Jfiary Howitt

(1799-1888)

Mary Howitt, remembered today for writing some of the most popular bal­lads of her time, for introducing humor into children's poetry, and for being the first English translator of Hans Christian Anderson and Fredrika Bremer, was born in Coleford, Gloucestershire, on 12 March 1799. Called "Polly" as a child, she was the second daughter of Ann Wood and Samuel Botham, an iron worker turned land surveyor. Her parents were both devout members of the Society of Friends, and the household was a constricted world of isolation and quiet, so much so that the children had unusual difficulty learning to speak. Her father forbade secular hterature on religious grounds, but he read frequently from the Bible, and in his absence Mary's mother, who possessed a strong narrative gift, told stories and recited a large repertoire of poetry from memory. A nurse sang ballads that shaped Mary's sensibilities. Although fiction, music, dancing, and theater all were off-limits, Mary compensated by creating battle scenes out of the damp spots on the wall of the Friends' meeting house and imagining heads of animals and people in the grain of the wood seats. After attending a school for girls at Uttoxeter, in 1809 Mary enrolled at a Friends' school in Croydon, where a copy ofBarbauld's Hymns in Prose was confiscated from her. In 1812 she began attending Hannah Kilham's Friends' school in Sheffield, where her interest in writers and authorship was awakened. Here she and her older sister, Anna, who would remain best friends throughout life, together wrote several prose tales and an epic. Mary became an insatiable reader, clandestinely devouring the Spectator, the Gentle­man's Magazine, old English poetry and drama, Shakespeare, and the latest books of poetry, including Moore and Byron, which she copied into her album and learned by heart. When she was seventeen she stood under an apple tree by her house and prayed that one day she would become a famous writer.

In 1817 Mary met William Howitt, seven years her senior. They studied botany together, and he introduced her to the Edinburgh Review, the novels

326 Mary Howitt

of Scott, the engravings of Thomas Bewick, and the poetry of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Crabbe, and Shelley. They became engaged early in 1819 and were married in a Quaker ceremony at Uttoxeter on 16 April l82r. Their mar­riage would endure for over half a century and would be cited by Margaret Fuller in Woman in the Nineteenth Century as a prime example of the union of intellectual companionship. William had been apprenticed to a builder but vowed he would one day write books. He bought a chemist's shop in Hanley, which he operated for seven months. In April 1822, only a few months after Mary had given birth to a stillborn child, the couple sailed to Dunbarton and embarked on a five-hundred-mile walking tour of Scotland, visiting Abbots­ford, the home of Sir Walter Scott, along the way. They published an account of this trip, "A Scottish Ramble in the Spring of 1822 by Wilfred and Wil­freda Wender," the first of many collaborative writing projects, two years later in the Staffordshire Mercury. At trip's end, they joined William's brothers Godfrey and Richard in Nottingham, a center of religious dissent and radi­cal politics and the prosperous core of the weaving trade; there William and Richard opened another chemist's shop. Mary and William published their first joint book, The Forest Minstrel, and Other Poems, with Baldwin, Cra­dock and Joy in April 1823. It received good reviews, but its sales were not significant.

In January 1824, having already lost three infants, Mary gave birth to a frail baby girl, Anna Mary, but almost died herself from puerperal fever. Only four of her ten children would survive to adulthood, and Mary was to outlive all but Alfred William (b. 1830) and Margaret Anastasia (b. 1839). Throughout her childbearing years Mary was a productive writer. She and William began contributing to the literary gift books and annuals as well as to periodi­cals such as Time's Telescope and Hone's Table Book. In 1827 they brought out another collaborative effort, The Desolation of Eyam, and Other Poems, inspired by the heroic story of the vicar of Eyam during the plague years. The book got a mixed response. The Eclectic Review denounced it as "anti-Quakerish, athe­istical, and licentious in style and sentiment," but the Noctes Ambrosianae was full of praise, calling Mary's language "chaste and simple- her feelings tender and pure-and her observation of nature accurate and intense." 1 Gradually, the couple began to gather around them an intellectual and artistic circle, getting to know William Wordsworth, William Hone, James Montgomery, and their neighbor Ann Taylor Gilbert.

In December 1829 the Howitts traveled to London, where they visited

I. Eclectic Review 34 (November 1828): 675 ; Noctes Ambrosianae, published serially, reprinted in 5 vols. (New York, 1863), quotation on 3: 17i.

