An’ he thought, like a fool, to get round her he’d try;
Wid a smile on her lip an’ a spark in her eye,
She said, ‘How is the woman that owns ye?’
Och, never be tellin’ the life that he’s led!
Sure, many’s the night that he’ll wish himself dead,
For the sake of two eyes in a pretty girl’s head,—
An’ the tongue of the woman that owns him.
FRANCES CORNFORD
_173. Autumn Evening_
The shadows flickering, the daylight dying,
And I upon the old red sofa lying,
The great brown shadows leaping up the wall,
The sparrows twittering; and that is all.
I thought to send my soul to far-off lands,
Where fairies scamper on the windy sands,
Or where the autumn rain comes drumming down
On huddled roofs in an enchanted town.
But O, my sleepy soul, it will not roam,
It is too happy and too warm at home:
With just the shadows leaping up the wall,
The sparrows twittering; and that is all.
_174. Autumn Morning at Cambridge_
I ran out in the morning, when the air was clean and new,
And all the grass was glittering and grey with autumn dew,
I ran out to the apple tree and pulled an apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the old grey town.
Down in the town, off the bridges and the grass
They are sweeping up the leaves to let the people pass,
Sweeping up the old leaves, golden-reds and browns,
While the men go to lecture with the wind in their gowns
_175. The Watch_
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.
EVA GORE-BOOTH
_176. The Little Waves of Breffny_
The grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea,
And there is traffic in it, and many a horse and cart;
But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me,
And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.
A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o’er the hill,
And there is glory in it and terror on the wind;
But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still,
And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind.
The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way,
Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal;
But the little waves of Breffny have drenched my heart in spray,
And the little waves of Breffny go stumbling through my soul.
KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON
_177. Sheep and Lambs_
All in the April morning,
April airs were abroad,
The sheep with their little lambs
Pass’d me by on the road.
The sheep with their little lambs
Pass’d me by on the road;
All in an April evening
I thought on the Lamb of God.
The lambs were weary and crying
With a weak human cry,
I thought on the Lamb of God
Going meekly to die.
Up in the blue, blue mountains
Dewy pastures are sweet:
Rest for the little bodies,
Rest for the little feet.
Rest for the Lamb of God
Up on the hill-top green,
Only a cross of shame
Two stark crosses between.
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the Lamb of God.
ROSE MACAULAY
_178. The Devourers_
Cambridge town is a beleaguered city;
For south and north, like a sea,
There beats on its gates, without haste or pity,
The downs and the fen country.
Cambridge towers, so old, so wise,
They were builded but yesterday,
Watched by sleepy gray secret eyes
That smiled as at children’s play.
Roads south of Cambridge run into the waste,
Where learning and lamps are not,
And the pale downs tumble, blind, chalk-faced,
And the brooding churches squat.
Roads north of Cambridge march through a plain
Level like the traitor sea.
It will swallow its ships, and turn and smile again,
The insatiable fen country.
Lest the downs and the fens should eat Cambridge up,
And its towers be tossed and thrown,
And its rich wine drunk from its broken cup,
And its beauty no more known—
Let us come, you and I, where the roads run blind,
But beyond the transient city,
That our love, mingling with earth, may find
Her imperishable heart of pity.
SYLVIA LYND
_179. Hunting Song_
The hunt is up! the hunt is up!
It sounds from hill to hill,
It pierces to the hidden place
Where we are lying still;
And one of us the quarry is,
And one of us must go,
When through the arches of the wood
We hear the dread horn blow.
A huntsman bold is Master Death,
And reckless doth he ride,
And terror’s hounds with bleeding fangs
Go baying at his side;
And will it be a milk-white doe,
A little dappled fawn,
Or will it be an antlered stag
Must face the icy dawn?
Or will it be a golden fox
Must leap from out his lair,
Or where the trailing shadows pass
A merry romping hare?
The hunt is up, the horn is loud
By plain and covert side,
And we must run alone, alone,
When Death abroad doth ride.
But idle ’tis to crouch in fear,
Since death will find you out;
Then up and hold your head erect,
And pace the wood about,
And swim the stream, and leap the wall,
And race the starry mead,
Nor feel the bright teeth in your flank
Till they be there indeed.
For in the secret hearts of men
Are peace and joy at one.
There is a pleasant land where stalks
No darkness in the sun,
And through the arches of the wood
Do break, like silver foam,
Young laughter, and the noise of flutes,
And voices singing home.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
The figures refer to the numbers of the poems
Anonymous, 10.
Askewe, Anne, 1.
Baillie, Lady Grisel, 48, 49.
Baillie, Joanna, 81-84.
Barbauld, Anna Laetitia, 74, 75.
Barnard, Lady Anne (Lindsay), 79.
Behn, Aphra, 20-24.
Blamire, Susanna, 77.
Bradstreet, Anne, 7, 8.
Brontë, Anne, 128, 129.
