She told how they used to form for the country dances—

   “The Triumph,” “The New-rigged Ship”—

To the light of the guttering wax in the panelled manses,

   And in cots to the blink of a dip.

She spoke of the wild “poussetting” and “allemanding”

   On carpet, on oak, and on sod;

And the two long rows of ladies and gentlemen standing,

   And the figures the couples trod.

She showed us the spot where the maypole was yearly planted,

   And where the bandsmen stood

While breeched and kerchiefed partners whirled, and panted

   To choose each other for good.

She told of that far-back day when they learnt astounded

   Of the death of the King of France:

Of the Terror; and then of Bonaparte’s unbounded

   Ambition and arrogance.

Of how his threats woke warlike preparations

   Along the southern strand,

And how each night brought tremors and trepidations

   Lest morning should see him land.

She said she had often heard the gibbet creaking

   As it swayed in the lightning flash,

Had caught from the neighbouring town a small child’s shrieking

   At the cart-tail under the lash . . .

With cap-framed face and long gaze into the embers—

   We seated around her knees—

She would dwell on such dead themes, not as one who remembers,

   But rather as one who sees.

She seemed one left behind of a band gone distant

   So far that no tongue could hail:

Past things retold were to her as things existent,

   Things present but as a tale.

May 20, 1902.