—“But, Mistress Damon—I can swear Thy goodman John is dead! And soon th’lt hear their feet who bear His body to his bed.” So unwontedly sad was the merry man’s face— That face which had long deceived— That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace The truth there; and she believed. She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge, And scanned far Egdon-side; And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge And the rippling Froom; till she cried: “O my chamber’s untidied, unmade my bed Though the day has begun to wear! ‘What a slovenly hussif!’ it will be said, When they all go up my stair!” She disappeared; and the joker stood Depressed by his neighbour’s doom, And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood Thought first of her unkempt room. But a fortnight thence she could take no food, And she pined in a slow decay; While Kit soon lost his mournful mood And laughed in his ancient way. 1894. IN A EWELEAZE NEAR WEATHERBURY THE years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gaily Love’s fitful ecstasies! But despite the term as teacher, I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time, Defacing ghast and grizzel The blazon of my prime. When at night he thinks me sleeping, I feel him boring sly Within my bones, and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. Still, I’d go the world with Beauty, I would laugh with her and sing, I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. But she’d scorn my brave endeavour, She would not balm the breeze By murmuring “Thine for ever!” As she did upon this leaze. 1890. [Picture: Sketch of pair of glasses on sketch of landscape] ADDITIONS THE FIRE AT TRANTER SWEATLEY’S THEY had long met o’ Zundays—her true love and she— And at junketings, maypoles, and flings; But she bode wi’ a thirtover uncle, and he Swore by noon and by night that her goodman should be Naibour Sweatley—a gaffer oft weak at the knee From taking o’ sommat more cheerful than tea— Who tranted, and moved people’s things. She cried, “O pray pity me!” Nought would he hear; Then with wild rainy eyes she obeyed. She chid when her Love was for clinking off wi’ her. The pa’son was told, as the season drew near To throw over pu’pit the names of the peäir As fitting one flesh to be made. The wedding-day dawned and the morning drew on; The couple stood bridegroom and bride; The evening was passed, and when midnight had gone The folks horned out, “God save the King,” and anon The two home-along gloomily hied.