Brontë, Charlotte, 116-118.
Brontë, Emily, 119-125.
Brooke, Frances, 76.
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 101-113.
Carew, Lady Elizabeth, 4.
Carter, Elizabeth, 65.
Cary, Phoebe, 130.
Chudleigh, Mary, Lady, 38, 39.
Cockburn, Alison, 61.
Cockburn, Catharine, 55.
Coleridge, Mary Elizabeth, 149-151.
Coleridge, Sara, 100.
Collins, Ann, 11, 12.
Cooke, Rose Terry, 168.
Cornford, Frances, 173-175.
Currie, Lady (_Violet Fane_), 146.
De Bary, Anna Bunston, 170.
Dufferin, Helen Selina, Marchioness of, 114.
Elizabeth, Queen, 2, 3.
Elliot, Jane, 70.
_Ephelia_, 25-31.
Fanshawe, Catherine M., 85.
Gore-Booth, Eva, 176.
Grahame, Jenny, 71.
Grant, Anne, of Laggan, 93.
Greville, Fanny, 59.
Hemans, Felicia Dorothea, 97-99.
Hinkson, Katharine Tynan, 177.
Howe, Julia Ward, 126, 127.
Hunter, Annie, 73.
Ingelow, Jean, 145.
Jacob, Violet, 169.
Jones, Mary, 69.
Killigrew, Anne, 34-36.
Lamb, Mary, 86.
Lawless, Hon. Emily, 147.
Leapor, Mary, 66-68.
Levy, Amy, 152-157.
Lynd, Sylvia, 179.
Macaulay, Rose, 178.
Madan, Judith, 64.
Masters, Mary, 62, 63.
Meynell, Alice, 160-164.
Mollineux, Mary, 32, 33.
Monk, Hon. Mary, 50-52.
Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, 56-58.
Nairne, Caroline, Lady, 87-90.
Newcastle, Margaret, Duchess of, 9.
Norton, Hon. Caroline Elizabeth Sarah, 115.
O’Neill, Henrietta, Lady, 80.
O’Neill, Moira, 171, 172.
Opie, Amelia, 94.
Oxlie, Mary, of Morpet, 5.
Pagan, Isobel, 72.
Parnell, Fanny, 148.
Philips, Katherine (_Orinda_), 13-17.
Pilkington, Laetitia, 60.
Rossetti, Christina, 131-144.
Rowe, Elizabeth (Singer), 53, 54.
Shorter, Dora (Sigerson), 158, 159.
Smith, Charlotte, 78.
Southey, Caroline, 95.
Taylor, Mrs., 37.
Wharton, Anne, Marchioness of, 18, 19.
Willard, Emma (Hart), 96.
Williams, Helen Maria, 91, 92.
Winchilsea, Anne, Countess of, 40-47.
Woods, Margaret L., 165-167.
Wroth, Lady Mary, 6.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
A child’s a plaything for an hour, 86
A constancy in love I’ll prise, 21
A thousand martyrs I have made, 24
About the little chambers of my heart, 150
Ah, gaze not on those eyes! forbear, 55
Alas, how hard a thing, 33
Alas! my son, you little know, 71
All in the April morning, 177
Am I a stone, and not a sheep, 135
And ye shall walk in silk attire, 77
Behold, ambitious lump of clay refined, 32
Best of thy sex! if sacred friendship can, 30
Brief, on a flying night, 164
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes, 72
Calm on the bosom of thy God, 99
Cambridge town is a beleaguered city, 178
Cease, cease, Aminta, to complain, 22
Children of night! unfolding meekly, slowly, 97
Christ was the Word that spake it, 3
Close to the sod, 170
Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee, 119
Come not in terrors clad, to claim, 95
Come to me in the silence of the night, 133
Cou’d our first father, at his toilsome plough, 44
Death is a leveller; beauty and kings, 14
Deep in the grass outstretched I lie, 154
Dennis was hearty when Dennis was young, 172
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, 110
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?, 138
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away, 121
Far from the earth the deep-descended day, 167
Farewell, ungrateful man, sail to some land, 28
Flowers to the Fair! to you these flowers I bring, 74
Forbear, bold youth, all’s Heaven here, 16
Forgo the charming Muses! No, in spite, 54
Give me there (since Heaven has shown, 43
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand, 105
Green is the plane-tree in the square, 152
Hark! in the still night. Who goes there?, 158
He saw my heart’s woe, discovered my soul’s anguish, 116
Her mouth, which a smile, 76
Here sleeps the Queen; this is the royal bed, 8
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways, 108
How hardly I conceal’d my tears!, 19
How much of paper’s spoil’d! what floods of ink!, 69
How strongly does my passion flow, 23
I ask no kind return in Love, 59
I did not live until this time, 13
I do not love thee!—no! I do not love thee!, 115
I mind me, in the days departed, 112
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, 162
I never rested on the Muses’ bed, 5
I ran out in the morning, when the air was clean and new, 174
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless, 113
I thought once how Theocritus had sung, 103
I took my heart in my hand, 136
I wakened on my hot, hard bed, 175
I was alone, for those I loved, 129
I watch her in the corner there, 168
If trifling Hope has any room to plead, 67
I’m sittin’ on the stile, Mary, 114
I’m wearin’ awa’, John, 87
In such a night, when every louder wind, 42
In two large columns on thy motley page, 56
Is it to me, this sad lamenting strain?, 57
I’ve heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking, 70
I’ve seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling, 61
Jean, fetch that heap of tangled yarn, 93
Life! I know not what thou art, 75
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses, 163
