Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79. | | | | Limavaddy (Newtown-Limavaddy) | | Peg of Limavaddy | | William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863) |
| | | RIDING from Coleraine | |
| (Famed for lovely Kitty), | |
| Came a Cockney bound | |
| Unto Derry city; | |
| Weary was his soul, | 5 |
| Shivering and sad, he | |
| Bumped along the road | |
| Leads to Limavaddy. | |
| |
| Mountains stretched around, | |
| Gloomy was their tinting, | 10 |
| And the horse’s hoofs | |
| Made a dismal clinting; | |
| Wind upon the heath | |
| Howling was and piping, | |
| On the heath and bog, | 15 |
| Black with many a snipe in. | |
| |
| Mid the bogs of black, | |
| Silver pools were flashing, | |
| Crows upon their sides | |
| Picking were and splashing. | 20 |
| Cockney on the ear | |
| Closer folds his plaidy, | |
| Grumbling at the road | |
| Leads to Limavaddy. | |
| |
| Through the crashing woods | 25 |
| Autumn brawled and blustered, | |
| Tossing round about | |
| Leaves the hue of mustard; | |
| Yonder lay Lough Foyle, | |
| Which a storm was whipping, | 30 |
| Covering with mist | |
| Lake and shores and shipping. | |
| Up and down the hill | |
| (Nothing could be bolder), | |
| Horse went with a raw | 35 |
| Bleeding on his shoulder. | |
| “Where are horses changed?” | |
| Said I to the laddy | |
| Driving on the box: | |
| “Sir, at Limavaddy.” | 40 |
| |
| Limavaddy inn ’s | |
| But a humble bait-house, | |
| Where you may procure | |
| Whiskey and potatoes; | |
| Landlord at the door | 45 |
| Gives a smiling welcome | |
| To the shivering wights | |
| Who to his hotel come. | |
| Landlady within | |
| Sits and knits a stocking, | 50 |
| With a wary foot | |
| Baby’s cradle rocking. | |
| To the chimney nook | |
| Having found admittance, | |
| There I watch a pup | 55 |
| Playing with two kittens, | |
| (Playing round the fire, | |
| Which of blazing turf is, | |
| Roaring to the pot | |
| Which bubbles with the murphies). | 60 |
| And the cradled babe | |
| Fond the mother nursed it, | |
| Singing it a song | |
| As she twists the worsted! | |
| |
| Up and down the stair | 65 |
| Two more young ones patter | |
| (Twins were never seen | |
| Dirtier nor fatter). | |
| Both have mottled legs, | |
| Both have snubby noses, | 70 |
| Both have— Here the host | |
| Kindly interposes: | |
| “Sure you must be froze | |
| With the sleet and hail, sir: | |
| So will you have some punch, | 75 |
| Or will you have some ale, sir?” | |
| Presently a maid | |
| Enters with the liquor | |
| (Half a pint of ale | |
| Frothing in a beaker). | 80 |
| Gads! I did n’t know | |
| What my beating heart meant: | |
| Hebe’s self I thought | |
| Entered the apartment. | |
| As she came she smiled, | 85 |
| And the smile bewitching, | |
| On my word and honor, | |
| Lighted all the kitchen! | |
| |
| With a courtesy neat | |
| Greeting the new-comer, | 90 |
| Lovely, smiling Peg | |
| Offers me the rummer; | |
| But my trembling hand | |
| Up the beaker tilted, | |
| And the glass of ale | 95 |
| Every drop I spilt it: | |
| Spilt it every drop | |
| (Dames, who read my volumes, | |
| Pardon such a word) | |
| On my what-d’-ye-call-’ems! | 100 |
| |
| Witnessing the sight | |
| Of that dire disaster, | |
| Out began to laugh | |
| Missis, maid, and master; | |
| Such a merry peal | 105 |
| ’Specially Miss Peg’s was, | |
| (As the glass of ale | |
| Trickling down my legs was,) | |
| That the joyful sound | |
| Of that mingling laughter | 110 |
| Echoed in my ears | |
| Many a long day after. | |
| |
| Such a silver peal! | |
| In the meadows listening, | |
| You who ’ve heard the bells | 115 |
| Ringing to a christening; | |
| You who ever heard | |
| Caradori pretty, | |
| Smiling like an angel, | |
| Singing “Giovinetti”; | 120 |
| Fancy Peggy’s laugh, | |
| Sweet and clear and cheerful, | |
| At my pantaloons | |
| With half a pint of beer full! | |
| |
| When the laugh was done, | 125 |
| Peg, the pretty hussy, | |
| Moved about the room | |
| Wonderfully busy; | |
| Now she looks to see | |
| If the kettle keep hot; | 130 |
| Now she rubs the spoons, | |
| Now she cleans the teapot; | |
| Now she sets the cups | |
| Trimly and secure: | |
| Now she scours a pot, | 135 |
| And so it was I drew her. | |
| |
| Thus it was I drew her | |
| Scouring of a kettle, | |
| (Faith! her blushing cheeks | |
| Reddened on the metal!) | 140 |
| Ah! but ’t is in vain | |
| That I try to sketch it; | |
| The pot perhaps is like, | |
| But Peggy’s face is wretched. | |
| No! the best of lead | 145 |
| And of Indian-rubber | |
| Never could depict | |
| That sweet kettle-scrubber! | |
| |
| See her as she moves! | |
| Scarce the ground she touches, | 150 |
| Airy as a fay, | |
| Graceful as a duchess; | |
| Bare her rounded arm, | |
| Bare her little leg is, | |
| Vestris never showed | 155 |
| Ankles like to Peggy’s. | |
| Braided is her hair, | |
| Soft her look and modest, | |
| Slim her little waist | |
| Comfortably bodiced. | 160 |
| |
| This I do declare, | |
| Happy is the laddy | |
| Who the heart can share | |
| Of Peg of Limavaddy. | |
| Married if she were, | 165 |
| Blest would be the daddy | |
| Of the children fair | |
| Of Peg of Limavaddy. | |
| Beauty is not rare | |
| In the land of Paddy, | 170 |
| Fair beyond compare | |
| Is Peg of Limavaddy. | |
| |
| Citizen or Squire, | |
| Tory, Whig, or Radi- | |
| cal would all desire | 175 |
| Peg of Limavaddy. | |
| Had I Homer’s fire, | |
| Or that of Sergeant Taddy, | |
| Meetly I ’d admire | |
| Peg of Limavaddy. | 180 |
| And till I expire, | |
| Or till I grow mad, I | |
| Will sing unto my lyre | |
| Peg of Limavaddy! | | | | |
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