The Dales of Arcady Part 2

For a moment the melody seemed to float O'er the heather; and then with increased surprise I saw a troop Of little green men around me group.

They all bowed low, "I thought you had fled The Yorks.h.i.+re Uplands, green men!" I said.

They smiled at each other. Their leader broke The hush of the heather, and thus he spoke: "_Ling-men! her eyes are the eyes of the fells, Grey as the clouds and blue as the bells Of the harebell. See! how they flash and play As the rivulet does 'neath the rowan and birk; 'Tis a glance in which there's loving a-lurk; A glance that only is born on the brae.

Ling-men! I am sure A changeling is she, and belongs to the moor.

Her way she lost as a weeny bairn.

Men found her, and town-ways they made her learn.

Capture her heart so she cannot roam Far away from her grouse-loved home, Weave from the cottony gra.s.ses a chain That will pull at her heart with a wild, dear pain; Fas.h.i.+on a gyve from the wings of the lark, Manacles make from the b.u.mble-bees' croon, To keep her a captive from June to June, To render her ours in the light, in the dark!_"

They wove a spell Which encircled me round from fell to fell.

O! it bound my heart for ever and aye, To the lands where the Bilberry Ling-men play.

DALLOWGILL MOOR.

MY HERBARY

I know a little garden very old, High-walled, with wandering paths of greenest box; Beyond the doorway lies the rolling wold, The open moorland, and the Brimham Rocks.

Here find a home all nigh-forgotten herbs; The sage and rosemary nod side by side; A giant lavender no pruning curbs, With us each year the honesties abide.

Under a hawthorn, ruby-gemmed in May, A bank of marjorams lie at their ease; Here, lad's-love sigh their fragrant hearts away, Whilst rippling lieds of water never cease.

Beside the cherry-tree the balsams flower, The rue and mint bloom out a life-time meek; A pleasant place it is at sunrise hour, When sportful finches wing in hide-and-seek.

And where the aged, moss-grown sundial lies, The peac.o.c.k pert unfolds his wheel-rim tail, Showing a hundred jewelled Argus eyes: With harsh, shrill cry he bids the day "All hail."

More is he fitted for the fountained sward Than for my herbary of b.u.t.terflies; No! I proclaim the lovelier throstle, Lord, The only one my simples recognise.

PATELEY BRIDGE, NIDDERDALE.

RUSHES

Rushes by the river Rear their heads of brown; In the wind they quiver With a warning frown.

"Do you want them, Fairest?

At thy feet they lie; They were guarding, Rarest,-- Sentinels!--They die."

Wild things are not willing To be captive ta'en: "Cutting's almost killing,"

Is their sad refrain.

"Rushes in their beauty Greenly-proud should stand: Guarding is their duty-- River from the land."

DARLEY, NIDDERDALE.

SATAN* AND I

To-day there is no one as happy as I, Who am free of the hills, of the dales, of the sky, As I ride o'er the moors while the lapwings cry.

I ride thro' the whin, watch the rabbits run, Then slowly I turn to bask in the sun-- Then gallop away o'er the crest, like fun.

And Satan, you fiend, with your knowing ways And tricks, that you dream of for days and days, And mem'ries of maddening hours of the chase;

Do you feel the liberty of the wind, That wakes the fern-land with kisses kind, And seeks with caresses our lips to find?

To-day, for us both to be out is joy, Tho' I am a girl with the soul of a boy, And you are a horse, whom the spurs annoy.

To just be alive is a blessing rare, In a world of beauty, endlessly fair; For Satan and I, we have no care.

ALMSCLIFFE CRAG, WHARFEDALE.

* The name of my horse.

TO THE WIND

Strong, powerful Sweetheart-Wind, In tireless love-storm surging; Great, bold, tempestuous Wind, Ever thy pa.s.sion urging.

Hold me close in thine arms, O! strengthening ecstasy: Wild, sweet, capturing arms-- Love! I am yearning for thee.

Eyes, hair, bosom caress, My rowan-red lips now kiss; Life-giving, wilful caress, O! marvellous moorland bliss.

Great, strong lover o' mine, I long for thy grand embrace; Fierce, brave lover o' mine, I yield to thee my heart's grace.

GREENHOW HILL.

SAADI AND THE ROSE

O summer, with thy magic gift of flowers And soft bird voices, musicking the breeze, While yet thy roses stir the lazy air My soul wings back thro' centuries, as hours.

It journeys till it 'lights within a court Where roses riot o'er veined-marble walls, Where peac.o.c.ks strut along the broad white steps, Or over broideries by fair hands wrought.

Within the palace, divanned, rests a king, Who watches listlessly the fountain's jet; And at his feet the poet Saadi stands And hears intent th' captured bulbuls sing.

A slave with soul on freedom bent he stands, His eyes ablaze with restless ecstasy, While all around him breathes magnificence Of power imperial over many lands.

Within his slender hand he holds a rose; Raising his head, he murmurs, "_Mighty King!

Do good unto thy servant while thou canst: Thou may'st not always mitigate his woes._