From the jewelled circles where I indite
This song which my faithless tears make wet,
We trail the light till its gemmed rings smite
The shadow—that falleth! and spares us yet.
Emily Pfeiffer.
GRANDMOTHER.
Another new gown, as I declare!
How many more is it going to be?
And your forehead all hid in a cloud of hair—
'Tis nothing but folly, that I can see!
The maidens of nowaday make too free;
To right and to left is the money flung;
We used to dress as became our degree—
But things have altered since I was young.
Stuff, in my time, was made to wear;
Gowns we had never but two or three;
Did we fancy them spoilt, if they chanced to tear?
And shrink from a patch, or a darn? not we!
For pleasure, a gossiping dish of tea,
Or a mushroom hunt, while the dew yet hung,
And no need, next day, for the doctor's fee—
But things have altered since I was young.
The yellow gig, and a drive to the fair;
A keepsake bought in a booth on the lea;
A sixpence, perhaps, to break and share—
That's how your grandfather courted me.
Did your grandmother blush, do you think—not she!
When he found her, the churn and the pails among?
Or your grandfather like her the less? not he!
But things have altered since I was young.
Envoi.
Child! you pout, and you urge your plea—
Better it were that you held your tongue!
Maids should learn at their elders' knee—
But things have altered since I was young.
May Probyn.