Morning
and evening
Maids
heard the goblins cry:
"Come
buy our orchard fruits,
Come
buy, come buy:
Apples
and quinces,
Lemons
and oranges,
Plump
unpecked cherries,
Melons
and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked
peaches,
Swart-headed
mulberries,
Wild
free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples,
dewberries,
Pine-apples,
blackberries,All ripe together
In
summer weather,—
Morns
that pass by,
Fair
eves that fly;
Come
buy, come buy;
Our
grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates
full and fine,
Dates
and sharp bullaces,
Rare
pears and greengages,
Damsons
and bilberries,
Taste
them and try:
Currants
and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like
barberries,
Figs
to fill your mouth,
Citrons
from the South,
Sweet
to tongue and sound to eye,
Come
buy, come buy."
Evening
by evening
Among
the brookside rushes,
Laura
bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie
veiled her blushes:
Crouching
close together
In
the cooling weather,
With
clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With
tingling cheeks and fingertips.
"Lie
close," Laura said,
Pricking
up her golden head:
"We
must not look at goblin men,
We
must not buy their fruits:
Who
knows upon what soil they fed
Their
hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come
buy," call the goblins
Hobbling
down the glen.
"Oh,"
cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura,
You
should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie
covered up her eyes
Covered
close lest they should look;
Laura
reared her glossy head,
And
whispered like the restless brook:
"Look,
Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down
the glen tramp little men.
One
hauls a basket,
One
bears a plate,
One
lugs a golden dish
Of
many pounds weight.
How
fair the vine must grow
Whose
grapes are so luscious;
How
warm the wind must blow
Thro'
those fruit bushes."
"No,"
said Lizzie, "No, no, no;
Their
offers should not charm us,
Their
evil gifts would harm us."
She
thrust a dimpled finger
In
each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious
Laura chose to linger
Wondering
at each merchant man.
One
had a cat's face,
One
whisked a tail,
One
tramped at a rat's pace,
One
crawled like a snail,
One
like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One
like a ratel tumbled hurry scurry.
She
heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing
all together:
They
sounded kind and full of loves
In
the pleasant weather.
Laura
stretched her gleaming neck
Like
a rush-imbedded swan,
Like
a lily from the beck,
Like
a moonlit poplar branch,
Like
a vessel at the launch
When
its last restraint is gone.
Backwards
up the mossy glen
Turned
and trooped the goblin men,
With
their shrill repeated cry,
"Come
buy, come buy."
When
they reached where Laura was
They
stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering
at each other,
Brother
with queer brother;
Signalling
each other,
Brother
with sly brother.
One
set his basket down,
One
reared his plate;
One
began to weave a crown
Of
tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men
sell not such in any town);
One
heaved the golden weight
Of
dish and fruit to offer her:
"Come
buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura
stared but did not stir,
Longed
but had no money:
The
whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In
tones as smooth as honey,
The
cat-faced purr'd,
The
rat-paced spoke a word
Of
welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;
One
parrot-voiced and jolly
Cried
"Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly;"—
One
whistled like a bird.
But
sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good
folk, I have no coin;
To
take were to purloin:
I
have no copper in my purse,
I
have no silver either,
And
all my gold is on the furze
That
shakes in windy weather
Above
the rusty heather."
"You
have much gold upon your head,"
They
answered all together:
"Buy
from us with a golden curl."
She
clipped a precious golden lock,
She
dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then
sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter
than honey from the rock,
Stronger
than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer
than water flowed that juice;
She
never tasted such before,
How
should it cloy with length of use?
She
sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits
which that unknown orchard bore,
She
sucked until her lips were sore;
Then
flung the emptied rinds away
But
gathered up one kernel-stone,
And
knew not was it night or day
As
she turned home alone.
Lizzie
met her at the gate
Full
of wise upbraidings:
"Dear,
you should not stay so late,
Twilight
is not good for maidens;
Should
not loiter in the glen
In
the haunts of goblin men.
Do
you not remember Jeanie,
How
she met them in the moonlight,
Took
their gifts both choice and many,
Ate
their fruits and wore their flowers
Plucked
from bowers
Where
summer ripens at all hours?
But
ever in the moonlight
She
pined and pined away;
Sought
them by night and day,
Found
them no more but dwindled and grew grey;
Then
fell with the first snow,
While
to this day no grass will grow
Where
she lies low:
I
planted daisies there a year ago
That
never blow.
You
should not loiter so."
