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Kiss you turn and turn about, But my lad, beware--a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out At Heffle Cuckoo Fair--a!
A CHARM
Take of English earth as much As either hand may rightly clutch.
In the taking of it breathe Prayer for all who lie beneath.
Not the great nor well-bespoke, But the mere uncounted folk Of whose life and death is none Report or lamentation.
Lay that earth upon thy heart, And thy sickness shall depart!
It shall sweeten and make whole Fevered breath and festered soul.
It shall mightily restrain Over-busy hand and brain.
It shall ease thy mortal strife 'Gainst the immortal woe of life, Till thyself restored shall prove By what grace the Heavens do move.
Take of English flowers these-- Spring's full-faced primroses, Summer's wild wide-hearted rose, Autumn's wall-flower of the close, And, thy darkness to illume, Winter's bee-thronged ivy-bloom.
Seek and serve them where they bide From Candlemas to Christmas-tide, For these simples, used aright, Can restore a failing sight.
These shall cleanse and purify Webbed and inward-turning eye; These shall show thee treasure hid, Thy familiar fields amid; And reveal (which is thy need) Every man a King indeed!
THE PRAIRIE
'I see the gra.s.s shake in the sun for leagues on either hand, I see a river loop and run about a treeless land-- An empty plain, a steely pond, a distance diamond-clear, And low blue naked hills beyond. And what is that to fear?'
'Go softly by that river-side or, when you would depart, You'll find its every winding tied and knotted round your heart.
Be wary as the seasons pa.s.s, or you may ne'er outrun The wind that sets that yellowed gra.s.s a-s.h.i.+ver 'neath the Sun.'
'I hear the summer storm outblown--the drip of the grateful wheat.
I hear the hard trail telephone a far-off horse's feet.
I hear the horns of Autumn blow to the wild-fowl overhead; And I hear the hush before the snow. And what is that to dread?'
'Take heed what spell the lightning weaves--what charm the echoes shape-- Or, bound among a million sheaves, your soul may not escape.
Bar home the door of summer nights lest those high planets drown The memory of near delights in all the longed-for town.'
'What need have I to long or fear? Now, friendly, I behold My faithful seasons robe the year in silver and in gold.
Now I possess and am possessed of the land where I would be, And the curve of half Earth's generous breast shall soothe and ravish me!'
CHAPTER HEADINGS
PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS
Look, you have cast out Love! What G.o.ds are these You bid me please?
The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so!
To my own G.o.ds I go.
It may be they shall give me greater ease Than your cold Christ and tangled Trinities.
_Lispeth_.
When the Earth was sick and the Skies were grey, And the woods were rotted with rain, The Dead Man rode through the autumn day To visit his love again.
His love she neither saw nor heard, So heavy was her shame; And tho' the babe within her stirred She knew not that he came.
_The Other Man._
Cry 'Murder' in the market-place, and each Will turn upon his neighbour anxious eyes Asking;--'Art thou the man?' We hunted Cain Some centuries ago across the world.
This bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain To-day.
_His Wedded Wife._
Go, stalk the red deer o'er the heather, Ride, follow the fox if you can!
But, for pleasure and profit together, Allow me the hunting of Man-- The chase of the Human, the search for the Soul To its ruin--the hunting of Man.
_Pig._
'Stopped in the straight when the race was his own!
Look at him cutting it--cur to the bone!'
Ask ere the youngster be rated and chidden What did he carry and how was he ridden?
Maybe they used him too much at the start; Maybe Fate's weight-cloths are breaking his heart.
_In the Pride of his Youth._
'And some are sulky, while some will plunge.
_(So ho! Steady! Stand still, you!)_ Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge.
_(There! There! Who wants to kill you?)_ Some--there are losses in every trade-- Will break their hearts ere bitted and made, Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard, And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard.'
_Thrown Away._
The World hath set its heavy yoke Upon the old white-bearded folk Who strive to please the King.
G.o.d's mercy is upon the young, G.o.d's wisdom in the baby tongue That fears not anything.
