The Poetical Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson

XV.

Squoire's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite,
For whoä's to howd the lond ater meä thot muddles ma quoit;
Sartin-sewer I beä, thot a weänt niver give it to Joänes,
Naw, nor a moänt to Robins a niver rembles the stoäns.

XVL

But summun 'ull come ater meä mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steäm
Huzzin' an' maäzin' the blessed feälds wi' the Divil's oän teäm.
Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet,
But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abeär to see it.

XVII.

What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring ma the aäle?
Doctor's a 'toättler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taäle;
I weänt breäk rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy;
Git ma my aäle I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy.

NORTHERN FARMER.

NEW STYLE.

DOSN'T thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?
Proputty, proputty, proputty
Proputty, proputty, proputty
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is

- that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.
Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns.
legs nor in all thy braaïns.

II.

Woa-theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam: yon's parson's 'ouse
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeäk.'
l'roputty, proputty — woä then woä- let ma 'ear mysén speäk.

III.

Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as beän a-talkin' o' thee;
Thou's beän talkin' to muther,
Thou'll not marry for munny -

an' she beän a tel.in' it me.
thou's sweet upo' parson's lass

- thou'll marry for luvv - an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.

Seea'd her todaäy goä by

IV.

Saäint's daäy

they was ringing the bells

She's a beauty thou thinks - an' soä is scoors o' gells,

Them as 'as munny an' all-wot's a beauty? - the flower as blaws. But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.

1 This week.

Do'ant be stunt: taäke time: I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaäker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
“Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!"

VI.

An' I went wheer munny war: an' thy muther coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laaïd by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maäybe she warn't a beauty - I niver giv it a thowt-

But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?

VII.

Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weänt 'a nowt when 'e's deäd,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle 2 her bread :
Why? fur 'e's nobbut a curate, an' weänt niver git naw 'igher;
An' 'e maäde the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shire.

VIII.

An thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his taaïl they did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.

An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noän to lend 'im a shove,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married fur luvv.

IX.

Luvv ? what's luvv ? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Maakin' 'em goä togither as they've good right to do.
Could'n I luvv thy muther by cause o' 'er munny laaïd by?
Naäy-fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reason why.

Ay an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,

Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.

Woä then, proputty, wiltha?

Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!

- an ass as near as mays nowt4.
the bees is as fell as owt.5

XI.

Break me a bit o' the esh for his 'eäd, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the saäme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it's the best.

XII.

Tis'n them as 'as munny as breäks into 'ouses an' steäls,
Them as 'as coäts to their backs an' taäkes their regular meäls.
Noä, but it's them as niver knaws wheer a meäl's to be 'ad.
Taäke my word for it, Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.

1 Obstinate.

3 Or fow-welter'd,
Makes nothing.

2 Earn.

- said of a sheep lying on its back in the furrow. The flies are as fierce as anything.

XIII.

Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beän a laäzy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd 'issén deäd, an 'e died a good un, 'e did.

XIV.

Loook thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I'll leave the land to thee.

XV.

Thim's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick ;
But if thou marries a bad un, I'll leave the land to Dick.
Coom oop, proputty, proputty-that's what I 'ears 'im saäy —
Proputty, proputty, proputty-canter an' canter awaäy

In bright vignettes, and each complete,

Of tower or duomo, sunny-sweet,

Or palace, how the city glitter'd, Thro' cypress avenues, at our feet.

But when we crost the Lombard plain Remember what a plague of rain;

Of rain at Reggio, rain at Parma ; At Lodi, rain, Piacenza, rain.

And stern and sad (so rare the smiles
Of sunlight) look'd the Lombard piles;
Porch-pillars on the lion resting,
And sombre, old, colonnaded aisles.

O Milan, O the chanting quires,
The giant windows' blazon'd fires,
The height, the space, the gloom,
the glory!

A mount of marble, a hundred spires!

I climb'd the roofs at break of day; Sun-smitten Alps before me lay.

I stood among the silent statues, And statued pinnacles, mute as they.

How faintly-flush'd, how phantom-fair,
Was Monte Rosa, hanging there
A thousand shadowy-pencill'd val-
leys

And snowy dells in a golden air.

Remember how we came at last
To Como; shower and storm and blast
Had blown the lake beyond his limit,
And all was flooded; and how we past

From Como, when the light was gray,
And in my head, for half the day,

The rich Virgilian rustic measure Of Lari Maxume, all the way,

Like ballad-burthen music, kept,
As on The Lariano crept

To that fair port below the castle Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept;

Or hardly slept, but watch'd awake
A cypress in the moonlight shake,
The moonlight touching o'er a

terrace

One tall Agavè above the lake.

What more? we took our last adieu, And up the snowy Splugen drew,

But ere we reach'd the highest summit

I pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you.

It told of England then to me,
And now it tells of Italy.

O love, we two shall go no longer To lands of summer across the sea;

So dear a life your arms enfold
Whose crying is a cry for gold:

Yet here to-night in this dark city, When ill and weary, alone and cold,

I found, tho' crush'd to hard and dry, This nursling of another sky

Still in the little book you lent me, And where you tenderly laid it by:

And I forgot the clouded Forth,
The gloom that saddens Heaven and
Earth,

The bitter east, the misty summer And gray metropolis of the North. Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain, Perchance, to charm a vacant brain, Perchance, to dream you still beside me,

My fancy fled to the South again.

TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.
JANUARY, 1854.
COME, when no graver cares employ,
Godfather, come and see your boy :

Your presence will be sun in winter,
Making the little one leap for joy.
For, being of that honest few,
Who give the Fiend himself his due,
Should eighty-thousand college-

councils

Thunder" Anathema," friend, at you;

Should all our churchmen foam in spite At you, so careful of the right,

Yet one lay-hearth would give you welcome

(Take it and come) to the Isle of Wight;

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The Poetical Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson: Poet Laureate