Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THISTLE AND NETTLE, by JOSEPH SKIPSEY Poet's Biography First Line: Twas on a night, with sleet and snow Last Line: "to shelter till the day they die." Subject(s): Flirtation; Love; Man-woman Relationships; Male-female Relations | ||||||||
'Twas on a night, with sleet and snow From out the north a tempest blew When Thistle gathered nerve to go The little Nettle's self to woo. Within her father's cottage soon He found the ever-dreaded maid; She then was knitting to a tune The wind upon the window played. His errand known, she, with a frown, Up from the oaken table sprung, Down took the broom and swept the room, While like a bell her clapper rung. "Have I not seen enough to be Convinced for ever, soon or late The maid shall rue the moment she Attendeth to a wooer's prate? "How long ago since Phemie Hay To Harry at the Mill fell wrong? How long since Hall a prank did play On silly Nelly Brown? how long? "How long ago since Adam Smith Wooed Annie on the Moor, and left The lassie with a stain? yea, with A heart of every hope bereft? "But what need instance cases? lo! Have I not heard thee chaunt the lay, 'The fraud of men was ever so Since summer first was leafy? 'eh? "When men are to be trusted, then, But never may that time befall; Of five times five-and-twenty men, There's barely five are men at all. "Before the timid maid they'll fall, And smile and weep and sigh and sue, Till once they get her in their thrall, And then she's doomed her lot to rue. "For her a subtle snare they weave, And when the bonny bird is caught, Then they giggle in their sleeve; Then laugh to scorn the ill they've wrought. "As other weary winds, they woo The bloom its treasures to unfold, Extract its wealth, their way pursue, And leave her pining on the wold. "When poppies fell like lilies smell, When cherries grow on brambles, when When grapes adorn the common thorn, Then women may have faith in men. "Then may we hear what they may swear; Till then, sir, know I'm on my guard, And he, the loon that brings me down, He'll be pardoned, on my word." Thus for an hour her tongue was heard; By this, her words grown faint and few, She raised the broom at every word, And thumped the floor to prove it true. In ardent words the youth replied: "Dread hollow-hearted guile thou must; But deem not all of honour void, Nor punish all with thy mistrust. "A few, not all, the lash have earn'd, Let but that few the lash assail; The world were topsy-turvy turned, Did not some sense of right prevail. "Destroy the weed, but spare the flower; Consume the chaff, but keep the grain; Nor harry one who'd die before He'd give they little finger pain." On hearing this she sat her down, Took up her needlework again, And tho' she strove to wear a frown, Made answer in a milder strain. "Forego thy quest. Deceitful words, As they have been, they yet may be A fatal lure to lighter birds; They'll never prove the like to me. "Still by my chastity I vow, As I have kept the cheat at bay, Should I keep my senses, so I'll keep him till my dying day. "The best that man can do or say, The love of gold or rubies rare, Not all that wealth can furnish may Once lure, to leave me in a snare. "So end thy quest." He only prest His ardent suit the more, while she At every word he uttered, garr'd Her fleeing needles faster flee. "My quest by honour's justified; I long have eyed and found thee still The maid I'd like to be my bride; Would I could say the maid that will! "Hadst thou been but a daffodil That with the breezes sport and play, For all thy suitor valued, still Thou so hadst danced thy life away. "But thou, so fair, art chaste." Thus he Unto her answer answers e'er, And that too in a way that she Must will or nill his answer hear. And then (a chair he'd ta'en) his chair Unto her side he nearer drew; Recurr'd to memories sweet and rare, And in a softer key did woo. "Must all the passion which I've sought So long to hide be paid with scorn? A heart with pure affection fraught Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn? "And must thou still its homage spurn? And must thou still my suit reject? And be to me this cruel thorn? Reflect upon the past, reflect! "A time there was, and time shall pass To me ere that forgotten be, When side by side from tide to tide We played and sported on the lea. "Ay, then have I not chased the bee From bloom to bloom oft chased and caught, And having drawn its sting in glee, To thee the little body brought? "Then when a bloom of rarer dyes Into my busy fingers fell, To whom was reached the lucky prize? Can not thy recollection tell? "As oft away as summer went, Who pulled with thee the haw, bright, brown Brown as they own bright eyes and bent For thee the richest branches down? "With blooms I've graced thy yellow hair, With berries filled thy lap, thy hand That hand as alabaster fair Had every gift at my command. "Nay, tho' to others dour, yet meek I ever was to thee, and kind, And when we played at hide-and-seek, I hid where thou woulds't seek to find. "Upon the play-ground still unmatched Was I, unless my loved one played; And then it seem'd to those who watched, My