Lost in despair, distracted and forlorn, 53
Love, a child, is ever crying, 6
Love in fantastic triumph sat, 20
Loving friend, the gift of one, 111
Lyke as the armed knyght, 1
‘Mary mother, shield us! Say, what men are ye, 147
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day, 91
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, 126
My heart is like a singing bird, 141
My letters! all dead paper, ... mute and white!, 107
My Lord, my Saviour, and my God, 60
My mother bids me bind my hair, 73
My songs th’ attentive nymphs with pleasure hear, 63
Next heaven, my vows to thee, O sacred Muse!, 35
No coward soul is mine, 125
Now in thy dazzled, half-oped eye, 81
O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes, 137
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love, 92
O God! if this indeed be all, 128
O Jean, my Jean, when the bell ca’s the congregation, 169
O King of Terrors, whose unbounded sway, 47
O Love, how thou art tired out with rhyme!, 9
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave, 100
O thou, who labour’st in this rugged mine, 64
Observe the weary birds ere night be done, 15
Och, what was it got me at all that time, 171
O’er this marble drop a tear, 51
Of all companions I would choose to shun, 68
Often rebuked, yet always back returning, 124
Oh cruel Fate, when wilt thou weary be?, 31
Oh, love! thou that shelterest some, 146
Oh, the auld house, the auld house!, 88
‘Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing, 142
One sweetly solemn thought, 130
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?, 166
Press gently on him, earth, and all around, 50
Remember me when I am gone away, 139
Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 96
Search but those strains, you think so much excel, 62
Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country?, 148
She stands as pale as Parian statues stand, 134
She, who so long has lain, 156
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep, 120
Speak of the North! A lonely moor, 118
Still let my tyrants know, I am not doom’d to wear, 122
Strephon hath fashion, wit, and youth, 37
Strephon I saw, and started at the sight, 25
Strephon, whose person ev’ry grace, 45
Such is the force of each created thing, 12
Sweet age of blest delusion! blooming boys, 80
Ten years ago it seemed impossible, 143
The boy stood on the burning deck, 98
The chough and crow to roost are gone, 84
The clouds had made a crimson crown, 149
The doubt of future foes, exiles my present joy, 2
The ewe-buchtin’s bonnie, baith e’enin’ and morn, 49
The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove, 78
The gowan glitters on the sward, 83
The grand old road from the mountain goes shining to the sea, 176
The human heart has hidden treasures, 117
The hunt is up! the hunt is up!, 179
The irresponsive silence of the land, 132
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 145
The paralytic man has dropped in death, 160
The shadows flickering, the daylight dying, 173
The sky is silver-grey; the long, 153
The Winter being over, 11
There ance was a may, and she lo’ed na men, 48
There was an eye, whose partial glance, 94
They trod the streets and squares where now I tread, 157
This book by any yet unread, 7
Thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man, 101
Thou who dost all my worldly thoughts employ, 52
Though Fortune have so far from me removed, 29
Though infant years no pompous honours claim, 65
’Tis not enough for one that is a wife, 4
To the forgotten dead, 165
Too late for love, too late for joy, 140
Trail all your pikes, dispirit every drum, 40
True genius, but true woman! dost deny, 102
Twice forty months of wedlock I did stay, 17
’Twas in heaven pronounced—it was mutter’d in hell, 85
’Twas the dream of a God, 159
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!, 104
Wanton drole, whose harmless play, 82
We are Diana’s virgin train, 34
We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise, 151
Weary, at last, of the Pindarick way, 46
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 127
Welcome, dear wanderer, once more!, 66
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, 123
Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?, 89
What was he doing, the great god Pan, 109
What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, 144
When all alone in some belov’d retreat, 38
When from the world I shall be ta’en, 10
When I am dead, few friends attend my hearse, 36
When I am dead, my dearest, 131
When our two souls stand up erect and strong, 106
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 79
When the tempestuous sea did foam and roar, 18
When to the Under-world despis’d he goes, 41
Where drowsy sound of college-chimes, 155
Why, Damon, why, why, why so pressing?, 39
Why do I love? go ask the glorious sun, 27
With this ambiguous earth, 161
Would you be young again?, 90
You little know the heart that you advise, 58
You wrong me, Strephon, when you say, 26
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