Nanny to Bessy
ELEVEN long winters departed
Since you and he sailed o’er the main?
Dear, dear—I’ve been thrice broken-hearted,
And thrice—but, ah, let me refrain.—
There was not a lassie in Plessy,
Nay, truly there was not a lad,
That morning you left us all, Bessy,
But dropped a kind tear and look’d sad.
A week ere ye went ye were married—
Yes, yes, I remember aright;
The lads and the lassies all hurried
To dance at your bridals that night.
With others, were Mary from Horton,
And Harry from over the fields;
Your prim cousin Peggy from Chirton,
And diddler Allan from Shields.
Piper Tom, with his pipes in the corner,
Did pipe till the red morn a-broke;
And we danced and we sung in our turn, or
Gave vent to our glee in a joke.
That seems but last night, tho’ eleven
Black winters have flown since, and yet
Ye’re bright as yon star in the heaven,
Whilst I—but I winnot regret.
Ye’re just bright and fresh and as rosy,
As when ye last left us all, just;
Whilst I am a poor wither’d posy
The passer has strampt in the dust.
This was not so always; no, clearly
—When lassies—the burnie has shown
The rose on your dimpled cheek nearly
Out-matched by the rose on my own.
Nay; as twins we grew up till another
Was mine—but, another how long?
Then the changes that followed each other,—
The guilt, and the shame, and the wrong?
—Ye knew my 'curst bane and besotter?
Brown? Piers with the thievish black e’e?
He danced at your wedding, and better
Than any but Harry danced he.
The sight sent the lasses a-skarling,
Whenever he came into view;
And many a fond mother’s darling
Has lived his deception to rue.
Meg Wilson, a-down the green loning,
Skipped with him a fine afternoon;
When last she went there she was moaning,
Her heart like a harp out of tune.
Even Cary, the dour-looking donnet,
Who’d looked on my downfall with scorn,
Was smit with his blink, and her bonnet
One Monday was found in the corn.
Nay, many with him tripped and tumbled
As I’d tripped and tumbled—what then?
Not one by her fall was so humbled,
Or put to one half of my pain.
When Harry was brought on a barrow,
A corpse from the pit, had I known
—But Brown, who had long been his marrow,
Then, who was so kind as Piers Brown?
He showed himself ready and willing
To lighten the load I endured;
He gather’d me many a shilling,
And whatso I needed procured.
The bones of my Harry right duly
Were laid in the grave by his aid;
Then slipt he to see me—too truly
So slipt till my pride was low laid.
There’s many to point and to titter
At one who has happen’d a fall
And into the cup that is bitter,
The petty still empty their gall.
There’s many to point and to titter
At one that has happen’d to fall—
And into my potion so bitter,
The petty so emptied their gall.
Then, mine was a hardship and trouble;
When touched by deceit’s magic mace,
My pride went away like a bubble,
Mine, mine was a pitiful case.
Then mishap to mishap like billow
To billow succeeded, and I
Was laid with my head on my pillow,
And no one to comfort me nigh.
Despised by the world, until riven
By want were my bairnies from me—
Despised by the world, till mad-driven
Was I, and mad-driven must be.
Despised by the world, and mad-driven
Was I, and am fated to be;
There’s not under all the blue heaven
A wofuller woman nor me.
The pale morning finds me a-wringing
My hands for my jewels in vain;
The day passes by without bringing
A moment’s relief to my pain.
O’ercome by despair in confusion
Of thought, I will wander oft, when
—Alas, for the charming delusion!
They glisten as wont in my ken.
Again on their hazels a-prancing,
They hie as they hied o’er the way;
The midges above them a-dancing,
Are not half so merry as they.
Again up and down the ball boundeth
Atween their bit hands and the earth,
Till rapture their senses confoundeth,
And laughter gives vent to their mirth.
Again—"they both live!" my woe banished
I cry “they both live!” and e’en so,
Awake but to find the birds vanished
With all that I valued below!
—Nay bann’d from my birth, and attended
I’ve been by some devil, and he—
He’s laughed when my best dream was ended
And all that has happen’d to me.
He’s dazzled and led me to yammour
For baubles I ought to despise;
Then whipt from my vision the glamour,
And shown the sad truth to my eyes.
He’s mounted the air, and a snelling
Bleak blast’s ridden valley and plain;
And the dwelling of joy made the dwelling
Of dark desolation and pain.—
But let me refrain—since we parted,
Ah, Bessy!—But let me refrain;
Since then I’ve been thrice broken-hearted—
But what have I not been since then?
Altre opere di Joseph Skipsey...
