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His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
His teeth they chatter, chatter still!
Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice was like the voice of three. 20
Old Goody Blake was old and poor;
111 fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.
All day she spun in her poor dwelling: '25
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,
By the same fire to boil their pottage,
But she, poor Woman! housed alone.
But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Her evenings then were dull and dead: 45
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed;
And then for cold not sleep a wink.
O joy for her! whene'er in winter
The winds at night had made a rout; 50
And scattered many a lusty splinter
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, turf or stick, 55
Enough to warm her for three days.
Now, when the frost was past enduring,
And, now and then, it must be said,
ISTow Harry he had long suspected 6 5
This trespass of old Goody Blake;
And once, behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand:
The moon was full and shining clearly, 75
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
—He hears a noise—he's all awake—
Again ?—on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps—' tis Goody Blake;
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill! 80
Eight glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull:
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her apron full.
When with her load she turned about, 85
The by-way back again to take;
He started forward, with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast, 90
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed 95
To God that is the judge of all.
She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
The cold, cold moon above her head,
He went complaining all the morrow 105
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas! that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding-coat,
But not a whit the warmer he: no
Another was on Thursday brought,
'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinned;
Tet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, T15
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say, 'tis plain,
That, live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again. 120
No word to any man he utters,
A-bed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Grill is very cold."
A-bed or up, by night or day; 125
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill!
PREFIXED TO THE VOLUME ENTITLED "POEMS
In desultory walk through orchard grounds,
To utter, above showers of blossom, swept From tossing boughs, the promise of a calm, "Which the unsheltered traveller might receive With thankful spirit. The descant, and the
That seemed to play with it in love or scorn, Encouraged and endeared the strain of words That haply flowed from me, by fits of silence Impelled to livelier pace. But now, my Book! Charged with those lays, and others of like
Or loftier pitch if higher rose the theme,
year Have faithfully prepared each other's way— Go forth upon a mission best fulfilled 20
When and wherever, in this changeful world, Power hath been given to please for higher
ends Than pleasure only; gladdening to prepare For wholesome sadness, troubling to refine, Calming to raise; and, by a sapient Art 25 Diffused through all the mysteries of our Being, Softening the toils and pains that have not
ceased To cast their shadows on our mother Earth Since the primeval doom. Such is the grace Which, though unsued for, fails not to descend 30 With heavenly inspiration; such the aim That Reason dictates; and, as even the wish Has virtue in it, why should hope to me Be wanting that sometimes, where fancied ills Harass the mind and strip from off the
bowers 3 $
Of private life their natural pleasantness,