Mary Howitt

Zillah Watts, editor of the New Year's Gifi, and her husband, Alaric A. Watts, editor of the Literary Souvenir, as well as Anna Maria and Samuel Carter Hall, editors of the Amulet and the Juvenile Forget-Me-Not. They met, too, the painter John Martin, Bryan Waller Procter, Allan Cunningham, Barbara Hofland, and Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L.E.L.). Friendship with the Halls, the Wattses, and other editors helped the Howitts make the transition from pharmacy to authorship as their principal source of family income. During the i83os, 1840s, and 1850s, Mary and William produced an astonishing num­ber of works, as they struggled to support themselves as writers-publishing each year from one to four books, writing not only poetry but also reviews, fictional tales, and periodical articles. They also worked for humanitarian and political causes, kept up an active social calendar, took long walking tours, and conducted a heavy correspondence. Mary came to correspond with some of the leading women authors of her time, including Maria Jane Jews­bury, Joanna Baillie, Mary Russell Mitford, Letitia Elizabeth Landon, Anna Jameson, Caroline Bowles, Anna Maria Hall, Elizabeth Gaskell, and Felicia Hemans. Hemans had initiated the correspondence after reading the passage in "The Record of Poetry," from The Desolation ef Byam, praising her work. The two poets met in Liverpool in 1828 at the home of William Chorley, editor of the Winter's Wreath, a literary annual to which both women con­tributed.

Mary's Sketches ef Natural History (1834) contained what is today her best­known poem, "The Spider and the Fly. An Apologue. A New Version of an Old Story." This book provided, according to Alexander H. Japp, "one of the first effective popularizations of science" in English 2 and helped to cul­tivate the fanciful in literature for children. Her book of dramatic sketches, The Seven Temptations, influenced by Joanna Baillie, was published the same year; although it was damned by the critics, she always considered it her most original and best work. In i836 the Howitts visited Edinburgh, where they began a long friendship with David Macbeth Moir (Delta). He later said of Mary's ballads, "She has few contemporary rivals, whether we regard her pictures of stern wild solitary nature, or of all that is placid, gentle, and benignant in the supernatural." 3 They also met Robert Chambers, to whose mass-circulation weekly, Chambers' Edinburgh journal, Mary would contribute regularly and anonymously, and William Tait, for whose Tait's Edinburgh Maga­zine both Howitts would write. In a typical year, Mary contributed poems

2. Quoted in Alfred H. Miles, The Poets and the Poetry of the Century, vol. 7,joanna Baillie to Mathilde Blind (London, [1894]), 83.

3. Sketches of the Poetical Literature of the Past Half-Century (Edinburgh, 1851), 273.

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and tales to annuals and wrote ballads for the Monthly Repository and the Edin­burgh journals. She planned her writing so that her periodical publications could be gathered together into books to bring in additional income. She was resourceful, too, in developing writing projects. When her sister Emma sent a journal of her children's life in Cincinnati, Mary published it under the title Our Cousins in Ohio and wrote a companion volume, Children's Year, about two of her own children. Not infrequently she would first contribute a poem to a magazine, then sell it to a literary annual, and later include it in a book of poems most of which had been previously published. She also recycled her work from one book to the next, in some instances publishing a poem many times, often revising it with each new appearance. This system enabled her to make a substantial contribution to her family's income. In 1836, for example, Richard Bentley paid her £150 for a three-volume novel entitled Wood Leighton; combined with the £so she earned for other writings that year, that added up to a respectable living. Allan Cunningham wrote that "Mary Howitt has shown herself mistress of every string of the minstrel's lyre, save that which sounds of broil and bloodshed. There is more of the old ballad simplicity than can be found in the strains of any living poet besides." 4

Letitia Elizabeth Landon described her in her novel Romance and Reality as one who "gave me more the idea of a poet than most of our modern votaries of the lute .... She is as creative in her imaginary poems, as she is touching and true in her simple ones." Birds and Flowers and Other Country Things (1838) contained some of Mary Hewitt's most successful lyrics; it was followed the next year by Hymns and Fireside Verses (1839), dedicated to Caroline Bowles. Queen Victoria presented a copy of the latter to at least one of her ministers.

After fourteen years in Nottingham, in 1836 the Howitts went to live in Surrey, near London, where they could be closer to the center of British publishing. Mary took over from Landon the editorship of the Drawing-Room Scrap-Book, for which she provided all the copy in 1840 and 1841. The pub­lisher Thomas Tegg, having seen one of Mary's short stories, commissioned her to write thirteen tales for children in a series called Tales for the People and Their Children, paying her one thousand pounds in installments. Sev­eral of the books came out each year in the early 1840s and went through many editions. One of them, Little Coin, Much Care; or, How Poor Men Live, A Tale (1842) inspired Elizabeth Gaskell as she wrote Mary Barton. Another, Autobiography of a Child, tells the story of her own childhood.

By this time both Mary and William Howitt had become well-known and well-respected writers in England as well as in America, where Thomas Cow-

4. Quoted in "William and Mary Howitt;' Leisure Hour 26 (15 September 1877): 586.

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perthwait, a Philadelphia publisher, bound Mary's Poetical Works with that of Keats. In America, by the mid-184os she was the most highly respected of living foreign poets.5 In the American annuals, she is among the three British authors appearing most frequently. Howitt developed many American friendships. Through William Lloyd Garrison, she met Frederick Douglass, to whom she sent books and for whom she became active in 1847 and 1848 in raising a subscription. Margaret Fuller, who visited the Howitts in the summer of 1846, recalled that "in Mary Howitt, I found the same engaging traits of character we are led to expect from her books for children." 6 Godey's Lady's Book included Mary Howitt among the "Illustrious Women of Our Time." In 1840 the Howitts went to live in Germany, settling in Heidelberg. They visited Munich, Prague, Berlin, Vienna, and Dresden, not returning to London until April 1843, when they settled at The Grange, Upper Clapton.

