THE SEWING-MACHINE.
A strange vibration from the cottage window
My vagrant steps delayed,
And half abstracted, like the ancient Hindoo,
I paused beneath the shade.
What is, I said, this unremitting humming,
Louder than bees in spring?
As unto prayer the murmurous answer coming,
Shed from Sandalphon's wing.
Is this the sound of unimpeded labour,
That now usurpeth play?
Our harsher substitute for pipe and tabor,
Ghittern and virelay?
Or, is it yearning for a higher vision,
By spiritual hearing heard?
Nearer I drew, to listen with precision,
Detecting not a word.
Then, peering through the pane, as men of sin do,
Myself the while unseen,
I marked a maiden seated by the window,
Sewing with a machine.
Her gentle foot propelled the tireless treadle,
Her gentle hand the seam:
My fancy said, it were a bliss to peddle
Those shirts, as in a dream!
Her lovely fingers lent to yoke and collar
Some imperceptible taste;
The rural swain, who buys it for a dollar,
By beauty is embraced.
O fairer aspect of the common mission!
Only the Poet sees
The true significance, the high position
Of such small things as these.
Not now doth Toil, a brutal Boanerges,
Deform the maiden's hand;
Her implement its soft sonata merges
In songs of sea and land.
And thus the hum of the unspooling cotton,
Blent with her rhythmic tread,
Shall still be heard, when virelays are forgotten,
And troubadours are dead.
It may be said of "Diversions of the Echo Club" (now published by Messrs. Chatto and Windus), that whilst many of the parodies are amusing, none are either vulgar or ill-natured; the criticisms on the various poets are generally just, thoughtful, and keenly perceptive.
Before leaving Longfellow there are two amusing imitations of Hiawatha to be quoted; Unfortunately, the very clever Song of Big Ben is too long to quote in full, but it is easily accessible:—