"Nay,
hush," said Laura:
"Nay,
hush, my sister:
I
ate and ate my fill,
Yet
my mouth waters still;
Tomorrow
night I will
Buy
more:" and kissed her:
"Have
done with sorrow;
I'll
bring you plums tomorrow
Fresh
on their mother twigs,
Cherries
worth getting;
You
cannot think what figs
My
teeth have met in,
What
melons, icy-cold
Piled
on a dish of gold
Too
huge for me to hold,
What
peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid
grapes without one seed:
Odorous
indeed must be the mead
Whereon
they grow, and pure the wave they drink,
With
lilies at the brink,
And
sugar-sweet their sap."
Golden
head by golden head,
Like
two pigeons in one nest
Folded
in each other's wings,
They
lay down in their curtained bed:
Like
two blossoms on one stem,
Like
two flakes of new-fall'n snow,
Like
two wands of ivory
Tipped
with gold for awful kings.
Moon
and stars gazed in at them,
Wind
sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering
owls forbore to fly,
Not
a bat flapped to and fro
Round
their rest:
Cheek
to cheek and breast to breast
Locked
together in one nest.
Early
in the morning
When
the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat
like bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura
rose with Lizzie:
Fetched
in honey, milked the cows,
Aired
and set to rights the house,
Kneaded
cakes of whitest wheat,
Cakes
for dainty mouths to eat,
Next
churned butter, whipped up cream,
Fed
their poultry, sat and sewed;
Talked
as modest maidens should:
Lizzie
with an open heart,
Laura
in an absent dream,
One
content, one sick in part;
One
warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One
longing for the night.
At
length slow evening came:
They
went with pitchers to the reedy brook;
Lizzie
most placid in her look,
Laura
most like a leaping flame.
They
drew the gurgling water from its deep;
Lizzie
plucked purple and rich golden flags,
Then
turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes
Those
furthest loftiest crags;
Come,
Laura, not another maiden lags,
No
wilful squirrel wags,
The
beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But
Laura loitered still among the rushes
And
said the bank was steep.
And
said the hour was early still,
The
dew not fall'n, the wind not chill:
Listening
ever, but not catching
The
customary cry,
"Come
buy, come buy,"
With
its iterated jingle
Of
sugar-baited words:
Not
for all her watching
Once
discerning even one goblin
Racing,
whisking, tumbling, hobbling;
Let
alone the herds
That
used to tramp along the glen,
In
groups or single,
Of
brisk fruit-merchant men.
Till
Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come;
I
hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look:
You
should not loiter longer at this brook:
Come
with me home.
The
stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each
glowworm winks her spark,
Let
us get home before the night grows dark:
For
clouds may gather even
Tho'
this is summer weather,
Put
out the lights and drench us thro';
Then
if we lost our way what should we do?"
Laura
turned cold as stone
To
find her sister heard that cry alone,
That
goblin cry,
"Come
buy our fruits, come buy."
Must
she then buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must
she no more such succous pasture find,
Gone
deaf and blind?
Her
tree of life drooped from the root:
She
said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But
peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning,
Trudged
home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So
crept to bed, and lay
Silent
till Lizzie slept;
Then
sat up in a passionate yearning,
And
gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and wept
As
if her heart would break.
Day
after day, night after night,
Laura
kept watch in vain,
In
sullen silence of exceeding pain.
She
never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come
buy, come buy;"—
She
never spied the goblin men
Hawking
their fruits along the glen:
But
when the noon waxed bright
Her
hair grew thin and gray;
She
dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To
swift decay and burn
Her
fire away.
One
day remembering her kernel-stone
She
set it by a wall that faced the south;
Dewed
it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched
for a waxing shoot,
But
there came none;
It
never saw the sun,
It
never felt the trickling moisture run:
While
with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She
dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees
False
waves in desert drouth
With
shade of leaf-crowned trees,
And
burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.
She
no more swept the house,
Tended
the fowls or cows,
Fetched
honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought
water from the brook:
But
sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And
would not eat.
Tender
Lizzie could not bear
To
watch her sister's cankerous care
Yet
not to share.
She
night and morning
Caught
the goblins' cry:
"Come
buy our orchard fruits,
Come
buy, come buy:"—
Beside
the brook, along the glen,
She
heard the tramp of goblin men,
The
voice and stir
Poor
Laura could not hear;
Longed
to buy fruit to comfort her,
But
feared to pay too dear.
She
thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who
should have been a bride;
But
who for joys brides hope to have
Fell
sick and died
In
her gay prime,
In
earliest Winter time,
With
the first glazing rime,
With
the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.
