Saturday 31 August 2024

Cardinal Virtues


….and The Fifth Direction,
The Vertical Direction,
which is in Us.


Cardinal Virtues


The four principal virtues upon which the rest of the moral virtues turn or are hinged.


Those who recite the Divine Office find constantly recurring what seems to be the earliest instance of the word cardinal as applied to the virtues. St. Ambrose, while trying to identify the eight Beatitudes recorded by St. Matthew with the four recorded by St. Luke, makes use of the expression: "Hic quattuor velut virtutes amplexus est cardinales". A little later we find cardinal employed in like manner by St. Augustine (Common of Many Martyrs, third nocturn, second series; also Migne, P.L., XV, 1653; St. Thomas, Summa Theol., I-II.79.1 ad 1). That St. Jerome also uses the term is a statement which rests on a treatise not written by him, but published among his works; it is to be found in Migne, P.L., XXX, 596.

The term cardo means a hinge, that on which a thing turns, its principal point; and from this St. Thomas derives the various significations of the virtues as cardinal, whether in the generic sense, inasmuch as they are the common qualities of all other moral virtues, or in the specific sense, inasmuch as each has a distinct formal object determining its nature. Every moral virtue fulfils the conditions of being well judged, subserving the common good, being restrained within measure, and having firmness; and these four conditions also yield four distinct virtues.

The fourfold system

The origin of the fourfold system is traceable to Greek philosophy; other sources are earlier, but the Socratic source is most definite. Among the reporters of Socrates, Xenophon is vague on the point; Plato in "The Republic" puts together in a system the four virtues adopted later, with modifications by St. Thomas. (In "The Laws", Bk. I, 631, Plato recurs to his division: "Wisdom is the chief and leader: next follows temperance; and from the union of these two with courage springs justice. These four virtues take precedence in the class of divine goods".) Wishing to say what justice is, the Socratic Plato looked for it in the city-state, where he discovered four classes of men. Lowest was the producing class—the husbandmen and the craftsmen; they were the providers for the bodily needs, for the carnal appetites, which require the restraint of temperance (sophrosúne). Next came the police or soldier class, whose needful virtue was fortitude (’andreía). In this pair of cardinal virtues is exhibited a not very precise portion of Greek psychology, which the Scholastics have perpetuated in the division of appetites as concupiscible and irascible, the latter member having for its characteristic that it must seek its purpose by an arduous endeavour against obstacles. This is a Scholastic modification of tò ’epithumetikòn and tó thumoeidés, neither of which are rational faculties, while they are both amenable to reason (metà lògou); and it is the latter of them especially which is to help the reason, as leading faculty (tò ‘egemonikón), to subdue the concupiscence of the former. This idea of leadership gives us the third cardinal virtue, called by Plato sophía and philosophía, but by Aristotle phrónesis, the practical wisdom which is distinguished from the speculative. The fourth cardinal virtue stands outside the scheme of the other three, which exhaust the psychological trichotomy of man; tò ’epiphumetikón, tò thumoeidés, tò logikón. The Platonic justice of the "Republic", at least in this connexion, is the harmony between these three departments, in which each faculty discharges exactly its own proper function without interfering in the functions of the others. Obviously the senses may disturb reason; not so obviously, yet clearly, reason may disturb sense, if man tries to regulate his virtues on the principles proper to an angel without bodily appetites. In this idea of justice, viz., as concordant working of parts within the individual's own nature, the Platonic notion differs from the Scholastic, which is that justice is strictly not towards self, but towards others. Aristotle, with variations of his own, describes the four virtues which Plato had sketched; but in his "Ethics" he does not put them into one system. They are treated in his general discussion, which does not aim at a complete classification of virtues, and leaves interpreters free to give different enumerations.

The Latins, as represented by Cicero, repeated Plato and Aristotle: "Each man should so conduct himself that fortitude appear in labours and dangers: temperance in foregoing pleasures: prudence in the choice between good and evil: justice in giving every man his own [in suo cuique tribuendo]" (De Fin., V, xxiii, 67; cf. De Offic., I, ii, 5). This is a departure from the idea prominent in Platonic justice, and agrees with the Scholastic definition. It is a clearly admitted fact that in the inspiration of Holy Scripture the ministerial author may use means supplied by human wisdom. The Book of Wisdom is clearly under Hellenic influence: hence one may suppose the repetition of the four Platonic virtues to be connected with their purpose. In Wis., viii, 5, 6, 7, occur sophía or phrónesis, dikaiosúne, sophrosúne, ’andreía. The same list appears in the apocryphal IV Mach., v, 22, 23, except that for sophía is put e’usébeia. Philo compares them to the four rivers of Eden.