Mary Howitt had a facility for learning languages, which served her well as a writer. When she discovered the work of the Swedish feminist novelist Fredrika Bremer, she read all she could of her work in German translations, then began learning Swedish. Working from the German and in concert with William, she translated into English Bremer's popular novel The Neighbours. Beginning in 1843, they translated Bremer's fiction directly from the Swedish, eventually translating nineteen books in all. Later, Mary Howitt learned Danish so that she could translate the works of Hans Christian Andersen. In March 1844 the Howitts suffered a devastating blow when their ten-year­old son Claude died from the aftereffects of a fall. That summer the family moved to The Elms, Lower Clapton, where for the first time in her life Mary had a study of her own.

In the 1840s the Howitts were active in politics, supporting anti-corn law legislation, the peace movement, women's economic rights, the movement for national compulsory education, Irish relief, Catholic emancipation, the anti-enclosure act, the extension of suffrage, and the revision of the poor laws. As humanitarians, they opposed capital punishment, slavery, child labor, and cruelty to animals. They shared a bond of political liberalism with friends such as Leigh Hunt, Lucretia Mott, and Richard Hengist Horne. The Howitt circle also came to include Charles Kean, Charles Dickens, Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke, Alfred Tennyson, the Rossettis, and other Pre-Raphaelites. Mary could be outspoken about her opinions. In March 1854 seventeen-year­old Anne Thackeray was shocked when Mary "announced her opinion that women should sit in Parliament." For many years Mary wrote ballads and

5. Carl R. Woodring, Victorian Samplers: William and Mary Howitt (Lawrence, Kans., 1952), i. 6. R. W. Emerson, W. H. Channing, and J. F. Clarke, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Osso/i, 2 vols.

(New York, 1869), 2:183.

Mary Howitt

translations for Dickens's Household Words. In 1846 William became an edi­tor and part owner of the People's Journal, and in January 1847 William and Mary founded the weekly Howitt's Journal to advocate democratic causes. It began with a circulation of thirty thousand and cost one shilling. Elizabeth Gaskell contributed "Libbie Marsh's Three Eras"-her literary debut-and later two more short stories.7 Howitt's Journal gave Jane Eyre a positive review. As early as February 1830, Mary had praised William Blake's engravings, and the Howitts reprinted his design "Death's Door" on the front page of the 20 November issue of Howitt's Journal. After eighteen months, however, the weekly ceased publication; it had never made a profit and had led the Howitts into bankruptcy. They moved to more modest quarters at 28 Upper Avenue Road, St. John's Wood, near Regent's Park.

Mary's Poems and Ballads (1847) enjoyed great popularity, and she worked with William in 1851 to construct the first English history of Scandinavian literature. In June 1852 William sailed with his two sons to Australia to pros­pect for gold, returning two and a half years later with no fortune but with rich material for books. By the late fifties William and Mary were making annual trips to the Continent. In March 1867 they moved to The Orchard, Claygate, near Esher, where they became active in the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; in a dozen books Mary urged children to be kind to animals. Her world was shaken in 1863 when their son Charlton drowned in Lake Brunner, New Zealand, but the couple achieved a financial security they had never before had in 1865 when William was awarded a civil list pension of £140 per year. They left for Switzerland and Italy in 1870, in­tending to return in a year. But instead, because they could live more cheaply abroad, they made their home in Rome, where they knew Joseph Severn and Louisa May Alcott. William died of bronchitis on 3 March 1879 at the age of eighty-seven and was buried in the Protestant cemetery in Rome, near the graves of Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats. Shortly thereafter the queen awarded Mary a civil list pension of £100 a year "in consideration ofliterary

. " services. Two years later Mary moved with her daughter Margaret to a villa near

Meran. She and William had resigned from the Society of Friends in l 84 7 and had allied themselves with Unitarianism. Later they subscribed to spiritual­ism, frequently holding seances at their home. Now, influenced by Margaret's adopted faith, in 1882 Mary converted to Roman Catholicism. In early Janu­ary 1888 she had an audience with Pope Leo XIII. Weeks later, on 30 January,

7. She published under the pseudonym Cotton Mather Mills. The Howitts also encouraged Gaskell to write; they read her first novel, Mary Barton, in manuscript and helped her publish it.

Mary Howitt

at the age of nearly eighty-nine, she died of bronchitis in Rome; by spe­cial dispensation, she was buried beside William in the Protestant cemetery. She had authored, co-authored, edited, or translated well over one hun­dred books.