Till
Laura dwindling
Seemed
knocking at Death's door:
Then
Lizzie weighed no more
Better
and worse;
But
put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed
Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At
twilight, halted by the brook:
And
for the first time in her life
Began
to listen and look.
Laughed
every goblin
When
they spied her peeping:
Came
towards her hobbling,
Flying,
running, leaping,
Puffing
and blowing,
Chuckling,
clapping, crowing,
Clucking
and gobbling,
Mopping
and mowing,
Full
of airs and graces,
Pulling
wry faces,
Demure
grimaces,
Cat-like
and rat-like,
Ratel
and wombat-like,
Snail-paced
in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced
and whistler,
Helter
skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering
like magpies,
Fluttering
like pigeons,
Gliding
like fishes,—
Hugged
her and kissed her,
Squeezed
and caressed her:
Stretched
up their dishes,
Panniers,
and plates:
"Look
at our apples
Russet
and dun,
Bob
at our cherries
Bite
at our peaches,
Citrons
and dates,
Grapes
for the asking,
Pears
red with basking
Out
in the sun,
Plums
on their twigs;
Pluck
them and suck them,
Pomegranates,
figs."—
"Good
folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful
of Jeanie,
"Give
me much and many:"—
Held
out her apron,
Tossed
them her penny.
"Nay,
take a seat with us,
Honor
and eat with us,"
They
answered grinning;
"Our
feast is but beginning.
Night
yet is early,
Warm
and dew-pearly,
Wakeful
and starry:
Such
fruits as these
No
man can carry;
Half
their bloom would fly,
Half
their dew would dry,
Half
their flavor would pass by.
Sit
down and feast with us,
Be
welcome guest with us,
Cheer
you and rest with us."—
"Thank
you," said Lizzie; "But one waits
At
home alone for me:
So,
without further parleying,
If
you will not sell me any
Of
your fruits tho' much and many,
Give
me back my silver penny
I
tossed you for a fee."—
They
began to scratch their pates,
No
longer wagging, purring,
But
visibly demurring,
Grunting
and snarling.
One
called her proud,
Cross-grained,
uncivil;
Their
tones waxed loud,
Their
looks were evil.
Lashing
their tails
They
trod and hustled her,
Elbowed
and jostled her,
Clawed
with their nails,
Barking,
mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore
her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched
her hair out by the roots,
Stamped
upon her tender feet,
Held
her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against
her mouth to make her eat.
White
and golden Lizzie stood,
Like
a lily in a flood,
Like
a rock of blue-veined stone
Lashed
by tides obstreperously, --
Like
a beacon left alone
In
a hoary roaring sea,
Sending
up a golden fire, --
Like
a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White
with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore
beset by wasp and bee, --
Like
a royal virgin town
Topped
with gilded dome and spire
Close
beleaguered by a fleet
Mad
to tear her standard down.
One
may lead a horse to water,
Twenty
cannot make him drink.
Tho'
the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed
and fought her,
Bullied
and besought her,
Scratched
her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked
and knocked her,
Mauled
and mocked her,
Lizzie
uttered not a word;
Would
not open lip from lip
Lest
they should cram a mouthful in:
But
laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of
juice that syruped all her face,
And
lodged in dimples of her chin,
And
streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At
last the evil people,
Worn
out by her resistance
Flung
back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along
whichever road they took,
Not
leaving root or stone or shoot.
Some
writhed into the ground,
Some
dived into the brook
With
ring and ripple,
Some
scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some
vanished in the distance.
In
a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie
went her way;
Knew
not was it night or day;
Sprang
up the bank, tore through the furze,
Threaded
copse and dingle,
And
heard her penny jingle
Bouncing
in her purse,
Its
bounce was music to her ear.
She
ran and ran
As
if she feared some goblin man
Dogged
her with gibe or curse
Or
something worse:
But
not one goblin skurried after,
Nor
was she pricked by fear;
The
kind heart made her windy-paced
That
urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And
inward laughter.
She
cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did
you miss me?
Come
and kiss me.
Never
mind my bruises,
Hug
me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed
from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin
pulp and goblin dew.
Eat
me, drink me, love me;
Laura,
make much of me:
For
your sake I have braved the glen
And
had to do with goblin merchant men."
Laura
started from her chair,
Flung
her arms up in the air,
Clutched
her hair:
"Lizzie,
Lizzie, have you tasted
For
my sake the fruit forbidden?
Must
your light like mine be hidden,
Your
young life like mine be wasted,
Undone
in mine undoing,
And
ruined in my ruin,
Thirsty,
cankered, goblin-ridden?"
