William Gurney.
The hundred acres, golden with the hopes1
Of Farmer Morton, murmured to the toil2
Of many reapers, and the listening farm3
Lay buried to the eaves in harvest-home.4
The land was big with harvest and the sun5
Smiled bright approval on the golden days,6
When Mary Morton fied her father’s door,7
And William Gurney took his scythe to reap8
Among the reapers.
Men and women shrank9
And sought not commune with their moody mate ;10
For William, with his three-and-twenty springs,11
Was counted old in evil, having won12
A name below allenvy. But he toiled13
Early and late, nor sported in his toil,14
And reaped his golden acre while his mates15
Mowed in their gladness at their golden roods.16
So that he garnered favour in the eyes17
Of Matthew Morton, and the Farmer held18
The man was goodlier than his merry mates.19
But William Gurney, thinking as he reaped20
Among the reapers, dreamed a bitter dream21
About a weeping woman whom he loved22
Less than he wished to love her ; oftentimes23
Her voice would seem to mingle with the sounds24
Of harvest, and the music of her tears25
Came in the sobbing of the autumn rain.26
Her father, who had loved to think27
Of a dear daughter in her bridal dress,28
Sought long and vain the author of her wrong.29
The reapers frolicked in the sun-kissed field30
Breast-deep in dingy gold, and William toiled31
Both late and early. Then it came to pass32
In the mid-harvyest, that the Farmer’s dame33
Fulfilled her travail once again, and bore34
Her second babe, a boy ; and Matthew gave35
A feast in honour of his happy dame36
And of her boy. So all the place was loud37
With holiday, and men and women donned38
Their best to dance away a merry night ;39
But bitter William Gurney hung apart,40
Caught in a mood that fretted at the din41
Of merry-making. Then the Farmer’s heart42
Waxed wroth ; and, chafing in his age he joined43
The hue-and-cry among the harvesters,44
And argued all his babe against the man.45
But on the morrow morning William toiled46
In silence, never sporting in his toil.47
And when the land-was laid and Autumn died48
’Mid her drained vintage and her slanted sheaves,49
The reaper William Gurney took his hire50
And went his way. But, when the plenteous days51
Of vintage and of harvest came again,52
And farmers’ hearts were high, he reaped once more53
Among the reapers—toiling, sick at heart,54
Early and late, nor sporting in his toil.55
One autumn noon the Farmer and his dame56
Walked through the fields of harvest with their child,57
Glad with the season : when it came to pass58
She laid the little babe ’mid harvest home59
Close to the spot where William bound the sheaves,60
And walked away a hundred yellow yards,61
Seeing not William. But the little babe62
Rolled in the sun and kicked among the corn,63
Laughing and crowing, stretching pinky arms.64
To cling about the reaper while he toiled.65
Then William frowned, and bitter wrinkles rolled66
Up to his eyes and hardened on his brows,67
And pain lay heavy on him ; but at last68
His heart flashed up and brightened unaware,69
And lights of laughter dimpled in his cheeks,70
And blushing like a girl he leaped a hedge71
And held the youngling in his hot hard hands,72
Talking a woman’s nothings to it, weak73
As a girl-mother. When the happy dame74
Came back to take her own, she lifted hands75
And flung a merry blessing from her merry eyes,76
To see the babe a-ride on William’s back,77
And William Gurney on his hands and knees78
Aping the canter of a four-year-old,79
As bashful as a milk-maid when she blows80
The soft sow-thistle. So the woman took81
Her own, and thanked the man with merry words,82
And clapped his shoulders thrice ; and William toiled83
Early and late, but sported in his toil.84
So William Gurney, casting off his scorn,85
Took kindly to the infant ; and the dame86
Knew with a woman’s instinct that its face87
Had thawed a childhood in the bitter heart88
Which loved it. When the yellow sheaves were laid,89
And Matthew Morton gathered in the year,90
The Farmer and his dame thought kindly thoughts91
Of William. When the reapers took their hire,92
Broad Matthew Morton kissed the babe and made93
A goodly offer to the moody man94
Who loved it. William Gurney in the end95
Made sullen pledge to see the winter out96
And do a labourer’s work about the farm.97
But when the Year had grown white-hair’d and old,98
Shrill-voiced, and thin, and grewsome in its age,99
It came to pass that men and women stole100
On tiptoe through the chambers of the farm,101
And Matthew Morton, peevish in his fear,102
Fretted amid his household. For the babe103
Lay grieved with sickness. William Gurney toiled104
And wore the old dark looks ; but when the night105
Stole down and darkened in-the grievous house,106
He watched the little infant now and then,107
And read the crying wishes in its eyes108
As with a woman’s instinct, feeling all109
The tenderer man at work about his heart.110
And when the little life was laid asleep,111
Dressed in its milk-white garments for the grave,112
And when the music of the churchyard bells113
Broke through the blood of Matthew and his name,114
He spoke not, weak as foam. But the good God115
Who willed so well that every mortal man116
Should know that he was once a little child,117
Heard William, when the pretty baby died,118
Mourn with a sense of joy. Ah ! true it is119
That fellowship with pity made this heart120
Yearn to a weeping woman and her babe,121
Just for the gladness held in utter tears.122
So in the very end it came to pass,123
When May was singing with a shining face,124
Like some fair angel singing songs of God,125
And writing God’s soft poems with the flowers,126
That Matthew Morton’s household caught a joy127
Due to the season, and the season spread128
Its many bounties with a sowing hand.129
For there had sprung in William Gurney’s heart130
A second birth of love, completer far131
Than first-love kisses ; and the love had borne132
Hopes sheltered in the bosom of stern will.133
Then erring Mary Morton, with her child,134
Knelt at the Farmer’s feet in tender tears,135
And William said, “I bring you back your child ;136
I, William Gurney, he who sinned the sin,137
And taught her tears, do bring you back your child138
My wedded wife.” But Matthew Morton shook,139
And turned away his face ; when William said,140
“ Behold the sin is chastened, and she is141
My wedded wife.” But Matthew Morton shook142
Down to the roots of life, and hid his face143
Between his hands. Then William, frowning, said,144
“ She is my wedded wife—my love and wife ;145
I love her, Matthew Morton. For the sake146
Of all she was, or only for the sake147
Of the poor youngling ye have lost, I say,148
Father, forgive her !” —when the old man’s soul149
Broke, and he fell upon his knees and wept,150
Praying. So William Gurney stood apart,151
While Matthew raised his daughter from the earth,152
Answering the love and gladness in her heart153
With smiles, and tears, and kisses. Thus the house154
Brightened, and listened to the light footfall155
Of Mary Morton’s child ; and William toiled156
Both late and early, happy in his toil.157
And Matthew took delight in Mary’s child,158
And loved it even as his own asleep ;159
And heard his name make music on its lips,160
Link’d to the lovely name which Mary gained161
After her travail. William Gurney toiled,162
Happy in toil, and many happy years163
Did Mary Morton live a thrifty life164
Among her children, William throve, and soon165
Had earned some golden acres of his own,166
And, dwelling in his household till the end,167
Sought out and brought to light the golden chain168
Which links a homely happiness to God.169