FACT AND FABLE.
For miles I’d tramped by down and hill;
With eve I found the happy ending;
All in the sunset, golden chill,
The collie met me, grave, befriending.
I saw the roof-tree down the vale,
Brave fields of harvest spread thereunder;
The collie waved a feathery tail
And led me to the House of Wonder.
Houses, like people, so I’ve thought,
Bear character upon their faces,
Born of their company and wrought
Upon by inward gifts and graces:
Here, through the harvest’s gold array
And evening’s mellow far niente,
Looked kindliness and work-a-day,
And happy hours and peace and plenty.
And, lo, it seemed the Downs amid
I’d found a folded bit of Britain,
Laid by in lavender and hid
The year—let’s say—Tom Jones was written;
An old farm manor-house it is
With fantails fluttering on the gables,
A place of men and memories
And solid facts and homespun fables.
For Fact: a fortnight passed me by
Mid ancient oak and secret panel
And strawberries of late July
And distant glimpses of the Channel;
Fair morns to wake on—were they not?—
Full of the pigeons’ coo and cadence,
Each day a page of Caldecott,
All cream and flowers and pretty maidens.
For Fable: as I smoked a pipe
And havered with a black-haired cowman,
Grey-eyed, in that fine Celtic type,
As much the poet as the ploughman—
“Seems kind of lucky here,” said I;
“The very ducklings look more downy
Than others do.” He grinned: “An’ why?
May happen, Sir, we feeds a brownie!
“‘There isn’t many left,’ says you;
As hearts grow hard the breed gets rarer;
Yet, when he goes, the luck goes too,
And prices fall and boards be barer;
But if so be you does your part
An’ feeds him fair and treats folk proper,
Keepin’ for all the kindly heart—
The lucky Lad’s a certain stopper!”
Well, should you go by Butser way
And hit the god-sent path, and follow,
You’ll find, at closing of the day,
The old house in the valley-hollow,
Laid by in lavender, forgot,
The home of peace and ancient plenty;
A brownie may be there or not—
The hearts are kind enough for twenty!