Once Upon a TimeElizaCookCook, ElizaIllustratorFrederickWalkerWalker, Frederick
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project TeamFukushimaKaileyUniversity of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry ProjectVictoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
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Once Upon a Time.Only look at Gaffer GreyCreeping slowly on his way,With a staff to help him stand,Leant on with a shaking hand ;With a step that fears to meetThe pebbles of the village street ;With a cheek that falleth in,And a very peaked chin ;With a forehead made of wrinklesCarved in crosses, cranks, and crinkles,And a voice so thin and mumblingThat his glee might pass for grumbling.See his eyes so blear and
dim,And his beard so grey and grim
;See his legs, all lean and
lank,Dwindled down to skin and shank.Poor old Gaffer Grey is labelledWith the words that tune my rhyme :Read him over—you’ll discoverNought but “ Once upon a time.”I wander’d to a spot of earth,Where Fame had crowned the ruin-crags,Where ravens in their shrieking mirthFlapp’d their black wings like conquerors’ flagsWaving above a battle-field ;Where bat and lizard had allied,With mole and owlet by their side,And forced the bulwark foe to yield.Some phantasy beguiled my sightWith vision of a gorgeous story,—Of jewell’d roof, of halls of light,Of purple woof, of walls of might,Of pillar’d temples, thrones of state,Of pomp and palace, grand and great,Of people’s shouts, of feasting kings,And all the myriad dazzling thingsThat haunt the place of faded glory.—I started, for a frighten’d thrushFlew from a tuft of sedgy rush,Then, gazing down, I stepp’d asideTo let the toad crawl back and hide ;A squirrel brood ran up the larchThat sway’d within the oriel arch,And then my tread disturb’d the restOf a wild rabbit in its nest.I trampled through the dank thick grass,To catch the bindweed’s trailing flowers,That tied themselves in tangled massAcross the cracking turret towers.The topmost battlement was lyingCo-equal with the buttress pile ;And dolefully the wind was sighingThrough festive court and priestly aisle.Time’s robe of green was flung aboutThe mammoth skeleton of strength ;And scatter’d bones of granite stonesTold of its giant breadth and length.I stood upon a scatter’d heapOf fragments of the watch-tower Keep ;I wander’d on, and stroll’d acrossThe banquet-hall, laid down with moss ;I climbed some steps shut out from day,Till dust and nettles choked my way ;I saw a mushroom springing upWhere royal feet had led the dance ;I saw the foxglove’s swinging cupWhere knights had hung their banner’d lance ;And as I gazed I saw a hand—A wither’d hand—stretch forth and writeA short text fraught with holy thought,Easy to read by dullest sight.’Twas plain and terse, but sacred pageGives nought more simple and sublime,It soften’d youth, it solaced age,It mock’d the hero and the sageIn these words—“ Once upon a time.”’Twas but yesterday I foundA score of letters, closely bound :Some were torn in treasured pieces,Some were worn in careful creases,Ink had faded, seals had crumbled,And my heart felt sad and humbled ;For I knew the thoughts, the hopes,The earnest wish, the brilliant tropesThose letters hasten’d to revealWere symboll’d by the ink and seal.I opened one—my pulse grew quicker,My eyelid fell, my breath came thicker ;I traced its lines, close, firm, and clear,Telling how deeply, fondly dear,The being was for whose loved sakeThat letter came, with such a cake.It gave report of Pincher’s health,It told of Muff’s increase of wealthIn five young rabbits, all milk-white,That Gyp and Dobbin were “ all right,”That Midsummer Would quickly come,And then for holidays and home.I gave a gasp, half sob, half sigh,While Memory’s flood-wave filled my eye,And folded from my misty gazeMy mother and my schoolgirl days.I look’d upon another hand,Bold, free, and dashing in its form ;And then I saw the lee-shore strand,And heard the passion of the stormThat tore the right arm from its hold,And flung it nerveless, still and cold,Upon the rocks, no more to sendIts tidings full of life and joy,And cheer his childhood’s playmate-friendWith letters from the sailor boy.Another and another scrollI opened—one by one I read :I gazed as they who may unrol ;A shroud to look upon the dead.Love, with its ardent vows, was there,Friendship, that promised to be true,Words that like summer light and airFill’d my heart’s world with gold and blue.Where was the lover? Where the friend ?The bond that was to know no end ?Where was the promise and the vow ?Alas, a yawning gulf of gloom,Bridged only by the dark grey tomb,Had open’d wide ’twixt then and now.A muffled sound seem’d breathing round,A mingled tone of merry chimeAnd funeral knells, but all the bellsGave chorus of the theme which tellsSad tales of “ Once upon a time.”Come, I will write my epitaphIn letters shadowy and dim,And though the young strong man may laugh,’Twill shortly serve as well for him.Just heap the clay where frost and sunMay help the ivy leaf to climb,And all I’ve said, and all I’ve
done,And all I’ve lost, and all I’ve
won,The struggling race that I have runShall find full record on the stoneIn these few words of solemn tone,—“ Once upon a time.”Eliza Cook.