MAJOR WORKS: The Seven Temptations (London, 1834); Sketches ef Natural History (London, 1834); Tales in Prose (London, [1836)); Tales in Verse (London, [1836)); Wood Leighton; or, A Year in the Country, 3 vols. (London, 1836); Birds and Flowers and Other Country Things (London, 1838); Hymns and Fireside Verses (London, 1839); Hope On, Hope Ever! A Tale (London, 1840); Sowing and Reaping; or, What Will Come ef It? (Lon­don, 1840); Strive and Thrive, a Tale (London, 1840); Fireside Verses (London, [1845]);

My Own Story; or, The Autobiography of a Child (London, 1845); Ballads, and Other Poems (London, 1847); Our Cousins in Ohio (London, 1849); Marion's Pilgrimage, a Fire-side Story, and Other Poems (London, [1859]); The Poet's Children (London, [1863]); Birds and Their Nests (London, [1872]).

WITH WILLIAM HOWITT: The Forest Minstrel, and Other Poems (London, 1823); The Desolation of Byam: The Emigrant, a Tale ef the American Woods: And Other Poems (Lon­don, Edinburgh, and Dublin, 1827); Howitt's Journal ef Literature and Popular Programs, 1847-48.

TEXTS USED: Texts of "The Countess Lamberti" and "The Fairies of the Caldon Low" from Ballads, and Other Poems. "The Spider and the Fly" appeared in 1829 in the New Year's Gift; this copy-text is from Sketches of Natural History (1834). "The Voyage with the Nautilus" appeared in The Gem for 1831; this copy-text is the revised text printed in Ballads, and Other Poems. Text of "Tibbie Inglis; or, The Scholar's Wooing" from the Forget-Me-Not for 1834. Texts of "The Nettle-King" and "The Broom-Flower" from Sketches of Natural History. "A Swinging Song" appeared in the New Year's Gift for 1836 and in Tales in Verse; this text is taken from Tales in Verse for Young People (1865).

Text of "The Sea-Gull" from Birds and Flowers, and Other Country Things. Text of "Old Christmas" from Hymns and Fireside Verses.

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The Countess Lamberti

She still was young; but guilt and tears Had done on her the work of years. In a lone house of penitence

She dwelt; and, saving unto one, A sorrowing woman meek and kind,

Words spake she unto none.

It was about the close of May, When they two sate apart

In the warm light of parting day, That she unsealed her burdened heart.

"They married me when I was young, A very child in years;

They married me at the dagger's point, Amid my prayers and tears.

"To Count Lamberti I was wed, He to the pope was brother,

They made me pledge my faith to him The while I loved another:

Ay, while I loved to such excess, My love than madness scarce was less!

"I would have died for him, and he Loved me with equal warmth and truth.

Lamberti's age was thrice mine own, And he had long outli.ved his youth.

"His brow was scarred by many wounds; His eye was stern, and cold, and grave;

He was a soldier from his youth, And all confessed him brave;

He had been much in foreign lands, And once among the Moors a slave.

Mary Howitt

"I thought of him like Charlemagne, Or any knight of old:

When I was a child upon the knee His deeds to me they told.

"I knew the songs they made of him, I sang them when a child:

Giuseppe sang them too with me, He loved all tales of peril wild.

"I tell thee, he was stern and grey; His years were thrice mine own.

That I was to Giuseppe pledged, To all my kin was known.

"My heart was to Giuseppe vowed; Love was our childhood's lot;

I loved him ever; never knew The time I loved him not.

"He was an orphan, and the last Of a long line of pride:

My father took him for his son; He was to us allied.

"And he within our house was bred, From the same books in youth we read, Our teachers were the same; and he Was as a brother unto me;

A brother!-no, I never knew How warm a brother's love might be;

But dearer every year he grew.

"Love was our earliest, only life; Twin forms that had one heart

Were we, and for each other lived, And never thought to part.

"My father had him trained for war; He went to Naples, where he fought:

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And then the Count Lamberti came, And me in marriage sought;

He from my father asked my hand, And I knew nought of what they planned.

"I was no party in the thing. Why he was ever at my side

I knew not; nor why, when we rode, My father bade me with him ride.

"No, no! And when Lamberti spoke Of love, I misbelieving heard;

And strangely gazed into his face, Appalled at every word.

"It seemed to me as if there fell From some old saint a tone of hell; As if the hero heart of pride, Which my Giusepp' had sanctified Among the heroes of old time, Before me blackened stood with crime.

"That night my father sought my room, And, furious betwixt rage and pride,

He bade me on an early day Prepare to be Lamberti's bride.

"I thought my father too was mad, Yet silently I let him speak;

I had no power for word or sign, I felt the blood forsake my cheek.

''.And my heart beat with desperate pain, The sting of rage was at its core;

There was a tumult in my brain, And I fell senseless on the floor.

