gg \4 Cornell University BB kj Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013487123 A WEST S0SSEX W. J.1BBETT PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS ' Otheji bobjts written by' \y. Ji' I bbett: are entitled:-^' ?OEkS' BY ANTAEUS. . THE BACKStlDER, AND OTPER POEMS, ;lIttle poems of a pOeticuiLe^. i; i three; LETTERS TO H. BUXTON ;F0RMAN iNPRAisiE o;f VENOS.:' A WEST SUSSEX GARLAND NOTE. This book is called "A West Sussex Garland" because nearly all the poems in it were written in West Sussex, about West Sussex sights. For the few that were com- posed elsewhere there is no excuse, except the possible pleasure of the reader. A WEST SUSSEX GARLAND. THE PENSIONER'S RETURN. How glad I am, dear little plain, After so many years of town, To set my foot on you again And tread your patient herbage down. You, nursing up your lambs and wheat, Know nothing what it is to bear The turmoil of the busy street, The work, the worry, and the glare. Now I shall give you this small task. To bear the weight of one tired man. And show him all that he shall ask. It won't be much. For sure you can THE PENSIONER'S RETURN. Please him with meadows and with sheep, With ferns, with gardens, and with dicks Just broad enough for boys to leap With laughter clear and rosy cheeks. He'll find himself the noisy sea ; He'll find himself the great wide sky ; He'll be as glad as he can be, 'Till down he lays himself to die. Almodington. The sun is ruddy in the west Where Jessie lieth dead : The sun is glad to go to rest Where Jessie is a-bed. Each day the eager sun hastes there, O happy, happy sun ! But happier I who'll stay with her As soon as life is done. HEIGHO ! Heigho ! When I was young Roses were red and lilies were white, And girls were fair and stars were bright. Heigho ! And then I sung That every day was a naughty day, That pleased with a smile and ran away. Heigho ! And now I'm old The stars don't shine as they did of yore, And flowers and girls they please no more. Heigho ! But I was told, Though all my youth retorted NO, That when I was old it would be so. WINTER IN WEST SUSSEX. Now leazing cakes are eaten all, And winter brings its heavy pall ; Farmers shout summons and the sacks The sullen labourers mutter back ; While farmers strike their men near dumb Their own bad temper makes them glum. Tallymen turn empty from the door, Repulsed by wives a-chill and poor ; At church the parson mumbles low ; The children shiver in a row ; The curlew keep amid the field, Fearing the gun that hedges shield ; Wild duck, asleep with half-closed eye. Dream of the punt that 's drawing nigh ; Plover fly shrieking off the mud Before the man that seeks their blood ; The trees stretch up bare arms to heaven. So clear that Pleiades are seven. O heaven, that bendest o'er this tomb, Is spring not moving in thy womb? SNOW IN SPRING. Old Winter, you are conquered quite ; Then why do you, in sheer despite. Pelt the young Spring with flakes of white ? No little flower, whate'er its hue, But shakes its head and laughs at you, To see the little you can do. There go away and take your snow, Your ice, your blast, your long-drawn woe : Rest, if you can, in shades below While bright processions overhead Of birds and blossoms, wooed and wed. Are glad to think that you are dead. A 2 A WEST SUSSEX BOY. A GREY-EYED little lad is he, And only just eleven, But he can hit a bird on tree, And could when he was seven. He hates his school with steady hate, And gladly would play truant ; But fears, because his parents dear Might get a writ pursuant. He takes to field his father's meals. And knows each nest in hiding ; But leaves them till the journey home, For duty grants no biding. He'll draw a bond and double yoke. And help his father thatching ; For standing hard you'll find no boy That will be near his matching. TO A YOUNG LADY BICYCLIST. He'll pull the eels sure from the rife ; He'll spy the hare in furrow ; And claps his hands with sheer delight At rabbits on their burrow. He yearns to be a countryman Just like his sires before him, So may good fortune grant his wish, And with all blessings store him. TO A YOUNG LADY BICYCLIST. Dear Edith, with the fluttering sleeves, You swiftly course along the road, Spuming the myriad flowers and leaves. And brave young men that might ha' wooed. Had you been slower on your way. And slacked awhile your grim intent To ride one hundred miles a day. And think at last that day well spent. TO A YOUNG ZADY BICYCLIST. But, Edith, love and flowers stand still ; Machines go fast indeed, but crush The wayside flower with cruel wheel, And past despairing lovers rush. Have pity, girl, for you are fair, Too fair to waste your beauty so ; Plant it in quiet nooks, and dare To let its bud be watched and blow. OF THE SAME ON HORSEBACK. Oh, BRAVE is her horse. And free is her curl. And sweet is her rose. And fair is the girl ! If I were her steed. And she on my back, I'd gallop away Thro' storm and thro' wrack, OF THE SAME ON HORSEBACK. 