Wessex Poems and Other Verses

For our files were misled by the baffling gloom;
And we said we’d storm by day.

“So, out of the trenches, with features set,
On that hot, still morning, in measured pace,
Our column climbed; climbed higher yet,
Past the fauss’bray, scarp, up the curtain-face,
And along the parapet.

“From the battened hornwork the cannoneers
Hove crashing balls of iron fire;
On the shaking gap mount the volunteers
In files, and as they mount expire
Amid curses, groans, and cheers.

“Five hours did we storm, five hours re-form,
As Death cooled those hot blood pricked on;
Till our cause was helped by a woe within:
They swayed from the summit we’d leapt upon,
And madly we entered in.

“On end for plunder, ’mid rain and thunder
That burst with the lull of our cannonade,
We vamped the streets in the stifling air —
Our hunger unsoothed, our thirst unstayed —
And ransacked the buildings there.

“Down the stony steps of the house-fronts white
We rolled rich puncheons of Spanish grape,
Till at length, with the fire of the wine alight,
I saw at a doorway a fair fresh shape —
A woman, a sylph, or sprite.

“Afeard she fled, and with heated head
I pursued to the chamber she called her own; —
When might is right no qualms deter,
And having her helpless and alone
I wreaked my will on her.

“She raised her beseeching eyes to me,
And I heard the words of prayer she sent
In her own soft language.. Seemingly
I copied those eyes for my punishment
In begetting the girl you see!

“So, to-day I stand with a God-set brand
Like Cain’s, when he wandered from kindred’s ken.
I served through the war that made Europe free;
I wived me in peace-year.  But, hid from men,
I bear that mark on me.

“And I nightly stray on the Ivel Way
As though at home there were spectres rife;
I delight me not in my proud career;
And ’tis coals of fire that a gracious wife
Should have brought me a daughter dear!”

THE STRANGER’S SONG

(As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of “The Three Wayfarers”)

O my trade it is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all —
My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers I tie, and take ’em up on high,
And waft ’em to a far countree!

My tools are but common ones,
Simple shepherds all —
My tools are no sight to see:
A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing,
Are implements enough for me!

To-morrow is my working day,
Simple shepherds all —
To-morrow is a working day for me:
For the farmer’s sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta’en,
And on his soul may God ha’ mer-cy!

THE BURGHERS

(17–)

The sun had wheeled from Grey’s to Dammer’s Crest,
And still I mused on that Thing imminent:
At length I sought the High-street to the West.

The level flare raked pane and pediment
And my wrecked face, and shaped my nearing friend
Like one of those the Furnace held unshent.

“I’ve news concerning her,” he said.  “Attend.
They fly to-night at the late moon’s first gleam:
Watch with thy steel: two righteous thrusts will end

Her shameless visions and his passioned dream.
I’ll watch with thee, to testify thy wrong —
To aid, maybe. – Law consecrates the scheme.”

I started, and we paced the flags along