Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems Page 2

  Beside the brook, along the glen,

  She heard the tramp of goblin men,

  The voice and stir

  Poor Laura could not hear;

  Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,

  But feared to pay too dear.

  She thought of Jeanie in her grave,

  Who should have been a bride;

  But who for joys brides hope to have

  Fell sick and died

  In her gay prime,

  In earliest Winter time,

  With the first glazing rime,

  With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.

  Till Laura dwindling

  Seemed knocking at Death's door:

  Then Lizzie weighed no more

  Better and worse;

  But put a silver penny in her purse,

  Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze

  At twilight, halted by the brook:

  And for the first time in her life

  Began to listen and look.

  Laughed every goblin

  When they spied her peeping:

  Came towards her hobbling,

  Flying, running, leaping,

  Puffing and blowing,

  Chuckling, clapping, crowing,

  Clucking and gobbling,

  Mopping and mowing,

  Full of airs and graces,

  Pulling wry faces,

  Demure grimaces,

  Cat-like and rat-like,

  Ratel- and wombat-like,

  Snail-paced in a hurry,

  Parrot-voiced and whistler,

  Helter skelter, hurry skurry,

  Chattering like magpies,

  Fluttering like pigeons,

  Gliding like fishes,—

  Hugged her and kissed her:

  Squeezed and caressed her:

  Stretched up their dishes,

  Panniers, and plates:

  'Look at our apples

  Russet and dun,

  Bob at our cherries,

  Bite at our peaches,

  Citrons and dates,

  Grapes for the asking,

  Pears red with basking

  Out in the sun,

  Plums on their twigs;

  Pluck them and suck them,

  Pomegranates, figs.'—

  'Good folk,' said Lizzie,

  Mindful of Jeanie:

  'Give me much and many:'—

  Held out her apron,

  Tossed them her penny.

  'Nay, take a seat with us,

  Honour and eat with us,'

  They answered grinning:

  'Our feast is but beginning.

  Night yet is early,

  Warm and dew-pearly,

  Wakeful and starry:

  Such fruits as these

  No man can carry;

  Half their bloom would fly,

  Half their dew would dry,

  Half their flavour would pass by.

  Sit down and feast with us,

  Be welcome guest with us,

  Cheer you and rest with us.'—

  'Thank you,' said Lizzie: 'But one waits

  At home alone for me:

  So without further parleying,

  If you will not sell me any

  Of your fruits though much and many,

  Give me back my silver penny

  I tossed you for a fee.'—

  They began to scratch their pates,

  No longer wagging, purring,

  But visibly demurring,

  Grunting and snarling.

  One called her proud,

  Cross-grained, uncivil;

  Their tones waxed loud,

  Their looks were evil.

  Lashing their tails

  They trod and hustled her,

  Elbowed and jostled her,

  Clawed with their nails,

  Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,

  Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,

  Twitched her hair out by the roots,

  Stamped upon her tender feet,

  Held her hands and squeezed their fruits

  Against her mouth to make her eat.

  White and golden Lizzie stood,

  Like a lily in a flood,—

  Like a rock of blue-veined stone

  Lashed by tides obstreperously,—

  Like a beacon left alone

  In a hoary roaring sea,

  Sending up a golden fire,—

  Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree

  White with blossoms honey-sweet

  Sore beset by wasp and bee,—

  Like a royal virgin town

  Topped with gilded dome and spire

  Close beleaguered by a fleet

  Mad to tug her standard down.

  One may lead a horse to water,

  Twenty cannot make him drink.

  Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,

  Coaxed and fought her,

  Bullied and besought her,

  Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,

  Kicked and knocked her,

  Mauled and mocked her,

  Lizzie uttered not a word;

  Would not open lip from lip

  Lest they should cram a mouthful in:

  But laughed in heart to feel the drip

  Of juice that syrupped all her face,

  And lodged in dimples of her chin,

  And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.