''.At length, upon my knees, I prayed My father to regard the vow

Mary Howitt

Which to Giuseppe I had made. Oh Heaven! his furious brow,

His curling lip of sneering scorn, Like fiends they haunt me now.

''Ay, spite my vows, they made me wed, Young as I was in years;

At the dagger's point they married me, Amid my prayers and tears.

"Our palace was at Tivoli, An ancient place of Roman pride,

Girt round with a sepulchral wood, Wherein a ruined temple stood;

And there, whilst I was yet a bride, I saw Giuseppe at my side.

"My own Giuseppe! He had come From Naples with a noble train;

He came to claim me for his wife~ Would God we ne'er had met again!

"Lamberti's speech still harsher grew, And darker still his spirit's gloom;

At length, all suddenly, one day He hurried me to Rome.

"I had a dream, three times it came: I saw as plainly as by day

A horrid thing, the bloody place Where young Giuseppe lay.

"I saw them in that ancient wood, I heard him wildly call on God;

I saw him stabbed; I saw him dead Upon the bloody sod.

"I knew the murderers, they were two; I saw them with my sleeping eye;

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I knew their voices stern and grim; I saw them plainly murder him

In the old wood at Tivoli. Three times the dream was sent to me,

It could not be a lie.

"I knew it could not be a lie; I knew his precious blood was spilt;

I saw the murderer day by day Dwell calmly in his guilt.

"No wonder that a frenzy came; At midnight from my bed I leapt,

I snatched a dagger in my rage, I stabbed him as he slept.

"I say, I stabbed him as he slept. It was a horrid deed of blood;

But then I knew that he had slain Giuseppe in the wood.

"I told my father of my dream; I watched him every word I spake;

He tried to laugh my dream to scorn, And yet I saw his body quake.

"They fetched Giuseppe from the wood, And a great funeral feast they had;

They buried Count Lamberti too, And said that I was mad.

"I was not mad, and yet I bore A curse that was no less;

And many, many years went on Of gloomy wretchedness.

"I saw my father, how he grew An old man ere his prime;

I knew the secret penance-pain He bore for that accursed crime.

Mary Howitt

"I too, there is a weight of sin Upon my soul,-it will not hence:

'Tis therefore that my life is given To one long penitence."

The Spider and the Fly. An Apologue. A New Version of an Old Story

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly, " 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I've many curious things to shew when you are there." "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!" IO

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend what can I do, To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome-will you please to take a slice?" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise, How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! 20

I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf, If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir;' she said, "for what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

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The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again: So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,

30 "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple-there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue­Thinking only of her crested head-poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,

40 Within his little parlour-but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

(1829)

The Voyage with the Nautilus

I made myself a little boat, As trim as trim could be;

I made it of a great pearl shell Found in the Indian Sea.

I made my masts of wild sea-rush That grew on a secret shore,

And the scarlet plume of the halcyon Was the pleasant flag I bore.

7 halcyon) Kingfisher; in ancient legends, a bird that breeds in a nest floating on the sea and charms the waves and winds into calm.

Mary Howitt

For my sails I took the butterfly's wings; For my ropes the spider's line;

And that mariner old, the Nautilus, To steer me over the brine.

For he had sailed six thousand years, And knew each isle and bay;

And I thought that we, in my little boat, Could merrily steer away.

The stores I took were plentiful: The dew as it sweetly fell;

And the honey that was hoarded up In the wild bee's summer cell.

"Now steer away, thou helmsman good, Over the waters free;

To the charmed Isle of the Seven Kings, That lies in the midmost sea."

He spread the sail, he took the helm; And, long ere ever I wist,

We had sailed a league, we had reached the isle That lay in the golden mist.

The charmed Isle of the Seven Kings, 'Tis a place of wondrous spell;

And all that happed unto me there In a printed book I'll tell.

Said I, one day, to the Nautilus, As we stood on the strand,

"Unmoor my ship, thou helmsman good, And steer me back to land;

"For my mother, I know, is sick at heart, And longs my face to see.

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What ails thee now, thou Nautilus? Art slow to sail with me?

Up! do my will; the wind is fresh, So set the vessel free."

He turned the helm; away we sailed Towards the setting sun:

The flying-fish were swift of wing, But we outsped each one.

And on we went for seven days, Seven days without a night;

We followed the sun still on and on, In the glow of his setting light.

Down and down went the setting sun, And down and down went we;

'Twas a splendid sail for seven days On a smooth descending sea.

On a smooth, descending sea we sailed, Nor breeze the water curled:

My brain grew sick, for I saw we sailed On the down-hill of the world.

"Good friend," said I to the Nautilus, "Can this the right course be?

And shall we come again to land?" But answer none made he;

And I saw a laugh in his fishy eye, As he turned it up to me.

So on we went; but soon I heard A sound as when winds blow,

And waters wild are tumbled down Into a gulf below.

And on and on flew the little bark, As a fiend her course did urge;

And I saw, in a moment, we must hang Upon the ocean's verge.

