« PrejšnjaNaprej »
Men say it was a stolen tyde
The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide
The message that the bells let fall: And there was nought of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied
By millions crouched on the old sea wall.
I sat and spun within the doore,
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore,
Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.
perhaps hear nothing very surprising if you were to enquire about them in the neighborhoods where they dwelt."
The London press said of Miss Ingelow's book: “ The new volume exhibits abundant evidence that time, study, and devotion to her vocation have both elevated and welcomed the powers of the most gifted poetess we possess, now that Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Adelaide Proctor sing no more on earth. Lincolnshire has claims to be considered the Arcadia of England at present, having given birth to Mr. Tennyson and our present Lady Laureate." Our most eminent American critic said: “The songs of Miss Ingelow sprang up suddenly and tunefully as skylarks from the daisy-spangled, hawthorn-bordered meadows of old England, with a blitheness long unknown, and in their idyllic underflights moved with the tenderest currents of human life. She may be termed an idyllic lyrist, her lyrical pieces having always much idyllic beauty. “High Tide, Winstanley," “ Songs of Seven," and the “ Long White Seam" are lyrical treasures, and the author especially may be said to evince that sincerity which is poetry's most enduring warrant.
The “ Songs of Seven” though not an especial favorite with Jean Ingelow herself, will always be a favorite with the world, as long as love exists. “ Divided " is a poem of great beauty and strength, - a poem which sings itself — imaginative, delicate, yet rich in feeling. “Sailing beyond Seas," which has been set to music, is a piece of music in study. ** Winstanley" is full of pathos and action. In 1864, a year after the Poems" were published, “Studies for Stories" appeared, -five stories told in simple and clear language. “Stories told to a Child” was published in 1865; A Story of Doom, and other Poems" in 1868; “ Mopsa the Fairy,” an exquisite story, in 1869, and since that time “ A Sister's Byehours," " Off the Skelligs" in 1872, “ Fated to be Free" in 1875, “Sarah de Berenger” in 1879, “ Don John” in 1881, and “Poems of the Old Days and the New." Her books have had a large sale both here and in Europe. It is stated that one hundred thousand of her poems have been sold in this country, and half that number of her prose works.
S. K. B.
Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song.
Cusha! Cusha!” all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth, From the meads where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song
· Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers list your head; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed.”
If it be long, ay, long ago,
When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow,
Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby.
THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF
The ringers ran by two, by three;
Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. “ Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe • The Brides of Enderby.'”
Alle fresh the level pasture lay,
And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away
The steeple towered from out the greene; And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.
Thy mother's tenderest words are said,
Thy face no more she views; Thy mother's lot, my dear,
She doth in nought accuse; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear,
To love - and then to lose.
APPRENTICED. “Come out and hear the waters shoot, the owlet
hoot, the owlet hoot; Yon crescent moon, a golden boat, hangs dim be
hind the tree, O! The dropping thorn makes white the grass, 0
sweetest lass, and sweetest lass; Come out and smell the ricks of hay adown the
croft with me, O!"
· My granny nods before her wheel, and drops her
reel, and drops her reel; My father with his crony talks as gay as gay can
be, O! But all the milk is yet to skim, ere light wax dim,
ere light wax dim; How can I step adown the croft, my 'prentice
lad, with thee, O?"
SEVEN TIMES SIX. GIVING IN
To bear, to nurse, to rear,
To watch, and then to lose:
Drawn up like morning dews -
To watch, and then to lose: This have I done when God drew near
Among his own to choose.
“And must ye bide, yet waiting's long, and love is
strong, and love is strong; And O! had I but served the time, that takes so
long to flee, O! And thou, my lass, my morning's light wast all in
white, wast all in white, And parson stood within the rails, a-marrying me
and thee, 0."
To hear, to heed, to wed,
And with thy lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed,
Will let no longer smart.To hear, to heed, to wed,
This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not God who said: • Mother, give me thy child.”
DAUGHTERS of Eve! your mother did not well:
She laid the apple in your father's hand, And we have read, O wonder! what befell-
The man was not deceived, nor yet could stand; He chose to lose, for love of her, his throne, --
With her could die, but could not live alone.
O fond. O fool, and blind,
To God I gave with tears; But when a man like grace would find,
My soul put by her fearsO fond, O fool, and blind,
God guards in happier spheres; That man will guard where he did bind
Is hope for unknown years.
Daughters of Eve! he did not fall so low,
Nor fall so far, as that sweet woman fell; For something better, than as gods to know,
That husband in that home left off to dwell: For this, till love be reconed, less than lore,
Shall man be first and best forevermore.
To hear, to heed, to wed,
Fair lot that maidens choose,
Daughters of Eve! it was for your dear sake
The world's first hero died an uncrown'd king; But God's great pity touched the grand mistake, And made his married love a sacred thing: For yet his nobler sons, if aught be true,
Find the lost Eden in their love to you.
I ask thee not to work, or sigh - play on,
From nought that was not, was, or is, deterred; The flax that Old Fate spun thy flights have
stirred, And waved memorial grass of Marathon. Play, but be gentle, not as on that day
I saw thee running down the rims of doom With stars thou hadst been stealing — while they
lay Smothered in light and blue -- clasped to thy
breast; Bring rather to me in the firelit room A netted halcyon bird to sing of rest.
LOSS AND WASTE.
Up to far Osteroe and Suderoe
O'er sunken bravery of high carved decks.
In earlier days
eat Carthage suffered bale (All her waste works choke under sandy shoals); And reckless hands tore down the temple veil ;
And Omar burned the Alexandrian rolls.
O THAT word REGRET!
They are poor
But which is gone, and I must do without,
Even in cow slip time when hedges sprout;
But which I never had, nor can have now,
In countries that accord with mortal vow; When I remember this, I mourn, - but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget.
The Old World arts men suffered not to last,
Grow over the lost cities of the New.
O for a life that shall not be refused
WHEN I reflect how little I have done,
And add to that how little I have seen, Then furthermore how little I have won
Of joy, or good, how little known, or been:
I long for other life more full, more keen, And yearn to change with such as well have run-
Yet reason mocks me- nay, the soul, I ween, Granted her choice would dare to change with none; No,- not to feel, as Blondel when his lay Pierced the strong tower, and Richard answered
it-No, not to do, as Eustace on the day
He left fair Calais to her weeping fitNo, not to be, -- Columbus, waked from sleep When his new world rose from the charmed deep,
O Fancy, if thou flyest, come back anon,
Thy fluttering wings are soft as love's first word,
And fragrant as the feathers of that bird, Which feeds upon the budded cinnamon.