THE SLOW NATURE

“Thy husband — poor, poor Heart!— is dead —

Dead, out by Moreford Rise;

A bull escaped the barton-shed,

Gored him, and there he lies!”

- “Ha, ha — go away!‘ Tis a tale, methink,

Thou joker Kit!” laughed she.

“I've known thee many a year, Kit Twink,

And ever hast thou fooled me!”

- “But, Mistress Damon — I can swear

Thy goodman John is dead!

And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear

His body to his bed.”

So unwontedly sad was the merry man's face -

That face which had long deceived -

That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace

The truth there; and she believed.

She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,

And scanned far Egdon-side;

And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge

And the rippling Froom; till she cried:

“O my chamber's untidied, unmade my bed

Though the day has begun to wear!

‘ What a slovenly hussif!’ it will be said,

When they all go up my stair!”

She disappeared; and the joker stood

Depressed by his neighbour's doom,

And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood

Thought first of her unkempt room.

But a fortnight thence she could take no food,

And she pined in a slow decay;

While Kit soon lost his mournful mood

And laughed in his ancient way.