Doctrine of St. Thomas

St. Thomas (Summa Theol., I-II, Q. lxi, aa. 2 and 4) derives the cardinal virtues both from their formal objects or the perceived kinds of rational good which they generally seek, and from the subjects, or faculties, in which they reside and which they perfect. The latter consideration is the more easily intelligible. In the intellect is prudence; in the will is justice; in the sensitive appetites are temperance restraining pleasure, and fortitude urging on impulses of resistance to fear which would deter a person from strenuous action under difficulties; also checking the excesses of foolhardy audacity, as seen in some who gratuitously courted martyrdom in times of persecution. On the side of the formal object, which in all cases is rational good, we have the four specific variations. The rational good as an object for the action of intellect demands the virtue of prudence; inasmuch as the dictate of prudence is communicated to the will for exertion in relation to other persons, there arises the demand for justice, giving to every man his due. So far the actions are conceived; next come the passions: the concupiscible and the irascible. The order of objective reason as imposed on the appetite for pleasures demands the virtue of temperance; as imposed on the appetite which is repelled by fear-inspiring tasks, it demands fortitude. St. Thomas found four cardinal virtues in common recognition and he tried to give a systematic account of the group as far as it admitted of logical systematization. In so doing he naturally looked to the faculties employed and to the objects about which they were employed. He found it convenient to regard the action of reason, prudence, and the two passions of the sensitive appetite, lust and fear, as internal to the agent; while he regarded the action of the will as concerned with right order in regard to conduct towards others. As one exponent puts it: "Debitum semper est erga alterum: sed actus rationis et passiones interiores sunt: et ideo prudentia quæ perficit rationem, sicut fortitudo et temperantia quæ regulant passiones, dicuntur virtutes ad nos." Thus with three virtues ad intra and one ad extra were established four cardinal virtues, contrary to Plato's scheme, in which all were directly ad intra, referring to the inner harmony of man.

If it be urged against the cardinal virtues being moral, that all moral virtues are in the rational will and only justice among the four cardinal is so seated, St. Thomas replies that prudence is practical, not speculative; and so it has regard to the will, while the two passions, the concupiscible and the irascible, receiving in their own department, at the dictate of reason, the improving qualifications or habits which are the effects of repeated acts, are thereby rendered more docile to the will, obeying it with greater promptness, ease, and constancy. Thus each cardinal virtue has some seat in the will, direct or indirect. At times Aristotle seems to imply what the Pelagians taught later, that the passions may be trained so as never to offer temptation; as a fact, however, he fully allows elsewhere for the abiding peccability of man. Those whose passions are more ordered may in this regard have more perfect virtue; while from another standpoint their merit is less than that of those who are constant in virtue by heroic resistance to perpetual temptations of great strength.

In the above account of the doctrine propounded by St. Thomas, a number of his nice abstractions are left out : for example, he distinguishes prudence as concerned with means to good ends, which it belongs to another virtue to assign: "ad prudentiam pertinet non præstituere finem virtutibus moralibus, sed de his disponere quæ sunt ad finem." He relies on synderesis, or synteresis, for primary, universal principles; on wisdom for knowledge of the Divine; on counsel for judging what prudence is to dictate; on what he calls "the potential parts" of the cardinal virtues for filling up the description of them in various departments under cognate names, such as appear in the relation of modesty, meekness, and humility to temperance.

The theological virtues are so thoroughly supernatural that to treat them as they might appear in the order of nature is not profitable: with the cardinal virtues the case is different. What has been said above about them makes no reference to grace: the remarks are confined to what may belong simply to natural ethics. There is a gain in the restriction, for a natural appreciation of them is exceedingly useful, and many characters suffer from a defective knowledge of natural goodness. St. Thomas introduces the discussion of cardinal virtues also as gifts, but much that he says omits reference to this aspect.


