Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.

The Hand

Ebenezer Jones (1820–1860)

LONE o’er the moors I stray’d;

With basely timid mind,

Because by some betray’d,

Denouncing human-kind;

I heard the lonely wind,

And wickedly did mourn

I could not share its loneliness,

And all things human scorn.

And bitter were the tears

I cursèd as they fell;

And bitterer the sneers

I strove not to repel:

With blindly mutter’d yell,

I cried unto mine heart,—

‘Thou shalt beat the world in falsehood,

And stab it ere we part.’

My hand I backward drave

As one who seeks a knife;

When startlingly did crave

To quell that hand’s wild strife

Some other hand; all rife

With kindness, clasp’d it hard

On mine, quick frequent claspings

That would not be debarr’d.

I dared not turn my gaze

To the creature of the hand;

And no sound did it raise,

Its nature to disband

Of mystery; vast, and grand,

The moors around me spread,

And I thought, some angel message

Perchance their God may have sped.

But it press’d another press,

So full of earnest prayer,

While o’er it fell a tress

Of cool, soft, human hair,

I fear’d not;—I did dare

Turn round, ’twas Hannah there!

O! to no one out of heaven

Could I what pass’d declare.

We wander’d o’er the moor

Through all that blessèd day;

And we drank its waters pure,

And felt the world away;

In many a dell we lay,

And we twined flower-crowns bright;

And I fed her with moor-berries

And bless’d her glad eye-light.

And still that earnest pray-er

That saved me many stings,

Was oft a silent sayer

Of countless loving things;—

I’ll ring it all with rings,

Each ring a jewell’d band;

For heaven shouldn’t purchase

That little sister hand.