  At last the evil people

  Worn out by her resistance

  Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit

  Along whichever road they took,

  Not leaving root or stone or shoot;

  Some writhed into the ground,

  Some dived into the brook

  With ring and ripple,

  Some scudded on the gale without a sound,

  Some vanished in the distance.

  In a smart, ache, tingle,

  Lizzie went her way;

  Knew not was it night or day;

  Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze,

  Threaded copse and dingle,

  And heard her penny jingle

  Bouncing in her purse,—

  Its bounce was music to her ear.

  She ran and ran

  As if she feared some goblin man

  Dogged her with gibe or curse

  Or something worse:

  But not one goblin skurried after,

  Nor was she pricked by fear;

  The kind heart made her windy-paced

  That urged her home quite out of breath with haste

  And inward laughter.

  She cried 'Laura,' up the garden,

  'Did you miss me?

  Come and kiss me.

  Never mind my bruises,

  Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices

  Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,

  Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

  Eat me, drink me, love me;

  Laura, make much of me:

  For your sake I have braved the glen

  And had to do with goblin merchant men.'

  Laura started from her chair,

  Flung her arms up in the air,

  Clutched her hair:

  'Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted

  For my sake the fruit forbidden?

  Must your light like mine be hidden,

  Your young life like mine be wasted,

  Undone in mine undoing

  And ruined in my ruin,

  Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?'—

  She clung about her sister,

  Kissed and kissed and kissed her:

  Tears once again

  Refreshed her shrunken eyes,

  Dropping like rain

  After long sultry drouth;

  Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

  She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.

  Her lips began to scorch,

  That juice was wormwood to her tongue,

  She loathed the feast
:

  Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,

  Rent all her robe, and wrung

  Her hands in lamentable haste,

  And beat her breast.

  Her locks streamed like the torch

  Borne by a racer at full speed,

  Or like the mane of horses in their flight,

  Or like an eagle when she stems the light

  Straight toward the sun,

  Or like a caged thing freed,

  Or like a flying flag when armies run.

  Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,

  Met the fire smouldering there

  And overbore its lesser flame;

  She gorged on bitterness without a name:

  Ah! fool, to choose such part

  Of soul-consuming care!

  Sense failed in the mortal strife:

  Like the watch-tower of a town

  Which an earthquake shatters down,

  Like a lightning-stricken mast,

  Like a wind-uprooted tree

  Spun about,

  Like a foam-topped waterspout

  Cast down headlong in the sea,

  She fell at last;

  Pleasure past and anguish past,

  Is it death or is it life?

  Life out of death.

  That night long Lizzie watched by her,

  Counted her pulse's flagging stir,

  Felt for her breath,

  Held water to her lips, and cooled her face

  With tears and fanning leaves:

  But when the first birds chirped about their eaves,

  And early reapers plodded to the place

  Of golden sheaves,

  And dew-wet grass

  Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,

  And new buds with new day

  Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream,

  Laura awoke as from a dream,

  Laughed in the innocent old way,

  Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;

  Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey,

  Her breath was sweet as May

  And light danced in her eyes.

  Days, weeks, months, years

  Afterwards, when both were wives

  With children of their own;

  Their mother-hearts beset with fears,

  Their lives bound up in tender lives;

  Laura would call the little ones

  And tell them of her early prime,

  Those pleasant days long gone

  Of not-returning time:

  Would talk about the haunted glen,

  The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,

  Their fruits like honey to the throat

  But poison in the blood;

  (Men sell not such in any town:)

  Would tell them how her sister stood

  In deadly peril to do her good,

  And win the fiery antidote:

  Then joining hands to little hands

  Would bid them cling together,

  'For there is no friend like a sister

  In calm or stormy weather;

  To cheer one on the tedious way,

  To fetch one if one goes astray,

  To lift one if one totters down,

  To strengthen whilst one stands.'

  IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI

  JUNE 8, 1857

  A HUNDRED, a thousand to one; even so;

  Not a hope in the world remained:

  The swarming howling wretches below

  Gained and gained and gained.

