Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2010 Dale Abbey
Once more the gate behind
me falls;
Once more before my face
I see the moulder'd
Abbey-walls,
That stand within the
chace.
Beyond the lodge the city
lies,
Beneath its drift of
smoke;
And ah! with what delighted
eyes
I turn to yonder oak.
For when my passion first
began,
Ere that, which in me
burn'd,
The love, that makes me
thrice a man,
Could hope itself
return'd;
To yonder oak within the
field
I spoke without
restraint,
And with a larger faith
appeal'd
Than Papist unto Saint.
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2009 Calke Abbey
For oft I talk'd with him apart
And told him of my
choice,
Until he plagiarized a
heart,
And answer'd with a
voice.
Tho' what he whisper'd
under Heaven
None else could
understand;
I found him garrulously
given,
A babbler in the land.
But since I heard him
make reply
Is many a weary hour;
'Twere well to question
him, and try
If yet he keeps the
power.
Hail, hidden to the knees
in fern,
Broad Oak of
Sumner-chace,
Whose topmost branches
can discern
The roofs of
Sumner-place!
Say thou, whereon I
carved her name,
If ever maid or spouse,
As fair as my Olivia,
came
To rest beneath thy
boughs.---
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2011 Sherwood
"O Walter, I have
shelter'd here
Whatever maiden grace
The good old Summers,
year by year
Made ripe in Sumner-chace:
"Old Summers, when
the monk was fat,
And, issuing shorn and
sleek,
Would twist his girdle
tight, and pat
The girls upon the cheek,
"Ere yet, in scorn
of Peter's-pence,
And number'd bead, and
shrift,
Bluff Harry broke into
the spence
And turn'd the cowls
adrift:
"And I have seen
some score of those
Fresh faces that would
thrive
When his man-minded
offset rose
To chase the deer at
five;
"And all that from
the town would stroll,
Till that wild wind made
work
In which the gloomy
brewer's soul
Went by me, like a stork:
"The slight
she-slips of royal blood,
And others, passing
praise,
Straight-laced, but
all-too-full in bud
For puritanic stays:
"And I have shadow'd
many a group
Of beauties, that were
born
In teacup-times of hood and
hoop,
Or while the patch was
worn;
"And, leg and arm
with love-knots gay
About me leap'd and
laugh'd
The modish Cupid of the
day,
And shrill'd his tinsel
shaft.
"I swear (and else
may insects prick
Each leaf into a gall)
This girl, for whom your
heart is sick,
Is three times worth them
all.
"For those and
theirs, by Nature's law,
Have faded long ago;
But in these latter
springs I saw
Your own Olivia blow,
"From when she
gamboll'd on the greens
A baby-germ, to when
The maiden blossoms of
her teens
Could number five from
ten.
"I swear, by leaf,
and wind, and rain,
(And hear me with thine
ears,)
That, tho' I circle in
the grain
Five hundred rings of
years---
"Yet, since I first
could cast a shade,
Did never creature pass
So slightly, musically
made,
So light upon the grass:
"For as to fairies,
that will flit
To make the greensward
fresh,
I hold them exquisitely
knit,
But far too spare of
flesh."
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2011 Cresswell Crags
Oh, hide thy knotted
knees in fern,
And overlook the chace;
And from thy topmost
branch discern
The roofs of
Sumner-place.
But thou, whereon I
carved her name,
That oft hast heard my
vows,
Declare when last Olivia
came
To sport beneath thy
boughs.
"O yesterday, you
know, the fair
Was holden at the town;
Her father left his good
arm-chair,
And rode his hunter down.
"And with him Albert
came on his.
I look'd at him with joy:
As cowslip unto oxlip is,
So seems she to the boy.
"An hour had
past---and, sitting straight
Within the low-wheel'd
chaise,
Her mother trundled to
the gate
Behind the dappled grays.
"But as for her, she
stay'd at home,
And on the roof she went,
And down the way you use
to come,
She look'd with
discontent.
"She left the novel
half-uncut
Upon the rosewood shelf;
She left the new piano shut:
She could not please
herseif
"Then ran she,
gamesome as the colt,
And livelier than a lark
She sent her voice thro'
all the holt
Before her, and the park.
"A light wind chased
her on the wing,
And in the chase grew
wild,
As close as might be
would he cling
About the darling child:
"But light as any
wind that blows
So fleetly did she stir,
The flower, she touch'd
on, dipt and rose,
And turn'd to look at
her.
"And here she came,
and round me play'd,
And sang to me the whole
Of those three stanzas
that you made
About my Oh giant bole;'
"And in a fit of
frolic mirth
She strove to span my
waist:
Alas, I was so broad of
girth,
I could not be embraced.
"I wish'd myself the
fair young beech
That here beside me
stands,
That round me, clasping
each in each,
She might have lock'd her
hands.
"Yet seem'd the
pressure thrice as sweet
As woodbine's fragile
hold,
Or when I feel about my
feet
The berried briony
fold."
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2011 Cresswell Crags
O muffle round thy knees
with fern,
And shadow Sumner-chace!
