Memories of an old Solitary Wasp
1
I remember, I remember
Ere Busy Bees were born
When the literature of ladies
Was often laughed to scorn
When they copied out their poems
In padlock’d album book
And coloured crimson as a cloud
At question or at look
2
When they never heard of essays
Nor thought of a degree
Nor dreamt of a Society
For drawing lake or tree
For rising early in the morn
For reading one half hour
Little they knew the mighty force
Of competition’s power
3
I remember, I remember
Long years ere Rowland hill
When letters were on quarto sheets
All written with goose quill
Both hard to fold, and hard to read
Crossed to their scarlet seal
Hardest of all to pay for, ere
Their news they could reveal
4
Twopenny post was London pride
But eightpence was the sum
That country cousins paid for all
Which did from London come
And oh! The joy it was to get
Some generous MP
To frank a letter that might hold
Six sheets like Busy Bee
5
I remember, I remember
When ships were beauteous things
Like floating castles of the deep
Borne upon snowy wings
Ere monitors and turret ships
Frightful as evil dream
Became the hideous progeny
Of iron and of steam
6
Then were the days of turnpikes
When railroads there were none
In mail and stage at morn or eve
The journey was begun
And all along the Kings highway
Trotted the horses four
With inside passengers and all
They carried near a score
7
Red Rover and the Telegraph
I knew them all by name
The Hirondelle and Oxford Coach
Full thirty of them came
The coachman wore his many capes
The guard his bugle blew
The horses were a gallant sight
Dashing before our view
8
I remember, I remember
Those posting days of old
The yellow chariot lined with blue
And lace of colour gold
The rattling up before the inn
The horses led away
The postboy in his jacket buff
And hand outstretched for pay
9
I remember, I remember
The mowing of the hay
Scythes sweeping through the fragrant grass
At breaking of the day
The haymakers in ordered rank
Raking the rows so sweet
The haycocks tanned to olive grey
In glowing noontide heat
10
The reapers mid the amber corn
The thumping of the flail
The winnowing within the barn
By whirling round a sail
Long before whirr and burr and shriek
Haunted the barley mow
A monster’s parting smoke and flame
Began to speed the plough
11
Then sparks were born of flint and steel
Nor lucifers were known
And snuffers with each candle came
To prune the wick o’ergrown
Wilson and Wilcox eke and Gibbs
Had neither sung nor sewn
And eggs were hatched, and cakes were made
By natural means alone
12
I remember, I remember
The homely village school
The Dame with Bible and with rod
The sceptre of her rule
A black silk bonnet on her head
Buff kerchief on her neck
With spectacles on nose, blue gown
And apron of blue check
13
None of her scholars learnt to write
And very few to read
But forth they went to scare the birds
From swallowing up the seed
No school inspection came to prove
Those little Toms and Dicks
Then fallow lay the youthful mind
For want of standards six
14
The Sundays I remember too
When services were one
For living in our parish then
Of Parsons there were none
Down a long lane we went to Church
A ladder reached our pew
William and Mary’s royal arms
Were hanging full in view
15
The lion swirling with his tongue
Like a pug dog’s hung out
The unicorn with twisted horn
Brooding upon his rout
Painted in gold on boards of blue
Stand the Commandments few
Beyond stood pulpit, reading pew
And then clerk’s narrow pen
16
While in the gallery were throned
Our village tuneful choir
With flute, bassoon and clarinet
Their notes rose high and higher
How oft would they repeat the lines
Of Braddy and of Tate
Shewing the number of the Psalm
In chalk upon a slate
17
Then Hursley had a Church of brick
The Tower square and low
The gable with a window huge
And steps to suit a crow
And Ampfield was a hamlet low
Her Churchyard was a wood
And where her golden couplet [?] points
A well grown pine tree stood
18
Oh! Those were days for botany
When gentians blue were found
And butterwort of pearly tint
Nestled in marshy ground
Motherwort grew upon the hill
And hounds tongue in the lane
Moth mullein by the hawthorn hedge
Where now I seek in vain
19
Missing from book
20
Missing from book
21
Yes, I remember many things
Old middle aged and new
Is the new better than the old
More bright, more deep, more true?
The old must ever pass away
The new must still come in
When our new things are old in turn
Be they unstained by sin
22
So with their memory be dear
A treasury of bliss
To be born with us in the days
When we their presence miss
Trifles embalmed by loving thought
Of many vanished friend
Will thrill the heart and warm[?] the smile
For Memory has no end
Linked resources
Items with "Next Article: Memories of an old Solitary Wasp"
The Lodgers on the Second Floor
Stories for our Little Ones (A Memory)