. Nothing is more je-june (I may say vulgar) than to seem anxious to eat when the crisis calls for public spirit, enthusiasm, and an elevated tone; And I wish, Brother Donkeys, I wish that all had felt as I felt, the responsibility of a March-Past the Throne! Respect and self-respect delicately blended; one ear up, and the other lowered to salute, as I passed the window from which we were seen (Unless I grievously misunderstood the young General this morning,) by no less a personage than her Most Gracious Majesty THE QUEEN. Sleep, Brother Donkeys, sleep! But I fancy you're sleeping already, for you make no reply; Not a quiver of your ears, not a sign from your motionless drooping noses, dark against the dusky night sky. As black and immovable as the silent fir-trees you solemnly slumber beneath, Whilst I wakefully meditate on a glorious past, and painfully ponder the future, as the dews fall over the Heath.

[Footnote 6: Heath bed-straw (_Galium Saxatile_). This white-flowered bed-straw grows profusely on Hampstead Heath.]

THE PROMISE.

CHILD.

Five blue eggs hatching, With bright eyes watching, Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.

BIRD.

Oh! pass me blindly, Oh! spare me kindly, Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.

CHORUS OF CHILDREN.

Hush! hush! hush! 'Tis a poor mother thrush. When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing-- This is a promise made in the Spring.

CHILD.

Five speckled thrushes In leafy bushes Singing sweet songs to the hot Summer sky. In and out twitting, Here and there flitting, Happy is life as the long days go by.

CHORUS.

Hush! hush! hush! 'Tis the song of the thrush: Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing-- Keeping the promise made in the Spring.

Published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, July 1866, with music by Alexander Ewing.

CONVALESCENCE.

Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to remember the word, What was it?--that the doctor says is now fairly established both in me and my bird. C-O-N-_con_, _with a con_, S-T-A-N-_stan_, _with a stan_--No! That's Constantinople, that is The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send it to this. C-O-N-_con_--how my head swims! Now I've got it! C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E. _Convalescence!_ And that's what the doctor says is now fairly established both in my blackbird and me. He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well by and by. And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends, because we're both convalescents--at least we're all three convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I. He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was in the war, And he fought,--for I asked him,--and he's been ill ever since, and that's why he's not afloat, but ashore; And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife, and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him any more. I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him till to-day. He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay. He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it is about land things and sea things! There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?" But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does your doctor say it is fairly established? Do your eyes ache if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back if you sit up, and your head if you talk? Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk? Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better? I do hate convalescence, don't you?" Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap, you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is it I've got to do?' 'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear it best?' That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and leave the rest!" I said, "But _wouldn't_ you rather be in battles than in bed, with your head aching as if it would split?" And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little convalescent, that's not it. What would _you_ think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went grumbling and wishing he were in bed?" "What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a coward," I said. "And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give him no better a name; For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same." Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and I very much fear You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear! Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing, And won't be fit to work for months? (will _she_ be convalescent, because it was such hard work waiting on _me_?) and did Cook say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin as swearing and cursing"? I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given so much trouble about my medicine and my food. I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never thought of trying to be good. I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow, when he comes here to tea; He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he wants me to let it go free. He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think it must be. Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks. Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack. Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back. Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so. He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made man himself, so he ought to know. Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle, and bring her out again with flying colours and fame, If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, _are_ really one and the same.

THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF.

A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

_By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing._

I.

Dear children, listen whilst I tell What to a certain Elf befell, Who left his house and sallied forth Adventure seeking, south and north, And west and east, by path and field, Resolved to conquer or to yield. A thimble on his back he carried, With a rose-twig his foes he parried.

II.

It was a sunny, bright, spring day, When to the wood he took his way; He knew that in a certain spot A Bumble Bee his nest had got. The Bee was out, the chance was good, But just when grabbing all he could, He heard the Bee behind him humming, And only wished he'd heard him coming!

III.

In terror turned the tiny man, And now a famous fight began: The Bee flew round, and buzzed and stung, The Elf his prickly rose-staff swung. Now fiercely here, now wildly there, He hit the Bee or fought the air. At last one weighty blow descended: The Bee was dead--the fight was ended.

IV.

