Poems, 1799 Part 11

STRANGER.

They've set about it In right good earnest. All the front is gone, Here's to be turf they tell me, and a road Round to the door. There were some yew trees too Stood in the court.

OLD MAN.

Aye Master! fine old trees!

My grandfather could just remember back When they were planted there. It was my task To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me!

All strait and smooth, and like a great green wall!

My poor old Lady many a time would come And tell me where to shear, for she had played In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride To keep them in their beauty. Plague I say On their new-fangled whimsies! we shall have A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs And your pert poplar trees;--I could as soon Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down!

STRANGER.

But 'twill be lighter and more chearful now, A fine smooth turf, and with a gravel road Round for the carriage,--now it suits my taste.

I like a shrubbery too, it looks so fresh, And then there's some variety about it.

In spring the lilac and the gueldres rose, And the laburnum with its golden flowers Waving in the wind. And when the autumn comes The bright red berries of the mountain ash, With firs enough in winter to look green, And show that something lives. Sure this is better Than a great hedge of yew that makes it look All the year round like winter, and for ever Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under boughs So dry and bare!

OLD MAN.

Ah! so the new Squire thinks And pretty work he makes of it! what 'tis To have a stranger come to an old house!

STRANGER.

It seems you know him not?

OLD MAN.

No Sir, not I.

They tell me he's expected daily now, But in my Lady's time he never came But once, for they were very distant kin.

If he had played about here when a child In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries, And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers, That fell so thick, he had not had the heart To mar all thus.

STRANGER.

Come--come! all a not wrong.

Those old dark windows--

OLD MAN.

They're demolish'd too-- As if he could not see thro' cas.e.m.e.nt gla.s.s!

The very red-b.r.e.a.s.t.s that so regular Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs, Won't know the window now!

STRANGER.

Nay they were high And then so darken'd up with jessamine, Harbouring the vermine;--that was a fine tree However. Did it not grow in and line The porch?

OLD MAN.

All over it: it did one good To pa.s.s within ten yards when 'twas in blossom.

There was a sweet-briar too that grew beside.

My Lady loved at evening to sit there And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet And slept in the sun; 'twas an old favourite dog She did not love him less that he was old And feeble, and he always had a place By the fire-side, and when he died at last She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.

Ah I she was good to all! a woful day 'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!

STRANGER.

They lost a friend then?

OLD MAN.

You're a stranger here Or would not ask that question. Were they sick?

She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter When weekly she distributed the bread In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear The blessings on her! and I warrant them They were a blessing to her when her wealth Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!

It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen Her Christmas kitchen,--how the blazing fire Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs So chearful red,--and as for misseltoe, The finest bough that grew in the country round Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went So bountiful about! a Christmas cask, And 'twas a n.o.ble one! G.o.d help me Sir!

But I shall never see such days again.

STRANGER.

Things may be better yet than you suppose And you should hope the best.

OLD MAN.

It don't look well These alterations Sir! I'm an old man And love the good old fashions; we don't find Old bounty in new houses. They've destroyed All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk Grubb'd up, and they do say that the great row Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps A comfort I shan't live to see it long.

STRANGER.

But sure all changes are not needs for the worse My friend.

OLD MAN.

May-hap they mayn't Sir;--for all that I like what I've been us'd to. I remember All this from a child up, and now to lose it, 'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left As 'twas;--I go abroad and only meet With men whose fathers I remember boys; The brook that used to run before my door That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt To climb are down; and I see nothing now That tells me of old times, except the stones In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope Have many years in store,--but pray to G.o.d You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.

STRANGER.

Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of.

If the Squire's taste don't suit with your's, I warrant That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady E'er broached a better cask. You did not know me, But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy To make you like the outside; but within-- That is not changed my friend! you'll always find The same old bounty and old welcome there.

ECLOGUE II.

THE GRANDMOTHERS TALE.

JANE.