NELLY TRIM
‘Like men riding,
The mist from the sea
Drives down the valley
And baffles me.’
‘Enter, traveller,
Whoever you be.’
By lamplight confronted
He staggered and peered;
Like a wet bramble
Was his beard.
‘Sit down, stranger,
You look a-feared.’
Shudders rent him
To the bone,
The wet ran off him
And speckled the stone.
‘Dost bide here alone, maid?’
‘Yes, alone.’
As he sat down
In the chimney-nook
Over his shoulder
He cast a look,
As if the night
Were pursuing; she took
A handful of brash
To mend the fire,
He eyed her close
As the flame shot higher;
He spoke—and the cattle
Moved in the byre.
‘Though you should heap
Your fire with wood,
’Twouldn’t warm me,
Nor do no good,
Unless you first warm me
As a maiden should.’
With looks unwavering,
With breath unstirred,
She took off her clothes
Without a word;
And stood up naked
And white as a curd.
He breathed her to him
With famished sighs,
Against her bosom
He sheltered his eyes,
And warmed his hands
Between her thighs.
Strangely assembled
In the quiet room,
Alone alight
Amidst leagues of gloom,
So brave a bride,
So sad a groom;
And strange love-traffic
Between these two;
Nor mean, nor shamefaced—
As though they’d do
Something more solemn
Than they knew:
As though by this greeting
Which chance had willed
’Twixt him so silent
And her so stilled,
Some pledge or compact
Were fulfilled,
Made for all time
In times unknown,
’Twixt man and woman
Standing alone
In mirk night
By a tall stone.
His wayfaring terrors
All cast aside,
Brave now the bridegroom
Quitted the bride;
As he came, departing—
Undenied.
But once from darkness
Turned back his sight
To where in the doorway
She held a light:
‘Goodbye to you, maiden.’
‘Stranger, good night.’
Long time has this woman
Been bedded alone.
The house where she dwelt
Lies stone on stone:
She’d not know her ash-tree,
So warped has it grown.
But yet this story
Is told of her
As a memorial;
And some aver
She’d comfort thus any
Poor traveller.
A wanton, you say—
Yet where’s the spouse,
However true
To her marriage-vows,
To whom the lot
Of the earth-born allows
More than this?—
To comfort the care
Of a stranger, bound
She knows not where,
And afraid of the dark,
As his fathers were.