Long may thy topmost
branch discern
The roofs of
Sumner-place!
But tell me, did she read
the name
I carved with many vows
When last with throbbing
heart I came
To rest beneath thy
boughs?
"O yes, she wander'd
round and round
These knotted knees of
mine,
And found, and kiss'd the
name she found,
And sweetly murmur'd
thine.
"A teardrop trembled
from its source,
And down my surface
crept.
My sense of touch is
something coarse,
But I believe she wept.
"Then flush'd her
cheek with rosy light,
She glanced across the
plain;
But not a creature was in
sight:
She kiss'd me once again.
"Her kisses were so
close and kind,
That, trust me on my
word,
Hard wood I am, and
wrinkled rind,
But yet my sap was
stirr'd:
"And even into my
inmost ring
A pleasure I discern'd,
Like those blind motions
of the Spring,
That show the year is
turn'd.
"Thrice-happy he
that may caress
The ringlet's waving
balm---
The cushions of whose
touch may press
The maiden's tender palm.
"I, rooted here
among the groves
But languidly adjust
My vapid vegetable loves
With anthers and with
dust:
"For ah! my friend,
the days were brief
Whereof the poets talk,
When that, which breathes
within the leaf,
Could slip its bark and
walk.
"But could I, as in
times foregone,
From spray, and branch,
and stem,
Have suck'd and gather'd
into one
The life that spreads in
them,
"She had not found
me so remiss;
But lightly issuing
thro',
I would have paid her
kiss for kiss,
With usury thereto."
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2009 Calke Abbey
O flourish high, with
leafy towers,
And overlook the lea,
Pursue thy loves among
the bowers
But leave thou mine to
me.
O flourish, hidden deep
in fern,
Old oak, I love thee
well;
A thousand thanks for
what I learn
And what remains to tell.
"Oh Tis little more:
the day was warm;
At last, tired out with
play,
She sank her head upon
her arm
And at my feet she lay.
"Her eyelids dropp'd
their silken eaves
I breathed upon her eyes
Thro' all the summer of
my leaves
A welcome mix'd with
sighs.
"I took the swarming
sound of life---
The music from the
town---
The murmurs of the drum
and fife
And lull'd them in my
own.
"Sometimes I let a
sunbeam slip,
To light her shaded eye;
A second flutter'd round
her lip
Like a golden butterfly;
"A third would
glimmer on her neck
To make the necklace
shine;
Another slid, a sunny
fleck,
From head to ankle fine,
"Then close and dark
my arms I spread,
And shadow'd all her
rest---
Dropt dews upon her
golden head,
An acorn in her breast.
"But in a pet she
started up,
And pluck'd it out, and
drew
My little oakling from
the cup,
And flung him in the dew.
"And yet it was a
graceful gift---
I felt a pang within
As when I see the woodman
lift
His axe to slay my kin.
"I shook him down
because he was
The finest on the tree.
He lies beside thee on
the grass.
O kiss him once for me.
"O kiss him twice
and thrice for me,
That have no lips to
kiss,
For never yet was oak on
lea
Shall grow so fair as
this.'
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2011 Sherwood
Step deeper yet in herb
and fern,
Look further thro' the
chace,
Spread upward till thy
boughs discern
The front of
Sumner-place.
This fruit of thine by
Love is blest,
That but a moment lay
Where fairer fruit of
Love may rest
Some happy future day.
I kiss it twice, I kiss
it thrice,
The warmth it thence
shall win
To riper life may
magnetise
The baby-oak within.
But thou, while kingdoms
overset,
Or lapse from hand to
hand,
Thy leaf shall never
fail, nor yet
Thine acorn in the land.
May never saw dismember
thee,
Nor wielded axe disjoint,
That art the fairest-spoken
tree
From here to
Lizard-point.
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2010 Sherwood
O rock upon thy
towery-top
All throats that gurgle
sweet!
All starry culmination
drop
Balm-dews to bathe thy
feet!
All grass of silky
feather grow---
And while he sinks or
swells
The full south-breeze
around thee blow
The sound of minster
bells.
The fat earth feed thy
branchy root,
That under deeply
strikes!
The northern morning o'er
thee shoot,
High up, in silver
spikes!
Nor ever lightning char
thy grain,
But, rolling as in sleep,
Low thunders bring the
mellow rain,
That makes thee broad and
deep!
And hear me swear a
solemn oath,
That only by thy side
Will I to Olive plight my
troth,
And gain her for my
bride.
And when my marriage morn
may fall,
She, Dryad-like, shall
wear
Alternate leaf and
acorn-ball
In wreath about her hair.
And I will work in prose
and rhyme,
And praise thee more in
both
Than bard has honour'd
beech or lime,
Or that Thessalian
growth,
In which the swarthy
ringdove sat,
And mystic sentence
spoke;
And more than England
honours that,
Thy famous brother-oak,
Wherein the younger
Charles abode
Till all the paths were
dim,
And far below the
Roundhead rode,
And humm'd a surly hymn.
Picture copyright Chattering Magpie 2011 Sherwood