13 Through rivers and floods, O'er mountains and plains, To an isle of the sea Where quietude reigns. And there I would love her And make her good cheer. While all day above her The sky should be clear. And berries should feed her, And fruit of the best ; To fountains I'd lead her. And there would we rest. But why do I raise A quavering voice ? For ne'er shall I be The steed of her choice 14 AN INVITATION. Yes ! Jacky my jolly, pray come if you please, And I'll give you a bed without any fleas ; But bring some cooked meat and a bottle of wine, The bread and the salt and the bench shall be mine ; I'll throw in an onion and cress from the ditch ; If you want any more, why — go to the rich. TO SERVANT MAIDS. When Agamemnon, king of men. Fell out with brave Achilles O, It. was about a servant girl, And no one called them sillies O. Now great men brawl of earnest faith. Progress and helium O ; But what these learned people write, Shan't make us poor folk dumb O. TIVO TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 15 They say the world is growing cold ; But not so very much O, When each lad has his pretty girl, And loves to make her blush d In twenty million years or less We'll all be cinder-ashes O ; But what are figures such as this, To girls that wear fine sashes O ? Then, every general, take her man, Each parlour maid so neat O ; And may Miss Cooky choose me hers, And give me lots to eat O. TWO TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. I. Squire Maecenas, you shall taste Common Sabine here at home. That in Grecian clay I cased When your praise was roared in Rome ; 1 6 TWO TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. So that your own boyhood's haunts Echoed in a merry way Vatican's uproarious chaunts To the honour of your day. Csecube wine no doubt 's your fare, Clusters crushed in Calene press : Mine 's untouched by names so rare ; Formian enters not my mess. II. HORACE. Mine you once were glad to be ; Not a lover arms could fling Round your white neck — only me, Happier than the Persian king. LYDIA. You cared once for no one more ; Forward Chloe had not come ; Lydia's name from shore to shore Rang like hers that mothered Rome. Tiro TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 17 HORACE. Now my Cretan Chloe's high, Fine at music, full of grace ; I'd not even fear to die So that Death would spare her face. LYDIA. With requited love burn I For a lad of Thurian race ; Twice I'd gladly bear to die So that Death would spare his face. HORACE. What ! If old Love came to-day, Broke the wanderers to the track ; If fair Chloe were driven away. Could spumed Lydia venture back ? LYDIA. Though no star so bright as he ; Though no cork so light as you ; Were you angrier than the sea, I'd love to live and die with you. ADIEU IN ITALY. All day you flitted round the shops, And purchased here and there a toy ; All day I walked on mountain tops, Where cold, clear air brought peace and joy. Each night enthroned — no more, no less — We drank the self-same cup of wine. And morsels from each other's mess We took and swore that they were fine. The dancers danced to make us glad ; The singers sang a varied song. Da ridere at times, or sad : And so the evenings sped along. But now we part, no more to be Royal partners, smiled upon by men ; And we shall never, never see Each other in the world again. TO BA YS IN SUSSEX. 19 Ah ! swear no more by Christ that died To love and mind me all your days : Shed no more tears ! See, mine are dried ! Dear Spaniard, we must go our ways. Hark ! Strangers all are sent ashore. Well ! One sweet kiss before we part. Now run below and weep no more, But press your lap-dog to your heart. TO BAYS IN SUSSEX. O BAYS, growing in this southern country. That have waited fruitless many a colder year, Now at last are seen your black and comely berries, Black and comely berries shining to me here. O bays, perfect in this southern country. Cool would be your leaves upon my burning brow ; But, shame-faced, I hesitate to pluck ye, For I've been as idle as even ye are now. a TO BAYS IN SUSSEX. Yes ! brought and planted in this southern country, Nothing have ye done but stood and fruited late ; Little have I done, too, and my fruit is acrid. Comely perhaps as your is, got of heat and fate. Comrades ! yes, ye are so, and I'll dare to pluck ye, Since I've been a poet and deserve a crown : Now I find your clasping very cool and pleasant. Far away from mockings of the envious town. Oh, so cool and pleasant to my heated forehead, Where the rushing thoughts have clamoured many days — Just for this crown wherewith I'm really crowned, Made by myself of comely berried-bays. CHISWICK PRESS : —CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. Cornell University Library PR4818.I3W5 A West Sussex garland 3 1924 013 487 123