Mary Howitt

I snatched down the sails, I snapped the ropes, I broke the masts in twain;

But on flew the bark and 'gainst the rocks, Like a living thing did strain.

"Thou'st steered us wrong, thou helmsman vile!" Said I to the Nautilus bold;

"We shall down the gulf; we're dead men both! Dost know the course we hold?"

I seized the helm with a sudden jerk, And we wheeled round like a bird;

But I saw the Gulf of Eternity, And the tideless waves I heard.

"Good master;' said the Nautilus, "I thought you might desire

To have some wondrous thing to tell Beside your mother's fire.

"What's sailing on a summer sea? As well sail on a pool;

Oh, but I know a thousand things That are wild and beautiful!

"And if you wish to see them now, You've but to say the word."

"Have done!" said I to the Nautilus, "Or I'll throw thee overboard.

"Have done!" said I, "thou mariner old, And steer me back to land."

No other word spake the Nautilus, But took the helm in hand.

I looked up to the lady moon, She was like a glow-worm's spark;

And never a star shone down to us Through the sky so high and dark.

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We had no mast, we had no ropes, And every sail was rent;

And the stores I brought from the charmed isle In the seven days' sail were spent.

But the Nautilus was a patient thing, And steered with all his might

On the up-hill sea; and he never slept, But kept the course aright.

And for thrice seven nights we sailed and sailed; At length I saw the bay

Where I built my ship, and my mother's house 'Mid the green hills where it lay.

"Farewell!" said I to the Nautilus, And leaped upon the shore;

"Thou art a skilful mariner, But I'll sail with thee no more!"

Tibbie Inglis, or The Scholar's Wooing

Bonny Tibbie Inglis! Through sun and stormy weather,

She kept upon the broomy hills Her father's flock together.

Sixteen summers had she seen -A rosebud just unsealing­

Without sorrow, without fear, In her mountain sheiling.

She was made for happy thoughts, For playful wit and laughter,

Singing on the hills alone, With Echo singing after.

Mary Howitt

She had hair as deeply black As the cloud of thunder;

She had brows so beautiful, And dark eyes sparkling under.

Bright and witty shepherd-girll Beside a mountain-water

I found her, whom a king himself Would proudly call his daughter.

She was sitting 'mong the crags, Wild, and mossed, · and hoary,

Reading in an ancient book Some old martyr-story.

Tears were starting to her eyes, Solemn thought was o'er her;

When she saw in that lone place A stranger stand before her,

Crimson was her sunny cheek, And her lips seemed moving

With the beatings of her heart­How could I help loving!

Among the crags I sat me down, Upon the mountain hoary,

And made her read again to me That old, pathetic story.

And then she sang me mountain-songs, Till all the air was ringing

With her clear and warbling voice, As when the lark is singing.

And when the eve came on at length, Among the blooming heather,

We herded on the mountain's side Her father's flock together.

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And near unto her father's house I said "Good night" with sorrow,

And only wished that I might say "We'll meet again to-morrow."

I watched her tripping to her home; I saw her meet her mother:

''.Among a thousand maids;' I cried, "There is not such another!"

I wandered to my scholar's home­Silent it looked and dreary;

I took my books, but could not read­Methought that I was weary.

I laid me down upon my bed, My heart with sadness laden;

I dreamt but of the mountains wild, And of the mountain-maiden.

I saw her in her ancient book The pages turning slowly;

I saw her lovely crimson cheek, And dark eye drooping lowly.

The dream was like the day's delight, A life of pain's o'erpayment:

I rose, and with unwonted care Put on my sabbath-raiment.

To none I told my secret thought, Not even to my mother,

Nor to the friend who from my youth Was dear as is a brother.

I gat me to the hills again, Where the little flock was feeding,

And there young Tibbie Inglis sate, But not the old book reading.

Mary Howitt

She sate as if absorbing thought With a heavy spell had bound her,

As silent as the mossy crags Upon the mountains round her.

I thought not of my sabbath-dress, I thought not of my learning;

I thought but of the gentle maid, Who, I believed, was mourning.

Bonny Tibbie Inglis! How her beauty brightened,

Looking at me half abashed With eyes that flashed and lightened!

There was no sorrow then I saw, There was no thought of sadness.

Oh, Life! what after-joy hast thou Like Love's first certain gladness!

I sate me down among the crags, Upon the mountain hoary;

But read not then the ancient book­Love was our pleasant story.

And then she sang me songs again, Old songs of love and sorrow,

For our sufficient happiness Great charm from woe could borrow.

And many hours we talked in joy, Yet too much blessed for laughter: -

I was a happy man that day-And happy ever after!

(1834)

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The Nettle-King

There was a Nettle both great and strong; And the threads of his poison flowers were long; He rose up in strength and height also, And he said, 'TH be king of the plants below!" It was a wood both drear and dank, There grew the Nettle so broad and rank; And an Owl sate up in an old ash tree That was wasting away so silently; And a Raven was perched above his head,

IO And they both of them heard what the Nettle-king said; And there was a toad that sate below, Chewing his venom sedate and slow, And he heard the words of the Nettle also.

