The Fire At Tranter Sweatleys
Thomas Hardy
The Fire at Tranter Sweatleys
They had long met o Zundaysher true love and she
And at junketings, maypoles, and flings;
But she bode wi a thirtover uncle, and he
Swore by noon and by night that her goodman should be
Naibor Sweatleya gaffer oft weak at the knee
From taking o sommat more cheerful than tea
Who tranted, and moved peoples things.
She cried, O pray pity me! Nought would he hear;
Then with wild rainy eyes she obeyed,
She chid when her Love was for clinking off wi her.
The pason was told, as the season drew near
To throw over pupit the names of the peir
As fitting one flesh to be made.
The wedding-day dawned and the morning drew on;
The couple stood bridegroom and bride;
The evening was passed, and when midnight had gone
The folks horned out, God save the King, and anon
The two home-along gloomily hied.
The lover Tim Tankens mourned heart-sick and drear
To be thus of his darling deprived:
He roamed in the dark athart field, mound, and mere,
And, amost without knowing it, found himself near
The house of the tranter, and now of his Dear,
Where the lantern-light showed em arrived.
The bride sought her chamer so calm and so pale
That a Northern had thought her resigned;
But to eyes that had seen her in tide-times of weal,
Like the white cloud o smoke, the red battlefields vail,
That look spak of havoc behind.
The bridegroom yet laitered a beaker to drain,
Then reeled to the linhay for more,
When the candle-snoff kindled some chaff from his grain
Flames spread, and red vlankers, wi might and wi main,
And round beams, thatch, and chimley-tun roar.
Young Tim away yond, rafted up by the light,
Through brimble and underwood tears,
Till he comes to the orchet, when crooping thereright
In the lewth of a codlin-tree, bivering wi fright,
Wi ony her night-rail to screen her from sight,
His lonesome young Barbree appears.
Her cwold little figure half-naked he views
Played about by the frolicsome breeze,
Her light-tripping totties, her ten little tooes,
All bare and besprinkled wi Falls chilly dews,
While her great gallied eyes, through her hair hanging loose,
Sheened as stars through a tardle o trees.
She eyed en; and, as when a weir-hatch is drawn,
Her tears, penned by terror afore,
With a rushing of sobs in a shower were strawn,
Till her power to pour em seemed wasted and gone
From the heft o misfortune she bore.
O Tim, my own Tim I must call eeI will!
All the world ha turned round on me so!
Can you help her who loved ee, though acting so ill?
Can you pity her miseryfeel for her still?
When worse than her body so quivering and chill
Is her heart in its winter o woe!
I think I mid almost ha borne it, she said,
Had my griefs one by one come to hand;
But O, to be slave to thik husbird for bread,
And then, upon top o that, driven to wed,
And then, upon top o that, burnt out o bed,
Is more than my nater can stand!
Tims soul like a lion ithin en outsprung
(Tim had a great soul when his feelings were wrung)
Feel for ee, dear Barbree? he cried;
And his warm working-jacket about her he flung,
Made a back, horsed her up, till behind him she clung
Like a chiel on a gipsy, her figure uphung
By the sleeves that around her he tied.
Over piggeries, and mixens, and apples, and hay,
They lumpered straight into the night;
And finding bylong where a halter-path lay,
At dawn reached Tims house, ony seen on their way
By a naibor or two who were up wi the day;
But they gathered no clue to the sight.
Then tender Tim Tankens he searched here and there
For some garment to clothe her fair skin;
But though he had breeches and waistcoats to spare,
He had nothing quite seemly for Barbree to wear,
Who, half shrammed to death, stood and cried on a chair
At the caddle she found herself in.
There was one thing to do, and that one thing he did,
He lent her some clouts of his own,
And she took em perforce; and while in em she slid,
Tim turned to the winder, as modesty bid,
Thinking, O that the picter my duty keeps hid
To the sight o my eyes mid be shown!
In the tallet he stowed her; there huddied she lay,
Shortening sleeves, legs, and tails to her limbs;
But most o the time in a mortal bad way,
Well knowing that thered be the divel to pay
If twere found that, instead o the elements prey,
She was living in lodgings at Tims.
Wheres the tranter? said men and boys; where can er be?
Wheres the tranter? said Barbree alone.
Where on eth is the tranter? said everybod-y:
They sifted the dust of his perished roof-tree,
And all they could find was a bone.
Then the uncle cried, Lord, pray have mercy on me!
And in terror began to repent.
But before twas complete, and till sure she was free,
Barbree drew up her loft-ladder, tight turned her key
Tim bringing up breakfast and dinner and tea
Till the news of her hiding got vent.
Then followed the custom-kept rout, shout, and flare
Of a skimmington-ride through the naiborhood, ere
Folk had proof o wold Sweatleys decay.
Whereupon decent people all stood in a stare,
Saying Tim and his lodger should risk it, and pair:
So he took her to church. An some laughing lads there
Cried to Tim, After Sweatley! She said, I declare
I stand as a maiden to-day!