The cardinal virtues unite the intellectual element and the affective. Much has been said recently of heart going beyond intellect in virtue; but the cardinal virtues, while concerned with the appetitive or affective parts, place prudence as the judge over all. Similarly the theological virtues place faith as the foundation of hope and charity. There is thus a completeness about the system which may be asserted without the pretence that essentially these four virtues must be marked off as a quartet among virtues. If the Greeks had not written, perhaps the Church would not have had exactly this fourfold arrangement. Indeed the division of good conduct into separate virtues is not an instance of hard and fast lines. The solidarity of the virtues and their interplay must always be allowed for, while we recognize the utility of specific differentiations. Within limits the cardinal virtues may be said to be a scientifically arranged group, helpful to clearness of aim for a man who is struggling after well-ordered conduct in a disordered world, which is not prudent, just, brave, temperate.


Sources

PLATO, Republic, Bk. IV, 427-434; IDEM, Laws, Bk. I, 631; IDEM, Theætetus, 176B; ARISTOTLE, Ethics, VI, 5; V, 1; III, 7 and 10; PETER LOMBARD, Sent., Pt. III, Dist. xxxiii, with the various commentators on the text; ST. THOMAS, Summa Theol., I-II, Q. lxi; WAFFELAERT, Tractatus de Virtutibus Cardinalibus (Bruges, 1886).

Thursday 29 August 2024

From Beneath You, it Devours







*ghieh-

Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to yawn, gape, be wide open.

It forms all or part of: chaos; chasm; dehiscence; gap; gasp; gawp; hiatus; yawn.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Sanskrit vijihite "to gape, be ajar;" Greek khainein, Latin hiare "to yawn, gape;" Old Church Slavonic zinoti "to open (one's mouth);" Russian razinut', Serbo-Croatian zinuti, Lithuanian žioju, žioti, Czech zivati "to yawn;" Old English ginian, gionian "open the mouth wide, yawn, gape," Old Norse gina "to yawn," Dutch geeuwen, Old High German ginen "to be wide open," German gähnen "to yawn."

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chaos (n.)

late 14c., "gaping void; empty, immeasurable space," from Old French chaos (14c.) or directly from Latin chaos, from Greek khaos "abyss, that which gapes wide open, that which is vast and empty" (from *khnwos, from PIE root *ghieh- "to yawn, gape, be wide open").

The meaning "utter confusion" (c. 1600) is an extended sense from theological use of chaos in the Vulgate version of "Genesis" (1530s in English) for "the void at the beginning of creation, the confused, formless, elementary state of the universe." The Greek for "disorder" was tarakhē, but the use of chaos here was rooted in Hesiod ("Theogony"), who describes khaos as the primeval emptiness of the Universe, and in Ovid ("Metamorphoses"), who opposes Khaos to Kosmos, "the ordered Universe." Sometimes it was personified as a god, begetter of Erebus and Nyx ("Night").

Meaning "orderless confusion" in human affairs is from c. 1600. Chaos theory in the modern mathematical sense is attested from c. 1977.

chasm (n.)

1590s, "deep crack in the earth," from Latin chasma, from Greek khasma "yawning hollow, gulf," related to khaskein "to yawn," and thus to chaos. In English in 17c. often spelled chasma. Figurative use, in reference to a great interruption or wide breach of any kind, is from 1640s. Related: Chasmy (1786); chasmal (1842, Poe); chasmic (1885). The bloody chasm (1868) was an old rhetorical phrase for the American Civil War.

dehiscence

gap

gasp

gawp

hiatus

yawn

gum

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gap

early 14c., "an opening in a wall or hedge; a break, a breach," mid-13c. in place names, from Old Norse gap "chasm, empty space," related to gapa "to gape, open the mouth wide," common Proto-Germanic (cognates: Middle Dutch, Dutch gapen, German gaffen "to gape, stare," Swedish ga

hiatus

1560s, "a break or opening" in a material object, especially in anatomy, from Latin hiatus "opening, aperture, rupture, gap," from past-participle stem of hiare "to gape, stand open" (from PIE root *ghieh- "to yawn, gape, be wide open"). The sense of "gap or interruption in event

yawn

c. 1300, yenen, yonen, from Old English ginian, gionian "open the mouth wide, yawn, gape," from Proto-Germanic *gin- (source also of Old English giwian, giowian, giwan "to request," Old Norse gina "to yawn," Dutch geeuwen, Old High German ginen "to be wide open," German gähnen "t

