Poems, 1799 Part 14

But how came it He chose to be a Sailor?

WOMAN.

You shall hear Sir; As he grew up he used to watch the birds In the corn, child's work you know, and easily done.

'Tis an idle sort of task, so he built up A little hut of wicker-work and clay Under the hedge, to shelter him in rain.

And then he took for very idleness To making traps to catch the plunderers, All sorts of cunning traps that boys can make-- Propping a stone to fall and shut them in, Or crush them with its weight, or else a springe Swung on a bough. He made them cleverly-- And I, poor foolish woman! I was pleased To see the boy so handy. You may guess What followed Sir from this unlucky skill.

He did what he should not when he was older: I warn'd him oft enough; but he was caught In wiring hares at last, and had his choice The prison or the s.h.i.+p.

TRAVELLER.

The choice at least Was kindly left him, and for broken laws This was methinks no heavy punishment.

WOMAN.

So I was told Sir. And I tried to think so, But 'twas a sad blow to me! I was used To sleep at nights soundly and undisturb'd-- Now if the wind blew rough, it made me start And think of my poor boy tossing about Upon the roaring seas. And then I seem'd To feel that it was hard to take him from me For such a little fault. But he was wrong Oh very wrong--a murrain on his traps!

See what they've brought him too!

TRAVELLER.

Well! well! take comfort He will be taken care of if he lives; And should you lose your child, this is a country Where the brave sailor never leaves a parent To weep for him in want.

WOMAN.

Sir I shall want No succour long. In the common course of years I soon must be at rest, and 'tis a comfort When grief is hard upon me to reflect It only leads me to that rest the sooner.

[Footnote 1: The stink-pots used on board the French s.h.i.+ps. In the engagement between the Mars and L'Hercule, some of our sailors were shockingly mangled by them: One in particular, as described in the Eclogue, lost both his eyes. It would be policy and humanity to employ means of destruction, could they be discovered, powerful enough to destroy fleets and armies, but to use any thing that only inflicts additional torture upon the victims of our war systems, is cruel and wicked.]

ECLOGUE V.

THE WITCH.

NATHANIEL.

Father! here father! I have found a horse-shoe!

Faith it was just in time, for t'other night I laid two straws across at Margery's door, And afterwards I fear'd that she might do me A mischief for't. There was the Miller's boy Who set his dog at that black cat of hers, I met him upon crutches, and he told me 'Twas all her evil eye.

FATHER.

'Tis rare good luck; I would have gladly given a crown for one If t'would have done as well. But where did'st find it?

NATHANIEL.

Down on the Common; I was going a-field And neighbour Saunders pa.s.s'd me on his mare; He had hardly said "good day," before I saw The shoe drop off; 'twas just upon my tongue To call him back,--it makes no difference, does it.

Because I know whose 'twas?

FATHER.

Why no, it can't.

The shoe's the same you know, and you 'did find' it.

NATHANIEL.

That mare of his has got a plaguey road To travel, father, and if he should lame her, For she is but tender-footed,--

FATHER.

Aye, indeed-- I should not like to see her limping back Poor beast! but charity begins at home, And Nat, there's our own horse in such a way This morning!

NATHANIEL.

Why he ha'nt been rid again!

Last night I hung a pebble by the manger With a hole thro', and every body says That 'tis a special charm against the hags.

FATHER.

It could not be a proper natural hole then, Or 'twas not a right pebble,--for I found him Smoking with sweat, quaking in every limb, And panting so! G.o.d knows where he had been When we were all asleep, thro' bush and brake Up-hill and down-hill all alike, full stretch At such a deadly rate!--

NATHANIEL.

By land and water, Over the sea perhaps!--I have heard tell That 'tis some thousand miles, almost at the end Of the world, where witches go to meet the Devil.

They used to ride on broomsticks, and to smear Some ointment over them and then away Out of the window! but 'tis worse than all To worry the poor beasts so. Shame upon it That in a Christian country they should let Such creatures live!

FATHER.

And when there's such plain proof!

I did but threaten her because she robb'd Our hedge, and the next night there came a wind That made me shake to hear it in my bed!

How came it that that storm unroofed my barn, And only mine in the parish? look at her And that's enough; she has it in her face-- A pair of large dead eyes, rank in her head, Just like a corpse, and purs'd with wrinkles round, A nose and chin that scarce leave room between For her lean fingers to squeeze in the snuff, And when she speaks! I'd sooner hear a raven Croak at my door! she sits there, nose and knees Smoak-dried and shrivell'd over a starved fire, With that black cat beside her, whose great eyes s.h.i.+ne like old Beelzebub's, and to be sure It must be one of his imps!--aye, nail it hard.

NATHANIEL.

I wish old Margery heard the hammer go!

She'd curse the music.

FATHER.

Here's the Curate coming, He ought to rid the parish of such vermin; In the old times they used to hunt them out And hang them without mercy, but Lord bless us!

The world is grown so wicked!