Exhausted quite, he took a seat. The honey tasted doubly sweet! The thimble-full had been upset, But still there were a few drops yet. He licked his lips and blessed himself, That he was such a lucky Elf, And now might hope to live in clover; But, ah! his troubles were not over!

V.

For at that instant, by his side, A beast of fearful form he spied: At first he thought it was a bear, And headlong fell in dire despair. He lost one slipper in the moss, And this was not his only loss. With paws and snout the beast was nimble, And very soon cleared out the thimble.

VI.

This rifling of his honey-pot Awoke our Elfin's wrath full hot. He made a rope of linden bast, By either end he held it fast, And creeping up behind the beast, Intent upon the honey feast, Before it had the slightest inkling, The rope was round it in a twinkling.

VII.

The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!" And struggled through the twigs and leaves. It pulled the reins with all its might, Our hero only drew them tight. Upon the mouse's back he leapt, And like a man his seat he kept. His steed was terribly affrighted, But he himself was much delighted.

VIII.

"Gee up, my little horse!" he cried, "I mean to have a glorious ride; So bear me forth with lightning speed, A Knight resolved on doughty deed. The wide world we will gallop round, And clear the hedges at one bound." The mouse set off, the hero bantered, And out into the world they cantered.

IX.

At last they rode up to an inn: "Good Mr. Host, pray who's within?" "My daughter serves the customers, Before the fire the Tom-cat purrs." For further news they did not wait-- The mouse sprang through the garden-gate-- They fled without a look behind them. The question is--Did Thomas find them?

SONGS FOR MUSIC

SERENADE.

I would not have you wake for me, Fair lady, though I love you! And though the night is warm, and all The stars are out above you; And though the dew's so light it could Not hurt your little feet, And nightingales in yonder wood Are singing passing sweet.

Yet may my plaintive strain unite And mingle with your dreaming, And through the visions of the night Just interweave my seeming. Yet no! sleep on with fancy free In that untroubled breast; No song of mine, no thought of me, Deserves to break your rest!

MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.

Maiden with the gipsy look, Dusky locks and russet hue, Open wide thy Sybil's book, Tell my fate and tell it true; Shall I live? or shall I die? Timely wed, or single be? Maiden with the gipsy eye, Read my riddle unto me!

Maiden with the gipsy face, If thou canst not tell me all, Tell me thus much, of thy grace, Should I climb, or fear to fall? Should I dare, or dread to dare? Should I speak, or silent be? Maiden with the gipsy hair, Read my riddle unto me!

Maiden with the gipsy hair, Deep into thy mirror look, See my love and fortune there, Clearer than in Sybil's book: Let me cross thy slender palm, Let me learn my fate from thee; Maiden with the gipsy charm, Read my riddle unto me.

AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.

The whispering water rocks the reeds, And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds; And nurses there the falsest bloom That ever wrought a lover's doom. Forget me not! Forget me not! Ah! would I could forget! But, crying still, "Forget me not," Her image haunts me yet.

We wander'd by the river's brim, The day grew dusk, the pathway dim; Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom, Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom. Forget me not! Forget me not! Ah! would I could forget! But, crying still, "Forget me not," Her image haunts me yet.

The pale moon lit her paler face, And coldly watch'd our last embrace, And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue, And stole that flower's turquoise blue. Forget me not! Forget me not! Ah! would I could forget! But, crying still, "Forget me not," Her image haunts me yet.

The fateful flower droop'd to death, The fair, false maid forswore her faith; But I obey a broken vow, And keep those wither'd blossoms now! Forget me not! Forget me not! Ah! would I could forget! But, crying still, "Forget me not," Her image haunts me yet.

Sweet lips that pray'd--"Forget me not!" Sweet eyes that will not be forgot! Recall your prayer, forego your power, Which binds me by the fatal flower. Forget me not! Forget me not! Ah! would I could forget! But, crying still, "Forget me not," Her image haunts me yet.

MADRIGAL.

Life is full of trouble, Love is full of care, Joy is like a bubble Shining in the air, For you cannot Grasp it anywhere.

Love is not worth getting, It doth fade so fast. Life is not worth fretting Which so soon is past; And you cannot Bid them longer last.

