WASHING-DAY. .....................and their voice, Turning again towards childish treble, pipes THE Muses are turned gossips; they have lost Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire By little whimpering boy, with rueful face; Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend, With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on Nor comfort;-ere the first gray streak of dawn, Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth, Visits the parlour,—an unwonted guest. Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower. Of sad disasters,—dirt and gravel stains Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once Snapped short, and linen-horse by dog thrown down, And all the petty miseries of life. Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack, And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals; But never yet did housewife notable -But grant the welkin fair, require not thou Or usual 'tendance;-ask not, indiscreet, Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents Of coarse checked apron,—with impatient hand Twitched off when showers impend or crossing lines : Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim On such a day the hospitable rites! Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy, Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes Or tart or pudding :-pudding he nor tart In silence dines, and early slinks away. I well remember, when a child, the awe This day struck into me; for then the maids, I scarce knew why, looked cross, and drove me from them: Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope Usual indulgencies; jelly or creams, Relic of costly suppers, and set by For me their petted one; or buttered toast, Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins Drawn from her ravelled stocking, might have soured One less indulgent. At intervals my mother's voice was heard, Urging dispatch: briskly the work went on, All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to wring, To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait. Then would I sit me down, and ponder much Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow bowl Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft The floating bubbles; little dreaming then To see, Mongolfier, thy silken ball Ride buoyant through the clouds-so near approach The sports of children and the toils of men. Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles, And verse is one of them-this most of all. |