Poems. Volume 1. George Meredith

      He paused, and in the moment’s pause,

      His eyes and Willie’s strangely glistened.

      Nearer came Joan, and Bessy hung

      With face averted, near enough

      To hear, and sob unheard; the young

      And careless ones had scampered off

      Meantime, and sought the loftiest place

      To beacon the approaching chase.

      ‘Daily upon the meads to browse,

      Goes Nancy with those dairy cows

      You see behind the clematis:

      And such a favourite she is,

      That when fatigued, and helter skelter,

      Among them from her foes to shelter,

      She dashes when the chase is over,

      They’ll close her in and give her cover,

      And bend their horns against the hounds,

      And low, and keep them out of bounds!

      From the house dogs she dreads no harm,

      And is good friends with all the farm,

      Man, and bird, and beast, howbeit

      Their natures seem so opposite.

      And she is known for many a mile,

      And noted for her splendid style,

      For her clear leap and quick slight hoof;

      Welcome she is in many a roof.

      And if I say, I love her, man!

      I say but little: her fine eyes full

      Of memories of my girl, at Yule

      And May-time, make her dearer than

      Dumb brute to men has been, I think.

      So dear I do not find her dumb.

      I know her ways, her slightest wink,

      So well; and to my hand she’ll come,

      Sidelong, for food or a caress,

      Just like a loving human thing.

      Nor can I help, I do confess,

      Some touch of human sorrowing

      To think there may be such a doubt

      That from the next world she’ll be shut out,

      And parted from me!  And well I mind

      How, when my girl’s last moments came,

      Her soft eyes very soft and kind,

      She joined her hands and prayed the same,

      That she “might meet her father, mother,

      Sister Bess, and each dear brother,

      And with them, if it might be, one

      Who was her last companion.”

      Meaning the fawn—the doe you mark—

      For my bay mare was then a foal,

      And time has passed since then:—but hark!’

      For like the shrieking of a soul

      Shut in a tomb, a darkened cry

      Of inward-wailing agony

      Surprised them, and all eyes on each

      Fixed in the mute-appealing speech

      Of self-reproachful apprehension:

      Knowing not what to think or do:

      But Joan, recovering first, broke through

      The instantaneous suspension,

      And knelt upon the ground, and guessed

      The bitterness at a glance, and pressed

      Into the comfort of her breast

      The deep-throed quaking shape that drooped

      In misery’s wilful aggravation,

      Before the farmer as he stooped,

      Touched with accusing consternation:

      Soothing her as she sobbed aloud:—

      ‘Not me! not me!  Oh, no, no, no!

      Not me!  God will not take me in!

      Nothing can wipe away my sin!

      I shall not see her: you will go;

      You and all that she loves so:

      Not me! not me!  Oh, no, no, no!’

      Colourless, her long black hair,

      Like seaweed in a tempest tossed

      Tangling astray, to Joan’s care

      She yielded like a creature lost:

      Yielded, drooping toward the ground,

      As doth a shape one half-hour drowned,

      And heaved from sea with mast and spar,

      All dark of its immortal star.

      And on that tender heart, inured

      To flatter basest grief, and fight

      Despair upon the brink of night,

      She suffered herself to sink, assured

      Of refuge; and her ear inclined

      To comfort; and her thoughts resigned

      To counsel; her wild hair let brush

      From off her weeping brows; and shook

      With many little sobs that took

      Deeper-drawn breaths, till into sighs,

      Long sighs, they sank; and to the ‘hush!’

      Of Joan’s gentle chide, she sought

      Childlike to check them as she ought,

      Looking up at her infantwise.

      And Willie, gazing on them both,

      Shivered with bliss through blood and brain,

      To see the darling of his troth

      Like a maternal angel strain

      The sinful and the sinless child

      At once on either breast, and there

      In peace and promise reconciled

      Unite them: nor could Nature’s care

      With subtler sweet beneficence

      Have fed the springs of penitence,

      Still keeping true, though harshly tried,

      The vital prop of human pride.