Part 6 (1/2)

Aye; agen all the country round, Coz you're as good as could be found-- An' now--old gel--it's omost eight, Come on--yer know we moant be late, Off to the s.h.i.+p for our gla.s.s of aale; This yarn of yourn'll make a taale!

What's that--yer bunnet?

All rate ... be quick-- I'll wait for yer agen the gate.

To an old Friend

A tongue of lambent living flame Stirs lightly when I hear your name, Your features delicate and rare, Quiver with every thought you bear; It ever was a strange delight To see your charming face alight, To sit with you awhile apart And hear the beating of your heart, Or watch the message from your brain Into your eyes then back again.

And still it is my fairest dream-- That delicate ethereal gleam, The fire that played behind your face, Lighting it with such fairy grace; Such intuition sweet and wild; Why should you always be a child?

You cannot ever hope to grow Into a woman; oh dear no!

The fairies never would allow Such desecration; so that, now, You must be reconciled to stay For ever as you are to-day.

What an enchanting fate is this!

Eternally a child to be, Laughing with that untroubled bliss That only haunts the fancy free: Yes, yours is happiness indeed; Barefoot to roam the woodland vale, All careless, though your feet should bleed Because you hear the nightingale; All heedless, though the thorns should tear, And though the pain be fierce and wild, For Nature gives to you her kiss; And you will always be her child.

Is it finished?

Well--Is it finished, Is the long day-dream done?

The battle lost, and won?

Has love at length diminished And night begun?

Do you pa.s.s to another?

Yet still I hold Devotion all untold; Although you mate a brother And leave me cold.

My heart beats but for thee And every thought is thine, As flowers to the sun incline; For once thou lovedst me And all was mine.

Though destiny may banish, My heart is still the same; And thine is all my fame; Although thy love may vanish, True burns my flame.

And, thou mayst know That shouldst thou call to me, Where-ever I may be, Like arrow from its bow Straight I will fly to thee.

Oh, Lincoln, City of my dreams

As far away as childhood seems Thou standest on thy Roman hill, And memory holds thee frozen, still, Engraved on steel where moonlight streams.

For leagues along the landscape mild Thy towers twin the scene command, Embattlements of fairyland; Romance incarnate to a child.

Though other cities cast a spell, Ever thou holdst my heart in chains; And still I hear across the plains At midnight's stroke that ancient bell

Whose giant throbbing scarcely seems A mortal sound at Heaven's gate: It echoes round the exile's fate-- Oh Lincoln! City of my dreams!

The Fool

What say?

Tharp?

Yis: Aaron Tharp lived theer!

Not quite sharp?

Not quite--I fear!

T'wer very sad!