« ÎnapoiContinuați »
Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and
holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.
Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.
AILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea
And Willy's voice in the wind, “O mother, come out to
me.” Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I can
not go? For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares
at the snow.
We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the
town. The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the
down, When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of
the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched
with the rain.
Anything fallen again? nay—what was there left to fall?
hidden them all.
i Founded upon fact. See the Memoir of Tennyson, by his son, vol. II, ch. XII.-Reprinted with the permission of The Macmillan Company.
What am I saying? and what are you? do you come as a spy? Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it
Who let her in? how long has she been? you—what have you
heard! Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word. 0—to pray with me—yes—a lady-none of their spies But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken
Ah-you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the
night, The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the
fright? I have done it, while you were asleep—you were only made
for the day. I have gathered my baby together—and now you may go your
Nay,—for it's kind of you, Madam, to sit by an old dying
wife. But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life. I kissed my boy in the prison, before he went out to die. “They dared me to do it,” he said, and he never has told me
I whipped him for robbing an orchard once when he was but
a child“The farmer dared me to do it,” he said; he was always so
wildAnd idle—and couldn't be idle—my Willy-he never could
The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would
one of his best.
let him be good; They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that
he would; And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all
was done He Aung it among his fellows—I'll none of it, said my son.
I came into court to the Judge and the lawyers. I told them
my tale, God's own truth—but they killed him, they killed him for
robbing the mail. They hanged him in chains for a show-we had always borne
a good nameTo be hanged for a thief—and then put away—isn't that
Dust to dust—low down let us hide! but they set him so
high That all the ships of the world could stare at him, passing by. God 'ill pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of
the air, But not the black heart of the lawyer who killed him and
hanged him there.
And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last good
by; They had fastened the door of his cell. “O mother!” I heard
I couldn't get back tho' I tried, he had something further to
say, And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away. Then since I couldn't but hear that cry of my boy that was
They seized me and shut me up: they fastened me down on
“Mother, O mother!”—he called in the dark to me year
after yearThey beat me for that, they beat me--you know that I couldn't
but hear; And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid and
still They let me abroad again—but the creatures had worked their
Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left-
a theft? — My baby, the bones that had sucked me, the bones that had
laughed and had cried Theirs? O no! they are mine—not theirs—they had moved
Do you think I was scared by the bones? I kissed 'em, I
buried 'em allI can't dig deep, I am old-in the night by the churchyard
wall. My Willy 'ill rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment
'ill sound, But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground.
They would scratch him up—they would hang him again on
the cursed tree. Sin? O yes—we are sinners, I know—let all that be, And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's good will toward
“Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord”—let me hear it
“Full of compassion and mercy—long-suffering.” Yes, O yes! For the lawyer is born but to murder—the Savior lives but to
bless. He'll never put on the black cap except for the worst of the
worst, And the first may be last—I have heard it in church—and the
last may be first. Suffering—o long-suffering—yes, as the Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and the wind and the shower and
Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never repented
his sin. How do they know it? are they his mother? are you of his kin? Heard! have you ever heard, when the storm on the downs
began, The wind that 'ill wail like a child and the sea that 'ill moan
like a man?
Election, Election and Reprobation—it's all very well.
my care, And He means me, I'm sure, to be happy, with Willy, I know
not where. And if he be lost — but to save my scul, that is all your desire: Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the
fire? I have been with God in the dark-go, go, you may leave me
aloneYou never have borne a child—you are just as hard as a stone.