failures were on purpose made. "As sure as e'er a race began, The palm was mine unless she joined, And then I always was out-ran, For still with her I lagged behind. "The ball I drove to others, mocked Their efforts to arrest its flight; But when my ball to her was knocked, It would upon her lap alight. "None, up and down so well I bobbed, To skip the rope with me would try; Did she attempt? my skill was robbed; Another skipped her out not I. "At play thus was't; but childhood past, And e'er the lasses reach their teens, Atween them and the lads a vast Mysterious distance intervenes. "They seldom on the green appear In careless sport and play; and if They join the throng, erect they wear Their head, and still their air is stiff. "They ail they know not what. And such The change that on my lassie fell; Then would she shrink my hand to touch, And I half feared her touch as well. "Had I changed too? This, I can tell: That touch o'er me a spell would cast; And did I pass her in the dell, With slow and snail-like pace I pass'd. "Her voice had lost its former ring, Yet, in that voice such power was flung, I better liked to hear her sing, Than when of old to me she sung. "Her touch, her tone, would make or mar My bliss, and tho' with all my skill I strove to please, and please but her, I in her presence blundered still. "When by the hearth she sewing sat, Did I to thread her needle try? Still, my heart played pit-a-pat, And still I miss'd the needle's eye. "As with the needle-threading, so We with the skein a-winding fared, And Auntie's dreaded tongue would go Before the dancing end appeared. "What ails lass?' she often said 'She's sound asleep!' once said, and flew, And snatched and snapt the tangled thread, While I I know not how withdrew. "Away, too, fled those hours! Alack! They came and went like visions rare, To mock the heart, delude and wrack, And leave the gazer in despair. "Ah, less tho' sun-illumed less fair The blobs that dance adown the burn, And let them burst, they'll re-appear Ere those delightsome hours return. "Yet they may live in thought, and could They live in Nettle's thought again, Would she not change her bearing? would She not now change this bitter strain? "Would she her lover still disdain? Would she continue thus to gall And put him to this cruel pain? Recall to mind the past! Recall!" Thus on and on, his ditty flows Until her ruffled brow is sleek, Till, lo! the lily drives the rose, The rose the lily from her cheek. And now the iron, sparkling hot, Around with might and main he swings, And down upon the proper spot With bang on bang the hammer brings. "O, be my suit but undenied, And, ere the moon is on the wane, A knot shall by the priest be tied, The priest shall never loose again. "In heart and hand excell'd by none, Henceforth I'd front the ills of life; And every victory I won Should be a jewel for my wife. "So should the people of the dell, When they convened to gossip, say For harmony we bore the bell, And bore it with a grace away. "Nay, life thy head, be not ashamed; If thus to feel and thus and O As matters sinful might be blamed, Our saints were sinners long ago." Deep silence here ensured. The cat, That lately to the nook had crept To mark the sequel of their chat, Came forth, lay on the hearth and slept. The needles bright, that left and right, As if with elfish glee possest, Had gleamed and glanced, and frisked and danced, In quiet on her apron rest. In concert with the storm within, The storm without forbears to blow; And 'tween the sailing clouds, begin The joyous stars to come and go. O'er all delight and silence brood, While to her wooer's bosom prest, Poor Nettle's heart beats, beats aloud The tune that pleases lovers best. And Thistle's pleased and Thistle's blest, And Thistle's is a joy supreme; Aye! now of Nettle's smiles possest, He revels in a golden dream. Dream on, brave youth: an hour like this Annuals an age of cark and strife, And turns into a drop of bliss The bitter cup of human life. The tear is by a halo gilt, The thorns of life are turned to flowers, The dirge into a merry lilt, When love returned for love is ours. "I've heard," in language low and soft Now Nettle's heart begins to flow, "I've heard of honey'd tongues full oft, But never felt their force till now. "Still would I fume, as day by day I've seen the lasses bought and sold By some I'd scorn'd to own, had they Outweighed their very weight in gold. "My hour of triumph's o'er. In vain Did I my fellow-maids abuse; I've snatched the cup, and drank the bane Which sets me in their very shoes; "That turns a heart of adamant To pliant wax; and, in my turn, Subjects me to the bitter taunt, The vanquished victor's ever borne: "That leaveth Nettle satisfied To leave her kith and kin, and by Her ever-faithful Thistle's side, To shelter till the day they die." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MISERY AND SPLENDOR by ROBERT HASS THE APPLE TREES AT OLEMA by ROBERT HASS DOUBLE SONNET by ANTHONY HECHT CONDITIONS XXI by ESSEX HEMPHILL CALIFORNIA SORROW: MOUNTAIN VIEW by MARY KINZIE SUPERBIA: A TRIUMPH WITH NO TRAIN by MARY KINZIE COUNSEL TO UNREASON by LEONIE ADAMS |
|