John and Joan, Canto II

John and Joan, Canto II. 1. Loud laugh’d the Soldier ; when the Reeve, who now In sullen silent guise had sitten long, With doubtful eye, bent head and moody brow, The whiles the glee and laughter waxed strong, As if it gaul’d him sorely, seeing how Thus ladies gent were treated with such wrong, With accents rather low, and somewhat hoarse, Began, in gentle phrases, his discourse. 2. Ah ! Sirs, quoth he, were I to tell a tale For every lying legend ye have told, Invented, at a gentle sex to rail, By those whose heads are hot and hearts are cold, Believe, my store of praise would never fail, Tho’ I should parable till I were old ; But this that I am going to relate Shall serve for many, sith it is so great. 3. Of woman’s love, which is so hard to woo, When woo’d, how strong, full many proofs there be, And how immutable and fearless too— “ My love, thro’ all the world I’ll follow thee,” So Juliet says—— ; the bird that cries “ cuckoo,” His small mate followeth thus from tree to tree, From bough to bough—nay e’en from spray to spray,— Still restless, thro’ the merry hours of May. 4. And while our Love hath nurture, to endure And burn, like radiant beacon, seen afar, Thro’ untried seas a streaming Cynosure, At once our Matin and our Vesper star, No marvel it abideth strong and sure, Amid the turmoils of this worldly war, A constant pilot, and a guiding light, Thro’ storms by day, and rocks and shoals by night. 5. But when, to feed the fire, it once is seen That fit material doth not much abound, Or that no fuel, save or damp or green, Or else cross-grain’d or knotty, can be found, And the flame waxeth rather thin and mean, And yieldeth an uneasy, crackling sound, Flickers, looks blue,—looks red—or waves about, Now very smoky, and now nearly out ; 6. Then, mid the storms of ill-contrasted temper, Where neither hath a tittle of submission, This semper idem, that eadem semper, For ever crossing, always in attrition, (‘Twould puzzle metaphysic Kant, or Kempfer, To bring about a moment’s coalition,) Then, that such souls as these should still love on, That is a miracle for Love alone ! 7. It springeth like that low and unseen Rose That on the mountain summit dares to grow, Where Autumn hardly thaws the ling’ring snows, And storms unheard, and unknown whirlwinds blow ; There, where the weary, journeying clouds repose, And the moon climbs, with long ascent and slow, And fays and lesser spirits play at even, Like harmless lightning in a summer’s heaven. 8. ’Tis like the Petrel that the sailor eyes With dread,—o’er treach’rous seas condemn’d to roam,— That still is met beneath the stormiest skies, And on the desert waters hath its home ; Above the curling billow still it flies, And sleeps well cradled in the fleecy foam, Lull’d by the discord of the whistling squall, And rock’d to rest on hills that rise and fall. 9. And this is none of your glib paradoxes, That only serve the wags for mystifying, As conj’rors do with double-bottom’d boxes— Behold a couple for each other dying, (Unless the author of the hist’ry mocks us) Who all their lives in quarrel had been frying. Their matrimonial pudding was of Batter, With scarce a plumb to sweeten it ;—no matter.— 10. Oh ! miracle ! (—a greater can there be —?) To see how Love can shed his holiest balm, Within a circle none dares walk but he —; Where all are sick, fresh and without a qualm; So underneath the depths of the wild sea, Ev’n in the loudest storms,—there is a calm, But truce to hopes—my story must be sped, John met with Joan, lov’d, woo’d, and they were wed. 11. One small objection, either they o’erpassed, Or else despised, when it was brought in view ; He was an alkali, and she an acid, And this, when ’twas too late, they found too true, The longer still the more, they effervesced, As more confirmed, by time, their tempers grew,— A sort of fizzing, sputtering communion, Sir Humphrey Davy calls “ a chemic union.” 12. Like that small, wooden pair that stand, so sly, To tell us what the weather is about, Where Gammer comes and curtsies, when ’tis dry, And Gaffer, when it rains, doth make his lout, So sometimes they might have a clearish sky, But ’twas when he was in, and she was out ;— As for the couple that arrange the weather, God knows, they never are at home together. 13. So, long, this loving, most unhappy pair Liv’d, like a brace of angry adders fang’d, So piteous of each others’ woes they were, One could have borne to see the other hang’d, (Altho’ that sight were worse than death to bear) Each for the others’ sake !