THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.
A WELL there is in the west country, And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside. And behind does an ash-tree grow; And a willow from the bank above Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne; Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from cock-crow he had been travelling, And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the neighbouring town At the Well to fill his pail;
On the well-side he rested it,
And he bade the stranger hail.
"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger? quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drunk this day That ever thou didst in thy life.
"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."
"I have left a good woman who never was here," The Stranger he made reply,
"But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why?"
"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, “many a time Drank of this crystal well,
And before the angel summon'd her, She laid on the water a spell."
"If the husband of this gifted well Shall drink before the wife, A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be master for life.
"But if the wife should drink of it first,- God help the husband then!"
The Stranger stoop'd to the Well of St Keyne, And drank of the water again.
"You drank of the well I warrant betimes?"
He to the Cornish-man said:
But the Cornish man smiled as the Stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.
"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch;
But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she-took a bottle to church."
THOU chronicle of crimes! I read no more; For I am one who willingly would love His fellow-kind. O gentle Poesy,
Receive me from the court's polluted scenes, From dungeon horrors, from the fields of war, Receive me to your haunts,-that I may nurse My nature's better feelings, for my soul Sickens at man's misdeeds!
I spake, when lo! There stood before me, in her majesty,
Clio, the strong-eyed Muse. Upon her brow
Sate a calm anger. Go, young man, she cried, Sigh among myrtle-bowers, and let thy soul Effuse itself in strains so sorrowful sweet, That love-sick maids may weep upon thy page, Pleased with delicious sorrow. Oh shame! shame! Was it for this I waken'd thy young mind? Was it for this I made thy swelling heart Throb at the deeds of Greece, and thy boy's eye So kindle when that glorious Spartan died? Boy! boy! deceive me not!-What if the tale Of murder'd millions strike a chilling pang; What if Tiberius in his island stews, And Philip at his beads, alike inspire Strong anger and contempt; hast thou not risen With nobler feelings,-with a deeper love For freedom? Yes, if righteously thy soul Loathes the black history of human crimes And human misery, let that spirit fill Thy song, and it shall teach thee, boy! to raise Such strains as Cato might have deign'd to hear, As Sidney in his hall of bliss may love.
NAY, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas : There is a maggot there, it is his house,- His castle,-oh commit not burglary! Strip him not naked,-'tis his clothes, his shell, His bones, the case and armour of his life, And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas! lt were an easy thing to crack that nut Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, So easily may all things be destroy'd! But 't is not in the power of mortal man To mend the fracture of a filbert shell.
There were two great men once amused themselves Watching two maggots run their wriggling race, And wagering on their speed; but Nick, to us
It were no sport to see the pamper'd worm Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, Like to some barber's leathern powder-bag Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflowers Spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave. Enough of dangers and of enemies
Hath Nature's wisdom for the worm ordain'd; Increase not thou the number! Him the mouse, Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence May from his native tenement eject;
Him may the nut-hatch piercing with strong bill Unwittingly destroy; or to his hoard
The squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack'd. Man also hath his dangers and his foes As this poor maggot hath; and when I muse Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears, The maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks It were a happy metamorphosis
To be enkernell'd thus; never to hear Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, Kings, Jacobins, and Tax-commissioners; To feel no motion but the wind that shook The Filbert-tree, and rock'd us to our rest; And in the middle of such exquisite food To live luxurious! The perfection this Of snugness! it were to unite at once Hermit retirement, Aldermanic bliss, And Stoic independence of mankind.
METHOUGHT I stood again, at dead of night, In that rich sepulchre,* viewing alone,
The wonders of the place. My wondering eyes Rested upon the costly sarcophage
*According to Josephus, the sepulchres of the Kings of Israel were filled with immense treasures. The riches left by David are said to have exceeded 800,000,000l. sterling.
Rear'd in the midst. I saw therein a form Like David; not as he appears, but young And ruddy. In his lovely tinctured cheek The vermil blood look'd pure and fresh as life In gentle slumber. On his blooming brow Was bound the diadem. But while I gazed, The phantom vanish'd, and my father lay there, As he is now, his head and beard in silver, Seal'd with the pale fix'd impress of the tomb. I knelt and wept. But when I thought to kiss My tears from off his reverend cheek, a voice Cried, Impious, bold!-and suddenly there stood A dreadful and refulgent form before me, Bearing the Tables of the Law.
It spake not, moved not, but still sternly pointed To one command, which shone so fiercely bright, It sear'd mine eye-balls. Presently I seem'd Transported to the desolate wild shore Of Asphaltites, night, and storm, and fire, Astounding me with horror. All alone
I wonder'd; but where'er I turn'd my eyes,
On the bleak rocks, or pitchy clouds, or closed them, Flamed that command.
Then suddenly I sunk down, down, methought, Ten thousand cubits, to a wide
And travell'd way, wall'd to the firmament On either side, and fill'd with hurrying nations; Hurrying, or hurried by some spell,
Toward a portentous adamantine gate, Towering before us to the empyrean. Beside it Abraham sat, in reverend years And gracious majesty, snatching his Seed From its devouring jaws. When I approach'd, He groan'd forth, Parricide! and stretch'd no aid- To me alone, of all his children. Then,
What flames, what howling billows caught me, Like the red ocean of consuming cities,
And shapes most horrid! all, methought, in crowns
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