Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3945, 20 August 1881, Page 1

Select Poetry.

HAKD TIMES.

Hard Times! And »o they be, hone ; cupboards and hearth nr« bare j We can srarcelir.a boil the kettle, with this weeds thou'st gathered there. Nay, thou maunt touch t'bruss it teapot; that's for the rent: thou knowt I'd liefer perish here at home than live out best it house. I've never troubled the parish jet, and I've none so long to wait, And mebby thiugs'll be better, now t'iron's got a gate ; But I've had harder times than this ; whist! Thou wilt rest enow, I could make sleep ray supper when I was as young a 8 thou. I have had harder times, I say: the body may pine and spare, But wlieu the heart is famishing, it's a bitter thing to bear. Come, hap thysel it blanket; I'll tell thee o'er my tale, It'll mike a better huslnby than the call of the rising gale. Thou think'st a deal on thy golden curls and those blue eyes of fine : I'll tell tliee. lass, at their brightest they never matched wi' mine ! Aye, I hear thee, laugh on, it plearfo thee j I l<n'jw what mj Willie said ; Art thou to mock at his judgment, because he's cold and dead ! It were a summer morning, when I stood out ' there on t'pier, And tried to laugh as brave as aught, and tried to join the cheer, As the Leeta swept o'er the harbour bar, and her sail fl^w out to the breeze, And taut and trim like a bird she went, over the treacherous seas. And Willie leant over tli' bulwarks, and waved his hand to me, And held the rose I'd gien him up, for all the crowd to see; And when I'd watched the last on her, I turned up this very court, To sew my wedding duds, again the Lecta rode in port. Bairn, summer glowed to autumn; autumn to winter paled ; It was six long weary months at last, from the day the Lecta sailed ; Six! and two ahould ha' seen her back, and hope was sinking down, - And never a word to the yearning hearts thai, waited in the town. There was work enow among us; and no " union " then to draw Ford uns who should know better beneath its iron law. No "strikes" to hunger wires and bairns, nnd madden half the men: We mout ha' less of learning, but we'd more of wisdom thea. . But. worse than cold or clemming, were those weary watching dajs, While t,he wild wind swept the angry teat, or tbe cruel, crawling haze Hid even the great grey tossing waste, where I'd stare from dawn to dark, Just for the chance on the far faint line, of the sail of a homeward bark. Day hy day, and week by week, and month by month dragged past, And hope died out, and cold despair turned o'er the page at last ; The silent doom hung heatily, till, like a funeral pall, " Missing the Lecto, and all hands," closed slowly over all. And now a bitter woman, lonely and old I sit Beside this barren hearth of mine, and tell a bairn of it. Hard tinipp! Thou hast to bear a bit; but get awaj ! thou'rt young ; There's hope in each rising sun for thee, and joy in a glozing tongue. Wait till thou know'st that tliou might'st weep, and not a soul to held, That thou might'st die and none to mourn, die like a nseles- weedj Wait, till thine all of love and life lies in yon wild wide sei, Then dare to even woes, and come to complain " hard times " to me! —All (lie Year Round.