Charles Kingsley

Down beside the loathly Pitch Lake,
    In the stately Morichal, [2]
Sat an ancient Spanish Indian,
    Peering through the columns tall.

Watching vainly for the flashing
    Of the jewelled colibris; [3]
Listening vainly for their humming
    Round the honey-blossomed trees.

'Few,' he sighed, 'they come, and fewer,
    To the cocorite [4] bowers;
Murdered, madly, through the forests
    Which of yore were theirs - and ours

By there came a negro hunter,
    Lithe and lusty, sleek and strong,
Rolling round his sparkling eyeballs,
    As he loped and lounged along.

Rusty firelock on his shoulder;
    Rusty cutlass on his thigh;
Never jollier British subject
    Rollicked underneath the sky.<...

Over the camp-fires
Drank I with heroes,
Under the Donau bank,
Warm in the snow trench:
Sagamen heard I there,
Men of the Longbeards,
Cunning and ancient,
Honey-sweet-voiced.
Scaring the wolf cub,
Scaring the horn-owl,
Shaking the snow-wreaths
Down from the pine-boughs,
Up to the star roof
Rang out their song.
Singing how Winil men,
Over the ice-floes
Sledging from Scanland
Came unto Scoring;
Singing of Gambara,
Freya's beloved,
Mother of Ayo,
Mother of Ibor.
Singing of Wendel men,
Ambri and Assi;
How to the Winilfolk
Went they with war-words, -
'Few are ye, strangers,
And many are we:
Pay us now toll and fee,
Cloth-yarn, and rings, and beeves:
Else at the raven's meal
Bide the sharp bi...

He wiled me through the furzy croft;
    He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
    Until I told him mine again.

We married, and we sailed the main;
    A soldier, and a soldier's wife.
We marched through many a burning plain;
    We sighed for many a gallant life.

But his - God kept it safe from harm.
    He toiled, and dared, and earned command;
And those three stripes upon his arm
    Were more to me than gold or land.

Sure he would win some great renown:
    Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.
One night the fever struck him down.
    I sat, and stared, and saw him die.

I had his children - one, two, three.
    One week I had them, blithe and sound.
The next - beneath this mango-tree...

A floating, a floating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmost tree.

'Oh came you off the isles of Greece,
Or off the banks of Seine;
Or off some tree in forests free,
Which fringe the western main?'

'I came not off the old world
Nor yet from off the new -
But I am one of the birds of God
Which sing the whole night through.'

'Oh sing, and wake the dawning -
Oh whistle for the wind;
The night is long, the current strong,
My boat it lags behind.'

'The current sweeps the old world,
The current sweeps the new;
The wind will blow, the dawn will glow
Ere thou hast sailed them through.'

Eversley, 1848.

It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang,
A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang -
'My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings;
I show her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things.'

This feckless hairy oubit cam' hirpling by the linn,
A swirl o' wind cam' doun the glen, and blew that oubit in:
Oh when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,
And tigg'd him a' to pieces sma', by head and tail and toes.

Tak' warning then, young poets a', by this poor oubit's shame;
Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame.
Oh haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a' the Muses woo;
For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak' their meals o' you.

Eversley, 1851.

Oh, I wadna be a yeoman, mither, to follow my father's trade,
To bow my back in miry banks, at pleugh and hoe and spade.
Stinting wife, and bairns, and kye, to fat some courtier lord, -
Let them die o' rent wha like, mither, and I'll die by sword.

Nor I wadna be a clerk, mither, to bide aye ben,
Scrabbling ower the sheets o' parchment with a weary weary pen;
Looking through the lang stane windows at a narrow strip o' sky,
Like a laverock in a withy cage, until I pine away and die.

Nor I wadna be a merchant, mither, in his lang furred gown,
Trailing strings o' footsore horses through the noisy dusty town;
Louting low to knights and ladies, fumbling o'er his wares,
Telling lies, and scraping siller, heaping cares on cares.

Nor I wadna be a soldier, mither, to dice...

Underneath their eider-robe
Russet swede and golden globe,
Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,
Steadfast wait in charmed sleep;
Treasure-houses wherein lie,
Locked by angels' alchemy,
Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,
Children of the barren stone;
Children of the flaming Air,
With his blue eye keen and bare,
Spirit-peopled smiling down
On frozen field and toiling town -
Toiling town that will not heed
God His voice for rage and greed;
Frozen fields that surpliced lie,
Gazing patient at the sky;
Like some marble carven nun,
With folded hands when work is done,
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,
Till the resurrection day.

Eversley, 1845.

It was Sir John, the fair young Priest,
    He strode up off the strand;
But seven fisher maidens he left behind
    All dancing hand in hand.

