They called me “black-leg,” “dastard,” harsh or name,
    But well I knew that infants must be fed;
    I saw sick women dying—old men dead.
I would not break my word and bring dark shame
Right round the world on British workman’s name.
    Man doth not live alone by wheaten bread,
    Wherefore I followed not the cry that led
To fires of anarchy which none can tame.

And tho’ around my head the innocent air
    Was filled with fierce persuasion—brickbats, curse,
    I faltered not, and sudden seemed to see
A face thorn-crowned but full of love and care,
    And heard, “The cross is hard, no cross is worse,
    Who serveth others shall himself be free.”

(Wigton Advertiser, 26 August 1911, p. 5)

Hits: 4653

(Joy)

Like huge dark herons thro’ the morning mist,
    Bare-legged the women in the shallows stand;
    Deep in the muddy river, with one hand
They sink the water-jars that swirl and twist,
Then with a clever jerking of the wrist
    They scoop in water and keep out the sand,
    And bear the gleaming ‘bellas’ safe to land.

But sweet Habeebeh back again will come
    To wash her arms and face and her full lips;
    She laughs, she is a bride, those finger-tips
So red with henna tell she has a home,
And lord; she cleanses next her jar from loam,
    Leaps up the bank, and shakes about her hips
    The flowing robe of blue, and off she trips.

(Idylls and Lyrics of the Nile, p. 79)

Hits: 4633

(Sorrow)

Not with the villagers at night and morn,
But very sorrowful the lonely mile,
Hadêyeh goes for water to the Nile.

For wedded long, no man-child has been born
Her lord and master’s village home to bless,
And all her life is heavy bitterness.

The dreary way she, silent and downcast,
Will plod in grief, but must perforce return
Head up, to bring the heavy household urn.

And every morn she wishes were the last,
But still toward the Nile perforce she goes,
And weeps, and none have pity on her woes.

For all the talk at morn and eventide,
When from the river Nile they water bear,
Is of the plants Egyptian mothers rear.

Of how the camel went for Hasan’s bride,—
How the Shêkh’s dame was lately brought to bed,
And of her firstborn now is lying dead.

To listen to the birds was her delight,
Her eyes were like the hawk’s that hangeth over,
She filled her hands with blossom of red clover.

Her ears are duller and her eyes less bright,
With her no more the flowers of spring prevail,
She hardly hears the piping of the quail.

And I have watched the melancholy wife
Stand sobbing, as she heaved the jar ashore,
And prayed she might not see the sunset more.

Have heard her groan, and seen the bitter strife
Wherewith unhelped she lifted up the jar,
And went by starlight home without a star.

(Idylls and Lyrics of the Nile, p. 80)

Hits: 4612

(Hope)

Shway-Shwáyah, with her lips all blue,
And chin dark-beaded with tattoo,
Takes the large water-jug in hand
And joins the river-going band.
She dreams the one thing good in life
Is to be chosen for a wife:
To-day she wins her fourteenth year,
And if full charged her head can bear
From the far Nile the large ‘bellas,’¹
Straight unto marriage she may pass.
So jauntily she sets aslope
The jar upon her crown of rope:
A man goes by; with native grace
She draws her veil across her face,
But I could see her dark eyes gleam
With laughter;—so toward the stream,
With ankle-bracelets jangling loud,
They hurry on, a barefoot crowd.
Then to the water-flood they haste,
The skirts bunched up about their waist,
Fill the large water-jars, and hand
Their shining amphoræ to land;
Raise to the knee, then with a cry
And helpful hoist from standers by,
Set the huge weight upon their head,
Find balance with a forward tread,
And stately, with one hand behind
To hold the burden to the wind,
High-crowned but solemnly and slow
The water-bearers homewards go,
With young Shway-shwáyah pleased to carry
Her full-sized jar—and fit to marry.

[¹ The large water-jars used  by the women to carry water from the Nile.]   

(Idylls and Lyrics of the Nile, p. 77)

Hits: 4537