She
clung about her sister,
Kissed
and kissed and kissed her:
Tears
once again
Refreshed
her shrunken eyes,
Dropping
like rain
After
long sultry drouth;
Shaking
with aguish fear, and pain,
She
kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.
Her
lips began to scorch,
That
juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She
loathed the feast:
Writhing
as one possessed she leaped and sung,
Rent
all her robe, and wrung
Her
hands in lamentable haste,
And
beat her breast.
Her
locks streamed like the torch
Borne
by a racer at full speed,
Or
like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or
like an eagle when she stems the light
Straight
toward the sun,
Or
like a caged thing freed,
Or
like a flying flag when armies run.
Swift
fire spread thro' her veins, knocked at her heart,
Met
the fire smouldering there
And
overbore its lesser flame;
She
gorged on bitterness without a name:
Ah!
fool, to choose such part
Of
soul-consuming care!
Sense
failed in the mortal strife:
Like
the watch-tower of a town
Which
an earthquake shatters down,
Like
a lightning-stricken mast,
Like
a wind-uprooted tree
Spun
about,
Like
a foam-topped waterspout
Cast
down headlong in the sea,
She
fell at last;
Pleasure
past and anguish past,
Is
it death or is it life ?
Life
out of death.
That
night long Lizzie watched by her,
Counted
her pulse's flagging stir,
Felt
for her breath,
Held
water to her lips, and cooled her face
With
tears and fanning leaves:
But
when the first birds chirped about their eaves,
And
early reapers plodded to the place
Of
golden sheaves,
And
dew-wet grass
Bowed
in the morning winds so brisk to pass,
And
new buds with new day
Opened
of cup-like lilies on the stream,
Laura
awoke as from a dream,
Laughed
in the innocent old way,
Hugged
Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her
gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray,
Her
breath was sweet as May,
And
light danced in her eyes.
Days,
weeks, months, years
Afterwards,
when both were wives
With
children of their own;
Their
mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their
lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura
would call the little ones
And
tell them of her early prime,
Those
pleasant days long gone
Of
not-returning time:
Would
talk about the haunted glen,
The
wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their
fruits like honey to the throat,
But
poison in the blood;
(Men
sell not such in any town:)
Would
tell them how her sister stood
In
deadly peril to do her good,
And
win the fiery antidote:
Then
joining hands to little hands
Would
bid them cling together,
"For
there is no friend like a sister,
In
calm or stormy weather,
To
cheer one on the tedious way,
To
fetch one if one goes astray,
To
lift one if one totters down,
To
strengthen whilst one stands."
Original illustration for the cover of
Christina Rossetti's Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), by her brother,
Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Christina
Rossetti
In
1830, Christina Rossetti was born in London, one of four children of Italian
parents. Her father was the poet Gabriele Rossetti; her brother Dante Gabriel
Rossetti also became a poet and a painter. Rossetti's first poems were written
in 1842 and printed in the private press of her grandfather. In 1850, under the
pseudonym Ellen Alleyne, she contributed seven poems to the Pre-Raphaelite
journal The Germ, which had been founded by her brother William Michael and his
friends.
Rossetti
is best known for her ballads and her mystic religious lyrics. Her poetry is
marked by symbolism and intense feeling. Rossetti's best-known work, Goblin
Market and Other Poems, was published in 1862. The collection established
Rossetti as a significant voice in Victorian poetry. The Prince's Progress and
Other Poems, appeared in 1866 followed by Sing-Song, a collection of verse for
children, in 1872 (with illustrations by Arthur Hughes).
By
the 1880s, recurrent bouts of Graves' disease, a thyroid disorder, made
Rossetti an invalid, and ended her attempts to work as a governess. While the
illness restricted her social life, she continued to write poems. Among her
later works are A Pageant and Other Poems (1881), and The Face of the Deep
(1892). Rossetti also wrote religious prose works, such as Seek and Find
(1879), Called To Be Saints (1881) and The Face of the Deep (1892). In 1891,
Rossetti developed cancer, of which she died in London on December 29, 1894.
Rossetti's brother, William Michael, edited her collected works in 1904, but the
Complete Poems were not published before 1979.
Christina
Rossetti is increasingly being reconsidered a major Victorian poet. She has
been compared to Emily Dickinson but the similarity is more in the choice of
spiritual topics than in poetic approach, Rossetti's poetry being one of
intense feelings, her technique refined within the forms established in her
time.
Stephanie Doty
Women’s Issues Matter
April 16, 2014
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/
