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lirik lagu ghizela rowe - elizabeth gaskell - sketches among the poor

in childhood’s days, i do remember me
of one dark house behind an old elm~tree
by gloomy streets surrounded, where the flower
brought from the fresher air, scarce for an hour
retained its fragrant scent; yet men lived there
yea, and in happiness; the mind doth clear
in most dense airs its own bright atmosphere
but in the house of which i spake there dwelt
one by whom all the weight of smokе was felt
she had o’erstеpped the bound ‘twixt youth and age
a single, not a lonely, woman, sage
and thoughtful ever, yet most truly kind:
without the natural ties, she sought to bind
hearts unto hers, with gentle, useful love
prompt at each change in sympathy to move
and so she gained the affection, which she prized
from every living thing, howe’er despised~~
a call upon her tenderness whene’er
the friends around her had a grief to share;
and, if in joy the kind one they forgot
she still rejoiced, and more was wanted not
said i not truly, she was not alone
though none at evening shared her clean hearth~stone?
to some she might prosaic seem, but me
she always charmed with daily poesy
felt in her every action, never heard
e’en as the mate of some sweet singing~bird
that mute and still broods on her treasure~nest
her heart’s fond hope hid deep within her breast
in all her quiet duties, one dear thought
kept ever true and constant sway, not brought
before the world, but garnered all the more
for being to herself a secret store
whene’er she heard of country homes, a smile
came brightening o’er her serious face the while;
she knew not that it came, yet in her heart
a hope leaped up, of which that smile was part
she thought the time might come, ere yet the bowl
were broken at the fountain, when her soul
might listen to its yearnings, unreproved
by thought of failure to the cause she loved;
when she might leave the close and noisy street
and once again her childhood’s home might greet

it was a pleasant place, that early home!
the brook went singing by, leaving its foam
among the flags and blue forget~me~not;
and in a nook, above that shelter’d spot
for ages stood a gnarled hawth~rn~tree;
and if you pass’d in spring~time, you might see
the knotted trunk all coronal’d with flowers
that every breeze shook down in fragrant showers;
the earnest bees in odorous cells did lie
hymning their thanks with murmuring melody;
the evening sun shone brightly on the green
and seem’d to linger on the lonely scene
and, if to others mary’s early nest
show’d poor and homely, to her loving breast
a charm lay hidden in the very stains
which time and weather left; the old dim panes
the grey rough moss, the house~leek, you might see
were chronicled in childhood s memory;
and in her dreams she wander’d far and wide
among the hills, her sister at her side~~
that sister slept beneath a grassy tomb
ere time had robbed her of her first sweet bloom
0 sleep! thou bringest back our childhood’s heart
ere yet the dew exhale, the hope depart;
thou callest up the lost ones, sorrow’d o’er
till sorrow’s self hath lost her tearful power;
thine is the fairy~land, where shadows dwell
evoked in dreams by some strange hidden spell
but day and waking have their dreams, 0 sleep
when hope and memory their fond watches keep;
and such o’er mary held supremest sway
when kindly labours task’d her hands all day
employ’d her hands, her thoughts roam’d far and free
till sense call’d down to calm reality
a few short weeks, and then, unbound the chains
which held her to another’s woes or pains
farewell to dusky streets and shrouded skies
her treasur’d home should bless her yearning eyes
and fair as in the days of childish glee
each grassy nook and wooded haunt should be
yet ever, as one sorrow pass’d away
another call’d the tender one to stay
and, where so late she shared the bright glad mirth
the phantom grief sat cowering at the hearth
so days and weeks pass’d on, and grew to years
unwept by mary, save for others’ tears
as a fond nurse, that from the mother’s breast
lulls the tired infant to its quiet rest
first stills each sound, then lets the curtain fall
to cast a dim and sleepy light o’er all
so age drew gently o’er each wearied sense
a deepening shade to smooth the parting hence
each cherish’d accent, each familiar tone
fell from her daily music, one by one;
still her attentive looks could rightly guess
what moving lips by sound could not express
o’er each loved face next came a filmy veil
and shine and shadow from her sight did fail
and, last of all, the solemn change they saw
depriving death of half his regal awe;
the mind sank down to childishness, and they
relying on her counsel day by day
( as some lone wanderer, from his home afar
takes for his guide some fix’d and well known star
till clouds come wafting o’er its trembling light
and leave him wilder’d in the pathless night)
sought her changed face with strange uncertain gaze
still praying her to lead them through the maze
they pitied her lone fate, and deemed it sad;
yet as in early childhood was she glad;
no sense had she of change, or loss of thought
with those around her no communion sought;
scarce knew she of her being. fancy wild
had placed her in her father’s house a child;
it was her mother sang her to her rest;
the lark awoke her, springing from his nest;
the bees sang cheerily the live long day
lurking ‘mid flowers wherever she did play;
the sabbath bells rang as in years gone by
swelling and falling on the soft wind’s sigh;
her little sisters knelt with her in prayer
and nightly did her father’s blessing share;
so, wrapt in glad imaginings, her life
stole on with all her sweet young memories rife
i often think (if by this mortal light
we e’er can read another’s lot aright)
that for her loving heart a blessing came
unseen by many, clouded by a name;
and all the outward fading from the world
was like the flower at night, when it has furled
its golden leaves, and lapped them round its heart
to nestle closer in its sweetest part
yes! angel voices called her childhood back
blotting out life with its dim sorrowy track;
her secret wish was ever known in heaven
and so in mystery was the answer given
in sadness many mourned her latter years
but blessing shone behind that mist of tears
and, as the child she deemed herself, she lies
in gentle slumber, till the dead shall rise

- lirik lagu ghizela rowe

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