The Nettle he throve, and the Nettle he grew, And the strength of the earth around him he drew: There was a pale Stellaria meek, But as he grew strong, so she grew weak; There was a Campion, crimson-eyed, But as he grew up, the campion died;

20 And the blue Veronica, shut from light, Faded away in a sickly white; For upon his leaves a dew there hung, That fell like a blight from a serpent's tongue, And there was not a flower about the spot, Herb-Robert, Harebell, nor Forget-me-not. Yet up grew the Nettle like water-sedge, Higher and higher above the hedge; The stuff of his leaves was strong and stout, And the points of his stinging-flowers stood out;

3 o And the Child that went in the wood to play, From the great King-nettle would shrink away!

"Now;' says the Nettle, "there's none like me; "I am as great as a plant can be! "I have crushed each weak and tender root,

Mary Howitt

"With the mighty power of my kingly foot; "I have spread out my arms so strong and wide, ''And opened my way on every side; "I have drawn from the earth its virtues fine, "To strengthen for me each poison-spine; "Both morn and night my leaves I've spread, "And upon the falling dews have fed, "Till I am as great as a forest-tree; "The great wide world is the place for me!" Said the Nettle-king in his bravery.

Just then came up a Woodman stout, In the thick of the wood he was peering about. The Nettle looked up, the Nettle looked down, And graciously smiled on the simple clown: "Thou knowest me well, Sir Clown;' said he, "And 'tis meet that thou reverence one like me!" Nothing at all the man replied, But he lifted a scythe that was at his side, And he cut the Nettle up by the root, And trampled it under his heavy foot; And he saw where the Toad in its shadow lay, But he said not a word, and went his way.

The Broom-Flower

0 the Broom, the yellow Broom, The ancient poet sung it,

And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it.

(1834)

I know the realms where people say The flowers have not their fellow;

I know where they shine out like suns, The crimson and the yellow.

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I know where ladies live enchained In luxury's silken fetters,

And flowers as bright as glittering gems Are used for written letters.

But ne'er was flower so fair as this In modern days or olden;

It groweth on its nodding stem Like to a garland golden.

And all about my mother's door Shine out its glittering bushes,

And down the glen, where clear as light The mountain-water gushes.

Take all the rest, -but give me this, And the bird that nestles in it;

I love it, for it loves the broom, The green and yellow linnet.

Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, And boast of that of Sharon,

Of lilies like to marble cups, And the golden rod of Aaron.

I care not how these flowers may be Beloved of man and woman;

The Broom it is the flower for me That groweth on the common.

Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, The ancient poet sung it,

And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it!

(r834)

Mary Howitt

A Swinging Song

Merry it is on a summer's day, All through the meadows to wend away; To watch the brooks glide fast or slow, And the little fish twinkle down below; To hear the lark in the blue sky sing, Oh, sure enough, 'tis a merry thing­But 'tis merrier far to swing-to swing!

Merry it is on a winter's night, To listen to tales of elf and sprite, Of caves and castles so dim and old-The dismallest tales that ever were told; And then to laugh, and then to sing­You may take my word is a merry thing­But 'tis merrier far to swing-to swing!

Down with the hoop upon the green; Down with the ringing tambourine;­Little heed we for this or for that; Off with the bonnet, off with the hat! Away we go like birds on the wing! Higher yet! higher yet! "Now for the King!" This is the way we swing-we swing!

Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so light -Mount up behind him -there, that is right! Down bends the branch now!-swing him away; Higher yet-higher yet-higher I say! Oh, what a joy it is! Now let us sing "A pear for the Queen-an apple for the King!" And shake the old tree as we swing-we swing!

(1836)

22 Claude] One of the poet's sons.

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The Sea-Gull

Oh, the white Sea-gull, the wild Sea-gull, A joyful bird is he,

As he lies like a cradled thing at rest In the arms of a sunny sea!

The little waves rock to and fro, And the white Gull lies asleep,

As the fisher's bark, with breeze and tide, Goes merrily over the deep.

The ship, with her fair sails set, goes by, And her people stand to note,

How the Sea-gull sits on the rocking waves, As if in an anchored boat.

The sea is fresh, the sea is fair, And the sky calm overhead,

And the Sea-gull lies on the deep, deep sea, Like a king in his royal bed!

Oh, the white Sea-gull, the bold Sea-gull, A joyful bird is he,

Throned like a king, in calm repose On the breast of the heaving sea!

The waves leap up, the wild wind blows, And the gulls together crowd,

And wheel about, and madly scream To the deep sea roaring loud;-

And let the sea roar ever so loud, And the winds pipe ever so high,

With a wilder joy the bold sea-gull Sends forth a wilder cry, -

For the Sea-gull he is a daring bird, And he loves with the storm to sail;

To ride in the strength of the billowy sea, And to breast the driving gale!

