The morning call., 1893-01-22


Come uppe Jetty. rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;
Come Hppe Whitefoot, come uppe LightfOot,
Come uppe Jetty. rise and follow.
From the clovers lift your head:
Come uppe Wnitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
JettY, TO the milking she'd"
II it be long, aye. long ago.
When / beginne to think howe long,
Againe hear the Lindis flow,
Swift as al arTowe sharp and stronge;
And all the aire, 1t seemeth NEE.
Bin full of floating bells (saYth she)
That ring the tune OF Enderby.
Ale fresh the level pasture lay,
Aud not shadOwe mote be seen
Save where. full fyve good miles away,
The steepIe lowered from out the greene
And 10 the great bell. far and wide.
Was heard in all the countryside
That Saturday at eYentide.
The swannerds where their sedges are
Moved on in sunsets golden breath;
The shephsrde lads heard afarre
And my sonne's wife Elizabeth;
TIL floating o. er the grassy sea.
Came downe that KINDLY message freq
The brides OF Mayls Enderby."
Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goody vessels lie,
And where the lOrdly steepIe shows.
They sayde: land why should this thing be,
What danger lowers by land sea-
They ring the tune Of EndeTby
"For evn news from Mablethorpe
OF pirate galeyS warpin2 down
For shippes ashore beyond the scOrpe
They have not spared to wake the town;
But while the west bin red to see
And storms be none and pirates fee,
Why ring The Brides OF knderDy {? "
looked without and 10 my some
Came riding down with might and main.
He raised a shout as he drew on
Ill all the welkin rang again.
Elizabeth Elizabeth
"a sweeter woman neer drew breath
Than my sonne's vile Elizabeth.
OF course she has done stronger and
more artistic work than this quoted here.
but nothing more to our purpose She is
child of the sea and the sea winds and en-
tirely at home there. whether sadness or
gladness be her theme.
Let Us walk with Jean through the
grasses by the little brook on its path to the
sea. As Keats said when dying. You can
hear the daisies growing"
An empty sky, a world of heather.
Purple Of fOxgiove. yellow of broom,
We. toe. among them wading together
Shaking out honey, treading perfume.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover.
Crowds o. grassh9 o. SKIP ont at our feet,
Thanking t1e Lord for HE so sweet
Flushing the rise with her purple favor
Glowing the cleft with her golden ring
'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver
Lightly settle, and seeplly swing,
We two walk iii the purple dieth
And short dry grass under foot is brown,
But one little streak at a distance heth
Green like ribbon 20 prank the down.
Over the graves we stepped into It.
And God he kuOweth how bithe we were!
Never voice TO bid us eSchew IL:
Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair
Hey the green ribbon! We kneeled beside it.
We parted the grasses dewy ana sheen.
Drop over drop there filtered and Sided,
tiny bright beck that tTiCkled between.
Tinkle tinke. sweetly it sung to US,
Light our tax al of faery bells;
Faery weddIug-beils family ruag TO US
Down In their fortunate parallels.
Eand in hand while the sun peered over
We Tapped the grass on that young CLING spring.
Swept back It's PUSHES, SmoOthed It's clover
And said, Let US follow it weSterIHg"
A dappled sky. a world OF meadows;
Circling above US, the black ROCKS fly
Forward backward; 10 their dark shadows
Fit on the poisoning tapestry.
Fit on the beck, for her long grass parteth,
AS hair from a maids bright eyes blown back;
And 10 the sun like a lover darteth
His hattering smile on her hayward track.
Sing on we sing in the glorious weather
ill one steps over the tiny strand.
So narrow, In sooth. that still together,
On either brink we 60 hand in hand.
The beck grows wider. the hands must sever.
ON either margin, our songs all d Q,
We move apart, while she sing eth ever.
Taking the course Of the stO coping sun.
He prays "Come over" may not follow:
/ cry. Return 80 but he cannot come.
We spsak. we laugh. but with voices hollow
Our hands are hanging. our hearts are numb.
Jean Ingelow has kept quietly along her
walk by the seashore and taught the Eng
lish virtues all her life. Unlike Mrs.
Browning. she has kept at home, and even
at home has kept to quiet, pastoral themes
= ba 10 of ~ roll
yous. although her religion is rather in her
heart and daily life than in her books. But
the world has strangely direct way Of GO
ing to the heart and truth OF things. 1t
honors What is good and true and pure, and
it wants it and gets il in the books Of Jean
Ingelow.
To me right down to "cold facts and
brass tacks," as they say in the South, l
don't think any W. man, living or dead,
ever realized so much money for her poetry
as has Jean Ingelow. 1t was she who sent
my Boston publishers to me, or rather their
London agent. with most enthusiastic
letter as to their integrity and ability. AS
she had been the very first person with
whom l broke bread in London, you
may be sure she was the first to hear
from me, and the first and most
ardent TO respond, too, when | sud-
denly came TO the surface there. / saw
much of her during my first years in Lon
don, and always found her the same wise,
sweet woman, the idol of very select So
cial and literary world of her own. But
never recall my first dinner there without
for if she had turned NE away
that night. or if that gruff but gOOd-hearted
imam" had not busted NE down and
smoothed me up l probably would never
have had courage TO do what l did in Lon
don.
1t is many years since l saw her. or even
heard from her; and as | have meantime
been in Mexico and other places remote
from English literary ways l know almost
nothing of her later life. But whatever her
fortunes owe her much, much more than
venture to record here.
JOAQUIN MILLER.