---

George Meredith - The Doe: A Fragment (From Wandering Willie)
Work rating: Low

And—`Yonder look! yoho! yoho! 
Nancy is off!` the farmer cried, 
Advancing by the river side, 
Red-kerchieft and brown-coated;—`So, 
My girl, who else could leap like that? 
So neatly! like a lady! `Zounds! 
Look at her how she leads the hounds!` 
And waving his dusty beaver hat, 
He cheered across the chase-filled water, 
And clapt his arm about his daughter, 
And gave to Joan a courteous hug, 
And kiss that, like a stubborn plug 
From generous vats in vastness rounded, 
The inner wealth and spirit sounded: 
Eagerly pointing South, where, lo, 
The daintiest, fleetest-footed doe 
Led o`er the fields and thro` the furze 
Beyond: her lively delicate ears 
Prickt up erect, and in her track 
A dappled lengthy-striding pack. 

Scarce had they cast eyes upon her, 
When every heart was wagered on her, 
And half in dread, and half delight, 
They watched her lovely bounding flight; 
As now across the flashing green, 
And now beneath the stately trees, 
And now far distant in the dene, 
She headed on with graceful ease: 
Hanging aloft with doubled knees, 
At times athwart some hedge or gate; 
And slackening pace by slow degrees, 
As for the foremost foe to wait. 
Renewing her outstripping rate 
Whene`er the hot pursuers neared, 
By garden wall and paled estate, 
Where clambering gazers whooped and cheered. 
Here winding under elm and oak, 
And slanting up the sunny hill: 
Splashing the water here like smoke 
Among the mill-holms round the mill. 

And—`Let her go; she shows her game, 
My Nancy girl, my pet and treasure!` 
The farmer sighed: his eyes with pleasure 
Brimming: ``Tis my daughter`s name, 
My second daughter lying yonder.` 
And Willie`s eye in search did wander, 
And caught at once, with moist regard, 
The white gleams of a grey churchyard. 
`Three weeks before my girl had gone, 
And while upon her pillows propped, 
She lay at eve; the weakling fawn - 
For still it seems a fawn just dropt 
A se`nnight—to my Nancy`s bed 
I brought to make my girl a gift: 
The mothers of them both were dead: 
And both to bless it was my drift, 
By giving each a friend; not thinking 
How rapidly my girl was sinking. 
And I remember how, to pat 
Its neck, she stretched her hand so weak, 
And its cold nose against her cheek 
Pressed fondly: and I fetched the mat 
To make it up a couch just by her, 
Where in the lone dark hours to lie: 
For neither dear old nurse nor I 
Would any single wish deny her. 
And there unto the last it lay; 
And in the pastures cared to play 
Little or nothing: there its meals 
And milk I brought: and even now 
The creature such affection feels 
For that old room that, when and how, 
`Tis strange to mark, it slinks and steals 
To get there, and all day conceals. 
And once when nurse who, since that time, 
Keeps house for me, was very sick, 
Waking upon the midnight chime, 
And listening to the stair-clock`s click, 
I heard a rustling, half uncertain, 
Close against the dark bed-curtain: 
And while I thrust my leg to kick, 
And feel the phantom with my feet, 
A loving tongue began to lick 
My left hand lying on the sheet; 
And warm sweet breath upon me blew, 
And that `twas Nancy then I knew. 
So, for her love, I had good cause 
To have the creature "Nancy" christened.` 

He paused, and in the moment`s pause, 
His eyes and Willie`s strangely glistened. 
Nearer came Joan, and Bessy hung 
With face averted, near enough 
To hear, and sob unheard; the young 
And careless ones had scampered off 
Meantime, and sought the loftiest place 
To beacon the approaching chase. 

`Daily upon the meads to browse, 
Goes Nancy with those dairy cows 
You see behind the clematis: 
And such a favourite she is, 
That when fatigued, and helter skelter, 
Among them from her foes to shelter, 
She dashes when the chase is over, 
They`ll close her in and give her cover, 
And bend their horns against the hounds, 
And low, and keep them out of bounds! 
From the house dogs she dreads no harm, 
And is good friends with all the farm, 
Man, and bird, and beast, howbeit 
Their natures seem so opposite. 
And she is known for many a mile, 
And noted for her splendid style, 
For her clear leap and quick slight hoof; 
Welcome she is in many a roof. 
And if I say, I love her, man! 
I say but little: her fine eyes full 
Of memories of my girl, at Yule 
And May-time, make her dearer than 
Dumb brute to men has been, I think. 
So dear I do not find her dumb. 
I know her ways, her slightest wink, 
So well; and to my hand she`ll come, 
Sidelong, for food or a caress, 
Just like a loving human thing. 
Nor can I help, I do confess, 
Some touch of human sorrowing 
To think there may be such a doubt 
That from the next world she`ll be shut out, 
And parted from me! And well I mind 
How, when my girl`s last moments came, 
Her soft eyes very soft and kind, 
She joined her hands and prayed the same, 
That she "might meet her father, mother, 
Sister Bess, and each dear brother, 
And with them, if it might be, one 
Who was her last companion." 
Meaning the fawn—the doe you mark - 
For my bay mare was then a foal, 
And time has passed since then:- but hark!` 

For like the shrieking of a soul 
Shut in a tomb, a darkened cry 
Of inward-wailing agony 
Surprised them, and all eyes on each 
Fixed in the mute-appealing speech 
Of self-reproachful apprehension: 
Knowing not what to think or do: 
But Joan, recovering first, broke through 
The instantaneous suspension, 
And knelt upon the ground, and guessed 
The bitterness at a glance, and pressed 
Into the comfort of her breast 
The deep-throed quaking shape that drooped 
In misery`s wilful aggravation, 
Before the farmer as he stooped, 
Touched with accusing consternation: 
Soothing her as she sobbed aloud:- 
`Not me! not me! Oh, no, no, no! 
Not me! God will not take me in! 
Nothing can wipe away my sin! 
I shall not see her: you will go; 
You and all that she loves so: 
Not me! not me! Oh, no, no, no!` 
Colourless, her long black hair, 
Like seaweed in a tempest tossed 
Tangling astray, to Joan`s care 
She yielded like a creature lost: 
Yielded, drooping toward the ground, 
As doth a shape one half-hour drowned, 
And heaved from sea with mast and spar, 
All dark of its immortal star. 
And on that tender heart, inured 
To flatter basest grief, and fight 
Despair upon the brink of night, 
She suffered herself to sink, assured 
Of refuge; and her ear inclined 
To comfort; and her thoughts resigned 
To counsel; her wild hair let brush 
From off her weeping brows; and shook 
With many little sobs that took 
Deeper-drawn breaths, till into sighs, 
Long sighs, they sank; and to the `hush!` 
Of Joan`s gentle chide, she sought 
Childlike to check them as she ought, 
Looking up at her infantwise. 
And Willie, gazing on them both, 
Shivered with bliss through blood and brain, 
To see the darling of his troth 
Like a maternal angel strain 
The sinful and the sinless child 
At once on either breast, and there 
In peace and promise reconciled 
Unite them: nor could Nature`s care 
With subtler sweet beneficence 
Have fed the springs of penitence, 
Still keeping true, though harshly tried, 
The vital prop of human pride.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.