——as they harangued, One day, upon the sorrows of their yoke, John, in a happy hour, resolv’d and spoke. 14. “ Sweet Joan, thou know’st that I would die for thee, “ And well I know that thou for me would’st die.” And here he twinkled, pitiful to see ;— Joan gave a sort of “ heigh!”—’twas scarce a sigh, “ But wast thou gone, what maid would look on me, “ With grief an’ labour worn, and crabb’d and dry, “ But thou, dear Joan, when faithful John hath died, “ May’st have a chance again to be a bride.” 15. “ And, so my loving Joan, my dear—dear, Cony, “ Since there is nothing but a choice of ill, “ Since I cannot afford thee alimony, “ And would be loath by quarrelling to kill, “ (Thou know’st my love, my heart was never stoney) “ Oh! come and see me die—for die I will— “ Die for the love of thee, my darling, die,— “ Yes ;—quickly in the horsepond will I lie.” 16. “ Let not the bitter drops, my gentle Joan, “ Bedim the lustre of thy cheek and eye, “ For since the springtime of our life is flown, “ And winter comes, and summer passeth bye, “ Beneath the waters, peaceful and alone, “ E’en like the torpid swallow, will I lie, “ The cutting show’r unfelt—the storm unheard, “ And men shall say that John—hath disappear’d.” 17. “ They ask—where goeth he that disappears ? “ But who can tell where he migrated ? “ Hold but thy tongue, my Joan, and dry thy tears,— “ For trust me, Sweet, most vainly they are shed ; “ How can they reach a heart that’s proof to fears, “ In Love’s strong fortress, shut and sheltered ? “ What boots that haildrops down the chimney come, “ Hiss on the hearth, or patter round the room ?— 18. In short, John’s flights of eloquence refined, Joan’s answ’ring eloguence—by nature taught her, I could not copy, were I in the mind ; Nor can I tell you if her helpmate caught her, Less contradictiously, than wont, iodine Suffices it to say, they reach’d the water, Together—tho’ not arm in arm, I think,— But there they were, and stood upon the brink. 19. John hover’d on the brink, in silent mood, And look’d and sigh d, and sigh’d and look’d again, And gaz’d with wistful visage on, the flood, While, doubtfully, as pitying his pain, Joan, with her apron at her eyelid, stood ; At last, he seem’d to come into the vein, And turn’d, as if to take a final kiss, Before he plunged into the brown abyss. 20. But still a kind of look—not that of fear, Nor hope—play’d round his mouth, and cheek, and chin ; His eye chang’d not ; and, softly in her ear, He whisper’d Joan—“ Ah, me ! self-murder’s sin— Could’st thou not take a little frisk, my dear, As if in play, and gently push me in ; Nay, take a longer run—further, my life— There now—now stoutly push me, dearest wife.” 21. O Couple ! e’en in death affectionate, Not Arria and her Pœtus are before ye ! Joan, fearful of the welfare of her mate, Resolving that his soul should be in glory, And rest, at least, when in another state, In love and strong affection (saith the story), Drew back from him, some portion, not a little, Obeying her dear husband to a tittle ; 22. Then ran, with Amazonian resolution : But whether John had only half consented, Or fear was really in his constitution, Or in the very nick he had repented ; Or whether Fate herself was in confusion, Or Fortune took a whim, or Chance relented— How ’twas, I cannot tell you, for my life, But John a sort of—dodg’d ;—in splash’d his wife. 23. With open mouth, and saucer staring eyes, John for a second stood like any stone, Then lifted up his hands, in wild surprise— “ For love of me didst thou go in, dear Joan, Or did’st thou slip thy foot ?—what signifies ? There are no slips ; and since ’tis done, ’tis done ; Folks only can remark, since thou art gone, ’Tis Joan hath disappear’d, instead of John.” 24. “ If there be any scandal, John shall bear it— Bear it he must, so even let it fall.” Then (after some half hour), that all might hear it, “ I’ve lost my Joan—help !” John began to bawl ; And in a trice, his cause of grief to share it, Came trooping young and old, and great and small ; They dragg’d the piece of water, it is said, And so Joan was not lost, but she was—dead. 25. She died—nor did her John long time survive, Tho’ folks have wonder’d what should John destroy ; Some said that with his grief he could not strive, Whilst others whisper’d that he died of joy ; Some say the juice which, when she was alive, They took to soothe their woes, was his annoy ; But both are gone—nor is a stone supplied, To teach how this good couple liv’d and died.