Poems by George Meredith Volume I Part 20

Oh, he that is true to flesh and blood Is true to his own being!

XXVIII

And he that is false to flesh and blood Is false to the star within him: And the mad and hungry sisterhood All under the tides shall win him!

XXIX

My village lily! save me! save!

For strength is with the holy:- Already I shuddered to feel the wave, As I kept sinking slowly:-

x.x.x

I felt the cold wave and the under-tug Of the Brides, when--starting and shrinking - Lo, Adrian tilts the water-jug!

And Bruges with morn is blinking.

x.x.xI

Merrily sparkles sunny prime On gabled peak and arbour: Merrily rattles belfry-chime The song of Sevilla's Barber.

THE OLD CHARTIST

Whate'er I be, old England is my dam!

So there's my answer to the judges, clear.

I'm nothing of a fox, nor of a lamb; I don't know how to bleat nor how to leer: I'm for the nation!

That's why you see me by the wayside here, Returning home from transportation.

II

It's Summer in her bath this morn, I think.

I'm fresh as dew, and chirpy as the birds: And just for joy to see old England wink Thro' leaves again, I could harangue the herds: Isn't it something To speak out like a man when you've got words, And prove you're not a stupid dumb thing?

III

They shipp'd me of for it; I'm here again.

Old England is my dam, whate'er I be!

Says I, I'll tramp it home, and see the grain: If you see well, you're king of what you see: Eyesight is having, If you're not given, I said, to gluttony.

Such talk to ignorance sounds as raving.

IV

You dear old brook, that from his Grace's park Come bounding! on you run near my old town: My lord can't lock the water; nor the lark, Unless he kills him, can my lord keep down.

Up, is the song-note!

I've tried it, too:- for comfort and renown, I rather pitch'd upon the wrong note.

V

I'm not ashamed: Not beaten's still my boast: Again I'll rouse the people up to strike.

But home's where different politics jar most.

Respectability the women like.

This form, or that form, - The Government may be hungry pike, But don't you mount a Chartist platform!

VI

Well, well! Not beaten--spite of them, I shout; And my estate is suffering for the Cause. - No,--what is yon brown water-rat about, Who washes his old poll with busy paws?

What does he mean by't?

It's like defying all our natural laws, For him to hope that he'll get clean by't.

VII

His seat is on a mud-bank, and his trade Is dirt:- he's quite contemptible; and yet The fellow's all as anxious as a maid To show a decent dress, and dry the wet.

Now it's his whisker, And now his nose, and ear: he seems to get Each moment at the motion brisker!

VIII

To see him squat like little chaps at school, I could let fly a laugh with all my might.

He peers, hangs both his fore-paws:- bless that fool, He's bobbing at his frill now!--what a sight!

Licking the dish up, As if he thought to pa.s.s from black to white, Like parson into lawny bishop.

IX

The elms and yellow reed-flags in the sun, Look on quite grave:- the sunlight flecks his side; And links of bindweed-flowers round him run, And shine up doubled with him in the tide.

I'M nearly splitting, But nature seems like seconding his pride, And thinks that his behaviour's fitting.

X

That isle o' mud looks baking dry with gold.

His needle-muzzle still works out and in.

It really is a wonder to behold, And makes me feel the bristles of my chin.

Judged by appearance, I fancy of the two I'm nearer Sin, And might as well commence a clearance.

XI

And that's what my fine daughter said:- she meant: Pray, hold your tongue, and wear a Sunday face.

Her husband, the young linendraper, spent Much argument thereon:- I'm their disgrace.

Bother the couple!

I feel superior to a chap whose place Commands him to be neat and supple.

XII

But if I go and say to my old hen: I'll mend the gentry's boots, and keep discreet, Until they grow TOO violent,--why, then, A warmer welcome I might chance to meet: Warmer and better.

And if she fancies her old c.o.c.k is beat, And drops upon her knees--so let her!

XIII

She suffered for me:- women, you'll observe, Don't suffer for a Cause, but for a man.