Yet for certain fellows Life seems true and strong; And with some, they tell us, Love will linger long; Thus they cannot Understand my song.

THE ELLEREE.[7]

A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT.

Elleree! O Elleree! Seeing what none else may see, Dost thou see the man in grey? Dost thou hear the night hounds bay? Elleree! O Elleree! Seventh son of seventh son, All thy thread of life is spun, Thy little race is nearly run, And death awaits for thee!

Elleree! O Elleree! Coronach shall wail for thee; Get thee shrived and get thee blest, Get thee ready for thy rest, Elleree! O Elleree! That thou owest quickly give, What thou ownest thou must leave, And those thou lovest best shall grieve, But all in vain for thee!

"Bodach Glas!"[8] the chieftain said, "All my debts but one are paid, All I love have long been dead, All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd, Death to me can bring no dole;" Thus the Elleree replied;-- But with ebbing of the tide As sinks the setting sun he died;-- May Christ receive his soul!

[Footnote 7: "Elleree" is the name of one who has the gift of second sight.]

[Footnote 8: "Bodach Glas," the Man in Grey, appears to a Highland family with the gift of second sight, presaging death.]

OTHER STARS.

The night is dark, and yet it is not quite: Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine; Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night, And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine; For these fair stars are not what they do seem, But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.

The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest; Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep; Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest, And weary Venus pales into the deep, These two with tender shining mock my woe From out the distant heaven of long ago.

The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam! Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light! Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight? For could you shine as once you shone before, The stars might hide their rays for evermore!

FADED FLOWERS.

My love she sent a flower to me Of tender hue and fragrance rare, And with it came across the sea A letter kind as she was fair; But when her letter met mine eyes, The flower, the little flower, was dead: And ere I touched the tender prize The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.

I sent my love a letter too, In happy hope no more to roam; I bade her bless the vessel true Whose gallant sails should waft me home. But ere my letter reach'd her hand, My love, my little love, was dead, And when the vessel touch'd the land, Fair hope for evermore had fled.

SPEED WELL.

What time I left my native land, And bade farewell to my true love, She laid a flower in my hand As azure as the sky above. "Speed thee well! Speed well!" She softly whispered, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!"

Its tender hue is bright and pure, As heav'n through summer clouds doth show, A pledge though clouds thy way obscure, It shall not be for ever so. "Speed thee well! Speed well!" She softly whisper'd, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!"

And as I toil through help and harm, And whilst on alien shores I dwell, I wear this flower as a charm, My heart repeats that tender spell: "Speed thee well! Speed well!" It softly whispers, "Speed well! This flower blue Be token true Of my true heart's true love for you!"

HOW MANY YEARS AGO?

How many years ago, love, Since you came courting me? Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea, With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay, And mostly not a word to say,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago?

How many years ago, love, Since you to Father spoke? Between your lips a sprig of oak: You were not one with much to say, But Mother spoke for you that day,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago?

So many years ago, love, That soon our time must come To leave our girl without a home;-- She's like her mother, love, you've said: --At her age I had long been wed,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago?

For love of long-ago, love, If John has aught to say, When he comes up to us to-day, (A likely lad, though short of tongue,) Remember, husband, we were young,-- How many years ago, love, How many years ago?

"WITH A DIFFERENCE."

I'm weary waiting here, The chill east wind is sighing, The autumn tints are sere, The summer flowers are dying. The river's sullen way Winds on through vacant meadows, The dying light of day Strives vainly with the shadows.

A footstep stirs the leaves! The faded fields seem brighter, The sunset gilds the sheaves, The low'ring clouds look lighter. The river sparkles by, Not all the flowers are falling, There's azure in the sky, And thou, my love, art calling.

THE LILY OF THE LAKE.

Over wastes of blasted heather, Where the pine-trees stand together, Evermore my footsteps wander, Evermore the shadows yonder Deepen into gloom. Where there lies a silent lake, No song-bird there its thirst may slake, No sunshine now to whiteness wake The water-lily's bloom.

Some sweet spring-time long departed, I and she, the simple-hearted, Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover, Did that gloomy lake discover, Did those lilies see. There we wandered side by side. There it was they said she died. But ah! in this I know they lied! She will return to me!