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Coal and Candlelight, and Other Verses

A BALLAD OF LORDS AND LADIES

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"At Wycombe County Court ... as Lords and Lady of the Manor of Turville ..."

A SECOND spring came round when fell To save our land (men said) from Hell Of Teuton tyranny her sons— On what strange soil, to what strange guns. And here on English sward where some Unsacrificed remained at home The mild commenting sage saw pass The insensate strife of class with class Men lived in England side by side As sweetly as their brethren died In Flanders, said the Optimist. One instance to augment his list ... In England, when the tranquil spring Bought and endowed with suffering Began, and the heroic year's New wheat shot up through blood and tears Of sacrifice its slender shoots; When every elm-tree, its great roots Confirmed in English agony, Shook its red buds against the sky; In April, when the country lifted Its winter-smitten face and shifted From sombre tenderness to smiles The sun-swept champaign's miles on miles And melody made the morning rich— Then Lords and Ladies lined the ditch With the same spear-shaped leaves that stood, Noble and meek, beneath the Rood, Dappled with Jesus Christ His Blood. As emulous of those unfurled swords One noble Lady and two Lords— Whose names the chronicler rejoice, One Mrs. Nairne and Lord Camoys And Mr. Hewitt—did consort To sue in Wycombe County Court "A cottager," one Walter West: And did from that tribunal wrest A strong injunction to affray The man from "cutting thorn or may Or trespassing" where the Manor's hand Lay on "the waste or common land Of Turville." With the noble Three's Victory went the lawyers' fees— "Costs, and one shilling damages." Now, even in war-time, when one-half Our ink wells forth in epitaph And every quill their fate commends Who lay down lives to save their friends, There should be gall enough for those Who lay down laws to snare their foes; A little monument or cairn For my Lord Camoys, Mrs. Nairne And Mr. Hewitt, who, while hosts Of English cottagers on coasts Unknown went down to death, effaced One cottager from Turville Waste; Conserving in this world of scorns Their brambles for the Crown of Thorns.

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