  Skene looked at his pale young wife:—

  'Is the time come?'—'The time is come!'—

  Young, strong, and so full of life:

  The agony struck them dumb.

  Close his arm about her now,

  Close her cheek to his,

  Close the pistol to her brow—

  God forgive them this!

  'Will it hurt much?'—'No, mine own:

  I wish I could bear the pang for both.'

  'I wish I could bear the pang alone:

  Courage, dear, I am not loth.'

  Kiss and kiss: 'It is not pain

  Thus to kiss and die.

  One kiss more.'—'And yet one again.'—

  'Good-bye.'—'Good-bye.'

  DREAM LAND

  WHERE sunless rivers weep

  Their waves into the deep,

  She sleeps a charmèd sleep:

  Awake her not.

  Led by a single star,

  She came from very far

  To seek where shadows are

  Her pleasant lot.

  She left the rosy morn,

  She left the fields of corn,

  For twilight cold and lorn

  And water springs.

  Through sleep, as through a veil,

  She sees the sky look pale,

  And hears the nightingale

  That sadly sings.

  Rest, rest, a perfect rest

  Shed over brow and breast;

  Her face is toward the west,

  The purple land.

  She cannot see the grain

  Ripening on hill and plain;

  She cannot feel the rain

  Upon her hand.

  Rest, rest, for evermore

  Upon a mossy shore;

  Rest, rest at the heart's core

  Till time shall cease:

  Sleep that no pain shall wake,

  Night that no morn shall break

  Till joy shall overtake

  Her perfect peace.

  AT HOME

  WHEN I was dead, my spirit turned

  To seek the much-frequented house:

  I passed the door, and saw my friends

  Feasting beneath green orange boughs;

  From hand to hand they pushed the wine,

  They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;

  They sang, they jested, and they laughed,

  For each was loved of each.

  I listened to their honest chat:

  Said one: 'Tomorrow we shall be

  Plod plod along the featureless sands

  And coasting miles and miles of sea.'

  Said one: 'Before the turn of tide

  We will achieve the eyrie-seat.'

  Said one: 'Tomorrow shall be like

  Today, but much more sweet.'

  'Tomorrow,' said they, strong with hope,

  And dwelt upon the pleasant way:

  'Tomorrow,' cried they one and all,

  While no one spoke of yesterday.

  Their life stood full at blessed noon;

  I, only I, had passed away:

  'Tomorrow and today,' they cried;

  I was of yesterday.

  I shivered comfortless, but cast

  No chill across the tablecloth;

  I all-forgotten shivered, sad

  To stay and yet to part how loth:

  I passed from the familiar room,

  I who from love had passed away,

  Like the remembrance of a guest

  That tarrieth but a day.

  A TRIAD

  SONNET

  THREE sang of love together: one with lips

  Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,

  Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips;

  And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow

  Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;

  And one was blue with famine after love,

  Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low

  The burden of what those were singing of.

  One shamed herself in love; one temperately

  Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;

  One famished died for love. Thus two of three

  Took death for love and won him after strife;

  One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee:

  All on the threshold, yet all short of life.

  LOVE FROM THE NORTH

  I HAD a love
in soft south land,

  Beloved through April far in May;

  He waited on my lightest breath,

  And never dared to say me nay.

  He saddened if my cheer was sad,

  But gay he grew if I was gay;

  We never differed on a hair,

  My yes his yes, my nay his nay.

  The wedding hour was come, the aisles

  Were flushed with sun and flowers that day;

  I pacing balanced in my thoughts:

  'It's quite too late to think of nay.'—

  My bridegroom answered in his turn,

  Myself had almost answered 'yea:'

  When through the flashing nave I heard

  A struggle and resounding 'nay.'

  Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear,

  But I stood high who stood at bay:

  'And if I answer yea, fair Sir,

  What man art thou to bar with nay?'

  He was a strong man from the north,

  Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey:

  'Put yea by for another time

  In which I will not say thee nay.'

  He took me in his strong white arms,

  He bore me on his horse away