Thomas Hardy

The Harvest-Supper

   (Circa 1850)

Nell and the other maids danced their best
With the Scotch-Greys in the barn;
These had been asked to the harvest-feast;
Red shapes amid the corn.

Nell and the other maids sat in a row
Within the benched barn-nook;
Nell led the songs of long ago
She’d learnt from never a book.

She sang of the false Sir John of old,
The lover who witched to win,
And the parrot, and cage of glittering gold;
And the other maids joined in.

Then whispered to her a gallant Grey,
‘Dear, sing that ballet again!
For a bonnier mouth in a bonnier way
Has sung not anywhen!’

As she loosed her lips anew there sighed
To Nell through the dark barn-door
The voice of her Love from the night outside,
Who was buried the month before:

‘O Nell, can you sing ballets there,
And I out here in the clay,
Of lovers false of yore, nor care
What you vowed to me one day!

‘O can you dance with soldiers bold,
Who kiss when dancing’s done,
Your little waist within their hold,
As ancient troth were none!’

She cried: ‘My heart is pierced with a wound!
There’s something outside the wall
That calls me forth to a greening mound:
I can sing no more at all!

‘My old Love rises from the worms,
Just as he used to be,
And I must let gay gallants’ arms
No more encircle me!’

They bore her home from the merry-making;
Bad dreams disturbed her bed:
‘Nevermore will I dance and sing,’
Mourned Nell; ‘and never wed!’