Beggars
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Beggars
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She had a tall man’s height or more; Her face from summer’s noontide heat No bonnet shaded, but she wore A mantle, to her very feet Descending with a graceful flow, And on her head a cap as white as new-fallen snow. Her skin was of Egyptian brown: Haughty, as if her eye had seen Its own light to a distance thrown, She towered, fit person for a Queen To lead those ancient Amazonian files; Or ruling Bandit’s wife among the Grecian isles. Advancing, forth she stretched her hand And begged an alms with doleful plea That ceased not; on our English land Such woes, I knew, could never be; And yet a boon I gave her, for the creature Was beautiful to see—a weed of glorious feature. I left her, and pursued my way; And soon before me did espy A pair of little Boys at play, Chasing a crimson butterfly; The taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land. The other wore a rimless crown With leaves of laurel stuck about; And, while both followed up and down, Each whooping with a merry shout, In their fraternal features I could trace Unquestionable lines of that wild Suppliant’s face. Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit For finest tasks of earth or air: Wings let them have, and they might flit Precursors to Aurora’s car, Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween, To hunt their fluttering game o’er rock and level green. They dart across my path—but lo, Each ready with a plaintive whine! Said I, “not half an hour ago Your Mother has had alms of mine.” “That cannot be,” one answered—“she is dead”:— I looked reproof—they saw—but neither hung his head. “She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”— “Hush, boys! you’re telling me a lie; It was your Mother, as I say!” And, in the twinkling of an eye, “Come! come!” cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew! |
Sequel to the Foregoing, Composed Many Years After
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Where are they now, those wanton Boys? For whose free range the dædal earth Was filled with animated toys, And implements of frolic mirth; With tools for ready wit to guide; And ornaments of seemlier pride, More fresh, more bright, than princes wear; For what one moment flung aside, Another could repair; What good or evil have they seen Since I their pastime witnessed here, Their daring wiles, their sportive cheer? I ask—but all is dark between! They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed As with the breath of one sweet flower,— A time to overrule the power Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, The most familiar bane of life Since parting Innocence bequeathed Mortality to Earth! Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky—the brooks ran clear; The lambs from rock to rock were bounding; With songs the budded groves resounding; And to my heart are still endeared The thoughts with which it then was cheered; The faith which saw that gladsome pair Walk through the fire with unsinged hair. Or, if such faith must needs deceive— Then, Spirits of beauty and of grace, Associates in that eager chase; Ye, who within the blameless mind Your favourite seat of empire find— Kind Spirits! may we not believe That they, so happy and so fair Through your sweet influence, and the care Of pitying Heaven, at least were free From touch of deadly injury? Destined, whate’er their earthly doom, For mercy and immortal bloom? |
Catalogue of Titles