BETA

Dick’s Apophthegm.

“ Avoid the man who hates flowers and the voice
of a child.”
I wound along the face of Dover cliffs1
In hot July, and dazzling white the chalk2
Ray’d back the heat : above a dizzy height,3
Hung fearless wild flowers, and the washing wave4
Broke on the beach a dizzy depth below.5
Sick with the noonday blaze, I marked a cave,6
Scoop’d out to witless semblance of a house,7
One room, with crazy door ; and entering in8
Found Dick, the path-cutter. No sinecure9
His office. Year by year the touch of time10
Makes havoc : frost-crabb’d winter and the storms11
Make mimic avalanches of the chalk,12
And spoil his work. Yea, summer scarce re-
frains :13
And every wave that lashes on the rock14
Rolls back like milk. I found Dick garrulous ;15
And, being idle, sat an hour and smoked ;16
And watch’d the sails pass by the open door,17
And saw the buoy dip with the battery shot.18
A hale and honest fellow, Dick, content19
With little, gathering samphire, netting prawns ;20
With cheery talk for every passer-by,21
Tho’ sleeping on a mat of straw : his age22
Some three-score years; with tough and sinewy
arms,23
But softer heart. Two children, on two stools,24
Sat near him : guests, who stay’d out half a day,25
And found in wifeless Dick a friend. The girl,26
Some four years old,—I took her for a boy,—27
Half wild, half shy, and graceful as a goat,28
As native as the sea-wreck to the place,29
Made friends with me, too. Yellow hair she had,30
Unloop’d, and brown bare little legs and feet,31
And wide blue eyes. I liked to talk with Dick :32
A shrewd and travell’d man, and apt at speech.33
“ He’s the grand master,”—pointing to the sea,34
Dick said,— “ he’s master of all masters here,35
When winter comes : he’s quiet enough now.”36
Who loves not talk like this, from one whose hands37
Sweat with rough toil ?  I listen’d with delight.38
I learn’d some lessons, and acquired some facts :39
That samphire is no longer in demand ;40
That fossils will not sell. He had a stock :41
Shut in a flint a sea-urchin, complete—42
A beauty ! What seas left it on the shore,43
A million years ere God wall’d England round44
With ever-shifting bulwark of the main ?45
Then flints were low in price; he hoarded up :46
He would not let them go, though hoarding up47
Came hard. But one grand lesson, which I knew,—48
But here repeat for such as are more used49
Than I and Dick to measure with the world,—50
The old man’s lips made beautiful. He said,51
“ Avoid the man who loves not the wild flowers,52
Nor cares to hear the prattling of a child.”53
Pondering the lesson as I went I felt54
How true it was : yea, somehow, with the sense55
Of its deep truth, the sea-gulls dipp’d more glad,56
The lisping wave broke tenderer on the shore,57
The seaman’s oar seem’d human, and Heaven kind.58