FullReads

Earl Norman and John Truman

“Through great Earl Norman’s acres wide,
A prosperous and a good land,
‘Twill take you fifty miles to ride,
O’er grass, and corn, and woodland.
His age is sixty-nine, or near–
And I’m scarce twenty-two, man.
And have but fifty pounds a-year–
Poor John Truman!
But would I change? I’faith! not I!
Oh no, not I, says Truman!

“Earl Norman dwells in halls of state.
The grandest in the county;
Has forty cousins at his gate.
To feed upon his bounty.
But then he’s deaf; the doctor’s care–
While I in whispers woo, man,
And find my physic in the air–
Stout John Truman!
D’ye think I’d change for thrice his gold?
Oh no, not I, says Truman!

“Earl Norman boasts a garter’d knee–
A proof of royal graces;
I wear, by Nelly wrought for me,
A silken pair of braces.
He sports a star upon his breast.
And I a violet blue, man–
The gift of her who loves me best–
Proud John Truman!
I’d be myself–and not the Earl–
Oh that would I, says Truman!”

XXV.

There were more listeners to the song
Than the jocund gardener knew,
The parson, and his daughters fair,
With their eyes of merry blue.–
And one without, by the hawthorn-hedge,
Who roamed the green lanes through,
Who roamed the green lanes up and down,
But stopped as the gardener sang;
And heard the sound of his careless voice
As clear on the breeze it rang;
“Ah me!” he said, with bitter thought,
“For the days for ever gone.
When I could sing in the morning light
With the whole world’s benison.
And fear no fiend in my own heart’s core
Goading me ever on!”

XXVI.

Tumultuous discord filled his soul–
How could he stand to hear,
The jarring joy, the taunting mirth
That sprang from a conscience clear?
Away! away! for the shadow fell,
And the darkness gathered near!

XXVII.

One glance at Lilian through the leaves,
As she stood mid the lattice flowers,
Looking abroad like a ray of light
On this darkening world of ours,
And he was gone; he knew not whither–
Into the wild-wood bowers;–
Into the wild-wood’s deepest bowers
Where none might see his pain.
And where the pitying trees might shield
The sunshine from his brain;
Where he might weep; if tears would come
With their showers of blessed rain:
Not yet! not yet! his barren eyes
Implored the dews in vain.

XXVIII.

O’er Meikleham Down the evening star
Shone radiant as the moon,
The balancing, floating, twinkling lark
As blithe as it were noon,–
Received the twilight with a song;–
More free than the nightingale,
Who keeps her fancies for the stars
And chants to the moonlight pale,
But lets the daylight glow unsung;–
Not so the liberal lark.
Familiar as the fragrant air
Who hails both dawn and dark;
Like a cheerful heart, too busy with joy
To dream the world goes wrong.
But thankful ever, complaining never.
Buoys itself up with song.

XXIX.

Across the Down went Lucy Gore,
The farmer’s only daughter,
But nine years old–with glowing cheeks
And smiles like wimpling water.
Three miles she sped to Micklethorpe,
By shady lane and alley.
Across the stiles and through the copse.
And the corn-fields in the valley;
As brave as childish innocence
That fears nor foe nor stranger,
She never stopped or looked behind,
Or thought of toil or danger.