The Poem
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| Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And call a train of laughing Hours; And bid them dance, and bid them sing; And thou, too, mingle in the ring! Take to thy heart a new delight; If not, make merry in despite That there is One who scorns thy power:— But dance! for under Jedborough Tower, A Matron dwells who, though she bears The weight of more than seventy years, Lives in the light of youthful glee, And she will dance and sing with thee. Nay! start not at that Figure—there! Him who is rooted to his chair! Look at him—look again! for he Hath long been of thy family. With legs that move not, if they can, And useless arms, a trunk of man, He sits, and with a vacant eye; A sight to make a stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom: His world is in this single room: Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here? The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate! He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp: He is as mute as Jedborough Tower: She jocund as it was of yore, With all its bravery on; in times When all alive with merry chimes, Upon a sun-bright morn of May, It roused the Vale to holiday. I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise, and true! With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent: This do I see; and something more; A strength unthought of heretofore! Delighted am I for thy sake; And yet a higher joy partake: Our Human-nature throws away Its second twilight, and looks gay; A land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide. Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself as seems, composed; To fear of loss, and hope of gain, The strife of happiness and pain, Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of little infants, when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, quick or slow. Her buoyant spirit can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail; She strikes upon him with the heat Of July suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight though dim! 'Tis all that now remains for him! The more I looked, I wondered more— And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, Some inward trouble suddenly Broke from the Matron's strong black eye— A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright! Nor long this mystery did detain My thoughts;—she told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body; and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. So be it!—but let praise ascend To Him who is our lord and friend! Who from disease and suffering Hath called for thee a second spring; Repaid thee for that sore distress By no untimely joyousness; Which makes of thine a blissful state; And cheers thy melancholy Mate! [Note] [Contents 1803] [Main Contents] | [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] | [A] [B] | 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 |
| 1827 | |
| For ... | 1807 |
For ...
| 1837 | |
| ... under Jedborough Tower There liveth in the prime of glee, A Woman, whose years are seventy-three, And She ... | 1807 |
| There lives a woman of seventy-three, And she will dance and sing with thee, | MS. |
| A Matron dwells, who though she bears Our mortal complement of years, Lives in the light of youthful glee, | 1827 |
... under Jedborough Tower
There liveth in the prime of glee,
A Woman, whose years are seventy-three,
And She ...
There lives a woman of seventy-three,
And she will dance and sing with thee,
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee,
| 1827 | |
| ... for mirth and cheer? | 1807 |
... for mirth and cheer?
| 1827 | |
| I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er; The more I look'd I wonder'd more: | 1807 |
I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er;
The more I look'd I wonder'd more:
| 1837 | |
| When suddenly I seem'd to espy A trouble in her strong black eye; | 1807 |
| A moment gave me to espy A trouble ... | 1827 |
When suddenly I seem'd to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye;
A moment gave me to espy
A trouble ...
| 1827 | |
| And soon she made this matter plain; And told me, in a thoughtful strain, | 1807 |
And soon she made this matter plain;
And told me, in a thoughtful strain,
| As bad almost as Life can bring, | Added in MS. |
As bad almost as Life can bring,
Compare Tennyson's Deserted House, stanza iv.:
'Come away: no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound.'
Ed.
Compare stanza xiii. of [Resolution and Independence], p. 318.—Ed.
Note:
Sept. 20, 1803.
"We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though above seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only seventeen. Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat and clean; she showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten minutes in the house, opened her very drawers that I might see what a stock of linen she had; then asked how long we should stay, and said she wished we were come for three months. She was a most remarkable person; the alacrity with which she ran up-stairs when we rung the bell, and guessed at, and strove to prevent, our wants was surprising; she had a quick eye, and keen strong features, and a joyousness in her motions, like what used to be in old Molly when she was particularly elated. I found afterwards that she had been subject to fits of dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured that her overflowing gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to the same cause as her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm, and sate in a chair with scarcely the power to move a limb—an affecting contrast! The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair; they had wrought like slaves at their trade—her husband had been a currier; and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with money, and each a feather bed, and that in their old age they had laid out the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house, and she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things; for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sat with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the Lay of the Last Minstrel. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted anything, and to wish us good-night. On all occasions her manners were governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards, thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh."
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, 1803.)—Ed.
[Contents 1803]
[Main Contents]