“The shingled pattern that seems to cease Against your box’s rim Continues right on in the piece That’s underground with him.
“And while I worked it made me think Of timber’s varied doom; One inch where people eat and drink, The next inch in a tomb.
“But why do you look so white, my dear, And turn aside your face? You knew not that good lad, I fear, Though he came from your native place?”
“How could I know that good young man, Though he came from my native town, When he must have left there earlier than I was a woman grown?”
“Ah no. I should have understood! It shocked you that I gave To you one end of a piece of wood Whose other is in a grave?”
“Don’t, dear, despise my intellect, Mere accidental things Of that sort never have effect On my imaginings.”
Yet still her lips were limp and wan, Her face still held aside, As if she had known not only John, But known of what he died.
THE SACRILEGE A BALLAD-TRAGEDY (_Circa_ 182-)
“I HAVE a Love I love too well Where Dunkery frowns on Exon Moor; I have a Love I love too well, To whom, ere she was mine, ‘Such is my love for you,’ I said, ‘That you shall have to hood your head A silken kerchief crimson-red, Wove finest of the fine.’
“And since this Love, for one mad moon, On Exon Wild by Dunkery Tor, Since this my Love for one mad moon Did clasp me as her king, I snatched a silk-piece red and rare From off a stall at Priddy Fair, For handkerchief to hood her hair When we went gallanting.
“Full soon the four weeks neared their end Where Dunkery frowns on Exon Moor; And when the four weeks neared their end, And their swift sweets outwore, I said, ‘What shall I do to own Those beauties bright as tulips blown, And keep you here with me alone As mine for evermore?’
“And as she drowsed within my van On Exon Wild by Dunkery Tor— And as she drowsed within my van, And dawning turned to day, She heavily raised her sloe-black eyes And murmured back in softest wise, ‘One more thing, and the charms you prize Are yours henceforth for aye.
“‘And swear I will I’ll never go While Dunkery frowns on Exon Moor To meet the Cornish Wrestler Joe For dance and dallyings. If you’ll to yon cathedral shrine, And finger from the chest divine Treasure to buy me ear-drops fine, And richly jewelled rings.’