Bereaved
ONE day as I came down by Jarrow,
Engirt by a crowd on a stone,
A woman sat moaning and sorrow
Seized all who gave heed to her moan.
“Nay, blame not my sad lamentation,
But oh, let” she said, “my tears flow,
Nay offer me no consolation—
I know they are dead down below.”
I heard the dread blast and I darted
Away on the road to the pit,
Nor stopped till my senses departed,
And left me the wretch I here sit.
“Ah, thus let me sit,” so entreated
She those who had had her away;
Then yet on the hard granite seated,
Resumed her lament and did say:—
“My mother, poor body, would harry
Me still with a look sad and pale,
When I had determined to marry
The dimpled-chinn’d lad of the dale.
”Not that she had any objection
To one praised by each and by all;
But ay his lot caused a reflection
That still, still her bosom would gall.
“Nay, blame not my sad lamentation;
My mother sleeps under the yew—
She views not the dire desolation
She dreaded one day I should view.
“Bedabbled with blood are my tresses?
No matter! Unlock not my hand!—
When first I enjoyed his caresses,
Their hue would his praises command.
“He’ll never praise more locks nor features,
Nor, when the long day-tide is o’er,
With me view our two happy creatures;
With bat and with ball at the door.
“Nay, chide not. A pair either bolder
Or better nobody could see:
They passed for a year or two older
Than what I could prove them to be.
“Their equals for courage and action
Were not to be found in the place;
And others might boast of attraction,
But none had their colour or grace.
“Their feelings were such, tho’ when smitten
By scorn, still their blood would rebel;
They wept for the little blind kitten
Our neighbour did drown in the well.
“The same peaceful, calm, and bravo bearing,
Had still been the father’s was theirs;
And now we felt older a-wearing,
We deemed they’d soon lighten our cares.
“So doomed I last night. On his shoulder
I hung and beheld them at play:
I dreamed not how soon they must moulder
Down, down in their cold bed of clay.
“Chide, chide not. This sad lamentation
But endeth the burden began,
When to the whole dale’s consternation,
Our second was crushed by the van.
“That dark day the words of my mother
In all the deep tone which had made
Me like a wind-ridden leaf dother,
Rang like the dead bell in my head.
“Despair, the grim bird away chidden,
Would light on the house-top again;
But still from my husband was hidden
Each thought that had put him to pain.
“He’s pass’d from existence unharried
By any forbodings of mine;
Nor till we the lisper had buried,
E’er pined he. But then he did pine.
“Down when the dark shadow had falling
Across the long row gable-end,
He miss’d him when home from his calling,
With thrice weary bones he would wend.
“No more would his heavy step lighten,
No more would his hazel eyes glow;
No more would his smutty face brighten
At sight of the darling. Ah, no!
“He lived by my bodings unharried,
But when from his vision and mine,
Away the sweet lisper was carried
He pined, and long after would pine.
“Ay, truly.—And reason.—The sonsy—
The bairn with his hair bright and curled,
He still had appeared to our fancy,
The bonniest bairn in the world.
“As ruddy was he as a cherry,
With dimple on chin and on cheek;
And never another as merry
Was seen to play hide-and-go-seek.
“Yet, yet with his fun and affection,
His canny bit pranks and his grace,
He wheedled my heart from dejection,
And put a bright look on my face.
“Full oft upon one leg advancing,
Across to the door he would go;
Wheel round on his heel, then go dancing
With hop after hop down the row.
“When—Let my hand go!—When he perish’d,
The rest were a balm to my woe:
But now, what remains to be cherish’d?
But now, what remains to me now?
“Barely cold was the pet ere affected
By fever they lay one and all;
But lay not like others neglected;
I slept not to be at their call.
“Day and night, night and day without slumber,
I watched till so weary and worn;
When Death took the gem of the number,
I’d barely strength left me to mourn.
“I’ve mourn’d enough since. And tho’ cruel
Mishap like a curs’d hag would find
Her way to my door still, the jewel
Has seldom been out of my mind.
“Another so light and so airy
Ne’er gladden’d a fond mother’s sight—
I oft heard her called a wee fairy,
And heard her so called with delight.
“Whilst others played, by me she tarried,
—The cherub!—and rumour avers
That now-a-days many are married,
With not half the sense that was hers.
“A-down on the hearth-rug a-sitting
The long winter nights she was heard,
The while her sweet fingers were knitting,
To lilt out her lay like a bird.
“Did I appear cross? To me stealing,
Askance in my face she would keek;
At which, e’er the victim of feeling,
I could not but pat her bit check.
“Once, when I had pricked this hard finger—
No he who in grave-clothes first slept;
No she—with the senses that linger
I cannot tell which of them—wept.
“She vanished at last. Ah, an ocean
Of trouble appeared that black cup,
But what was it all to the potion
I now am commanded to sup.
“My husband, my birdies, my blossoms!
Well—well—I am wicked—yes, yes;
But take my case home to your bosoms,
And say if your sin would be less?
“The dear ones to perish thus sudden
Not only last night by the hearth—
This morn when resuming their dudden,
E’en they, the dear bairns, were all mirth.
”Aroused by their“ voices—a-yearning
To kiss them I sprang to the floor,
They kissed me and bade me good morning,
And whistled away from the door.
“Long after away they had hurried,
Their music a-rang in my ears;
Then thought I of those we had buried,
And thought of the jewels with tears.
“Then thought I—what said I—thus thinking
Was I, when rat-tat went the pane,
And back into sense again shrinking,
I thought of the living again.
“Anon gaining nerve I endeavour’d
To open the door, when some-how
The sneck from my fingers was severed,
And back into bed I did go.
“Did I sleep? I did sleep. To his calling
The father had gone hours before,
And now in that havock appalling,
He lies with the blossoms I bore.
“Did I sleep? I did sleep. Heart-a-weary,
How oft have I so wept before;
Not to weep but to sleep, lone and dreary
I’ve wandered the broken brick floor.
“Did I sleep?—well, your kind arm and steady
My tottering steps, and now you
Go, get out the winding sheets ready,
And do what remaineth to do.
“Spread winding sheets—one for the father,
And two for the darlings, our pride,—
And one for the wife and the mother,
All, soundly she’ll sleep by their side!”
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