The little boat she is tossed about, Like a sea-weed to and fro;

The tall ship reels like a drunken man, As the gusty tempests blow.

Mary Howitt

But the Sea-gull laughs at the fear of man, And sails in a wild delight

On the torn-up breast of the night-black sea, Like a foam cloud, calm and white.

The waves may rage and the winds may roar, But he fears not wreck nor need,

For he rides the sea, in its stormy strength, As a strong man rides his steed.

Oh the white Sea-gull, the bold sea-gull! He makes on the shore his nest,

And he tries what the inland fields may be; But he loveth the sea the best!

And away from land a thousand leagues, He goes 'mid surging foam;

What matter to him is land or shore, For the sea is his truest home!

And away to the north 'mid ice-rocks stern, And amid the frozen snow,

To a sea that is lone and desolate, Will the wanton sea-gull go.

For he careth not for the winter wild, Nor those desert-regions chill;

In the midst of the cold, as on calm, blue seas, The sea-gull hath his will!

And the dead whale lies on the northern shores, And the seal, and the sea-horse grim,

And the death of the great sea-creatures makes A full, merry feast for him!

Oh the wild sea-gull, the bold sea-gull! As he screams in his wheeling flight:

As he sits on the waves in storm or calm, All cometh to him aright!

All cometh to him as he liketh best; Nor any his will gainsay;

And he rides on the waves like a bold, young king, That was crowned but yesterday!

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Old Christmas

Now he who knows old Christmas, He knows a carle of worth;

For he is as good a fellow, As any upon the earth!

He comes warm cloked and coated, And buttoned up to the chin,

And soon as he comes a-nigh the door, We open and let him in.

We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean;

We set him the old armed chair, And a cushion whereon to lean.

And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay,

Just out of an old regard to him, -For it was his ancient way.

We broach the strong ale barrel, And bring out wine and meat;

And thus have all things ready, Our dear old friend to greet.

And soon as the time wears round, The good old carle we see,

Coming a-near;-for a creditor Less punctual is than he!

He comes with a cordial voice That does one good to hear;

He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he hath done many a year.

2 carle] A man of the common people.

Mary Howitt

And after the little children He asks in a cheerful tone,

Jack, Kate, and little Annie, -He remembers them every one!

What a fine old fellow he is! With his faculties all as clear,

And his heart as warm and light As a man's in his fortieth year!

What a fine old fellow, in troth! Not one of your griping elves,

Who, with plenty of money to spare, Think only about themselves!

Not he! for he loveth the children; And holiday begs for all;

And comes with his pockets full of gifts, For the great ones and the small!

With a present for every servant;­For in giving he doth not tire;­

From the red-faced, jovial butler, To the girl by the kitchen-fire.

And he tells us witty old stories; And singeth with might and main;

And we talk of the old man's visit Till the day that he comes again!

Oh he is a kind, old fellow For though that beef be dear,

He giveth the parish paupers A good dinner once a year!

And all the workhouse children He sets them down in a row,

And giveth them rare plum-pudding, And two-pence a-piece also.

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Oh, could you have seen those paupers, Have heard those children young,

You would wish with them that Christmas Came often and tarried long!

He must be a rich old fellow, -What money he gives away!

There is not a lord in England Could equal him any day!

Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing,

For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king!

(1839)

The Fairies of the Caldon Low. A Midsummer Legend

''.And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?"

"I've been at the top of the Caldon Low, The midsummer-night to see!"

''.And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low?"

"I saw the glad sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow."

''.And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Hill?"

"I heard the drops of the water made, And the ears of the green corn fill."

"O! tell me all, my Mary, All, all that ever you know;

Mary Howitt

For you must have seen the fairies, Last night, on the Caldon Low."

"Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine.

A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine.

''And their harp-strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small;

But oh! the words of their talking Was merrier far than all."

''And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say?"

"I'll tell you all, my mother; But let me have my way.

"Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill;

'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill:

" 'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May;

And a busy man will the miller be At dawning of the day.

" 'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the mill-dam rise!

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

''And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill;

And each put a horn unto his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill:

" 'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go Away from every horn;

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And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind, old widow's corn.

"'Oh! the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so long,

She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong.'

"And some they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low;

'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow.

"'Oh! the poor, lame weaver, How will he laugh outright,

When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!'

''And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin;

'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin.

" 'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another;

A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother.'

"With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free;

And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me.

''And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and grey,

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay.

61 brownie] "A benevolent spirit or goblin, of shaggy appearance, supposed to haunt old houses, esp. farm houses in Scotland, and sometimes to perform useful household work while the family were asleep" (OED).

Mary Howitt

"But, coming down from the hill-top, I heard afar below,

How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go.

"And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, All standing stout and green.

''.And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung;

But I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue.

"Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see;

So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be."

(1839)

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