He came unto the wise wife's house:
    'Now, Mother, to prove your art;
To charm May Carleton's merry blue eyes
    Out of a young man's heart.'

'My son, you went for a holy man,
    Whose heart was set on high;
Go sing in your psalter, and read in your books;
    Man's love fleets lightly by.'

'I had liever to talk with May Carleton,
    Than with all the saints in Heaven;
I had liever to sit by May Carleton
    Than climb the spheres seven.

'I have watched and fasted, early and late,
    I have prayed to all above;
But I find no cure save churchyard mould
    For the pain which ...

The King was drinking in Malwood Hall,
There came in a monk before them all:
He thrust by squire, he thrust by knight,
Stood over against the dais aright;
And, 'The word of the Lord, thou cruel Red King,
The word of the Lord to thee I bring.
A grimly sweven I dreamt yestreen;
I saw thee lie under the hollins green,
And through thine heart an arrow keen;
And out of thy body a smoke did rise,
Which smirched the sunshine out of the skies:
So if thou God's anointed be
I rede thee unto thy soul thou see.
For mitre and pall thou hast y-sold,
False knight to Christ, for gain and gold;
And for this thy forest were digged down all,
Steading and hamlet and churches tall;
And Christes poor were ousten forth,
To beg their bread from south to north.
So tarry...

'O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
    And call the cattle home,
    And call the cattle home
    Across the sands of Dee;'
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
    And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,
    And o'er and o'er the sand,
    And round and round the sand,
    As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
    And never home came she.

'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair -
    A tress of golden hair,
    A drowned maiden's hair
    Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
    Among the stakes on Dee.'

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,
    The cruel crawling foam,
    The cruel hungry foam,
    To her grave b...

A harper came over the Danube so wide,
    And he came into Alaric's hall,
And he sang the song of the little Baltung
    To him and his heroes all.

How the old old Balt and the young young Balt
    Rode out of Caucaland,
With the royal elephant's trunk on helm
    And the royal lance in hand.

Thuringer heroes, counts and knights,
    Pricked proud in their meinie;
For they were away to the great Kaiser,
    In Byzant beside the sea.

And when they came to the Danube so wide
    They shouted from off the shore,
'Come over, come over, ye Roman slaves,
    And ferry your masters o'er.'

And when they came to Adrian's burgh,
    With its towers so smooth and high,
'Come out, come out, ye Roman knaves,
    And see your lords ri...

O blessed drums of Aldershot!
    O blessed South-west train!
O blessed, blessed Speaker's clock,
    All prophesying rain!

O blessed yaffil, laughing loud!
    O blessed falling glass!
O blessed fan of cold gray cloud!
    O blessed smelling grass!

O bless'd South wind that toots his horn
    Through every hole and crack!
I'm off at eight to-morrow morn,
    To bring such fishes back!

Eversley, April 1, 1856.

Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,
Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?
    Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,
Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
    Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'

Eversley, 1848.

    Soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding,
Waft thy silver cloud webs athwart the summer sea;
    Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining
Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.

    Deep deep Love, within thine own abyss abiding,
Pour Thyself abroad, O Lord, on earth and air and sea;
    Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding,
Shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me.

From The Water-Babies.    1862

Evil sped the battle play
On the Pope Calixtus' day;
Mighty war-smiths, thanes and lords,
In Senlac slept the sleep of swords.
Harold Earl, shot over shield,
Lay along the autumn weald;
Slaughter such was never none
Since the Ethelings England won.
    Thither Lady Githa came,
Weeping sore for grief and shame;
How may she her first-born tell?
Frenchmen stript him where he fell,
Gashed and marred his comely face;
Who can know him in his place?
    Up and spake two brethren wise,
'Youngest hearts have keenest eyes;
Bird which leaves its mother's nest,
Moults its pinions, moults its crest.
Let us call the Swan-neck here,
She that was his leman dear;
She shall know him in this stound;
Foot of wolf, and scent of hound,
Eye of hawk, and...

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
    Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
    And the children stood watching them out of the town;
    For men must work, and women must weep,
    And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
    Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
    And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
    And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
    But men must work, and women must weep,
    Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
    And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
    In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
...

    Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
    Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming wear;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
    Undefiled, for the undefiled;
    Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

    Dank and foul, dank and foul,
    By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
    Foul and dank, foul and dank,
    By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
    Who dare sport with the sin-defiled?
    Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

    Strong and free, strong and free,
    The floodgates are open, away to the sea.
    Free and strong, free and stron...

How sleeps yon rock, whose half-day's bath is done.
With broad blight side beneath the broad bright sun,
Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping.
Yet, nearer drawn, beneath her purple tresses
From drooping brows we find her slowly weeping.
    So many a wife for cruel man's caresses
    Must inly pine and pine, yet outward bear
    A gallant front to this world's gaudy glare.

Ilfracombe, 1849.