enthusiasm

c. 1600, from French enthousiasme (16c.) and directly from Late Latin enthusiasmus, from Greek enthousiasmos "divine inspiration, enthusiasm (produced by certain kinds of music, etc.)," from enthousiazein "be inspired or possessed by a god, be rapt, be in ecstasy," from entheos "

address

early 14c., "to guide, aim, or direct," from Old French adrecier "go straight toward; straighten, set right; point, direct" (13c.), from Vulgar Latin *addirectiare "make straight" (source also of Spanish aderezar, Italian addirizzare), from ad "to" (see ad-) + *directiare "make s

badminton

outdoor game similar to lawn tennis but played with a shuttlecock, 1874, from Badminton House, name of Gloucestershire estate of the Duke of Beaufort, where the game first was played in England, mid-19c., having been picked up by British officers from Indian poona. The place name

figure

c. 1200, "numeral;" mid-13c., "visible appearance of a person;" late 14c., "visible and tangible form of anything," from Old French figure "shape, body; form of a word; figure of speech; symbol, allegory" (10c), from Latin figura "a shape, form, figure; quality, kind, style; figu

convenience

late 14c., "agreement, conformity, resemblance, similarity," also "state or condition of being suitable, adaptation to existing conditions," from Latin convenientia "a meeting together, agreement, harmony," from convenien-, present-participle stem of convenire "to come together,

notorious

1540s, "publicly known and spoken of," from Medieval Latin notorius "well-known, commonly known," from Latin notus "known," past participle of noscere "come to know," from PIE root *gno- "to know." Middle English had notoire (mid-14c. in Anglo-French), from Old French, "well-know

citizen

c. 1300, citisein (fem. citeseine) "inhabitant of a city or town," from Anglo-French citesein, citezein "city-dweller, town-dweller, citizen" (Old French citeien, 12c., Modern French citoyen), from cite (see city) + -ain (see -ian). According to Middle English Compendium, the -s-

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dehiscence (n.)

"a gaping," in botany, "the discharge of seeds or pollen," 1828, from Modern Latin dehiscentia, from dehiscentem (nominative dehiscens), present participle of dehiscere "to gape, open, split down" (of the earth, etc.), from de- (see de-) + hiscere, inchoative of hiare "to yawn" (see yawn (v.)). Related: Dehisce (1650s); dehiscent (1640s).

also from 1828

Entries linking to dehiscence


yawn (v.)

c. 1300, yenen, yonen, from Old English ginian, gionian "open the mouth wide, yawn, gape," from Proto-Germanic *gin- (source also of Old English giwian, giowian, giwan "to request," Old Norse gina "to yawn," Dutch geeuwen, Old High German ginen "to be wide open," German gähnen "to yawn"), from PIE root *ghieh- "to yawn, gape, be wide open." Modern spelling is from 16c. Related: Yawned; yawning.

de- 

active word-forming element in English and in many verbs inherited from French and Latin, from Latin de "down, down from, from, off; concerning" (see de), also used as a prefix in Latin, usually meaning "down, off, away, from among, down from," but also "down to the bottom, totally" hence "completely" (intensive or completive), which is its sense in many English words.

As a Latin prefix it also had the function of undoing or reversing a verb's action, and hence it came to be used as a pure privative — "not, do the opposite of, undo" — which is its primary function as a living prefix in English, as in defrost (1895), defuse (1943), de-escalate (1964), etc. In some cases, a reduced form of dis-.

*ghieh- 

Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to yawn, gape, be wide open." 

It forms all or part of: chaos; chasm; dehiscence; gap; gasp; gawp; hiatus; yawn.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Sanskrit vijihite "to gape, be ajar;" Greek khainein, Latin hiare "to yawn, gape;" Old Church Slavonic zinoti "to open (one's mouth);" Russian razinut', Serbo-Croatian zinuti, Lithuanian žioju, žioti, Czech zivati "to yawn;" Old English ginian, gionian "open the mouth wide, yawn, gape," Old Norse gina "to yawn," Dutch geeuwen, Old High German ginen "to be wide open," German gähnen "to yawn."

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Trends of dehiscence


adapted from books.google.com/ngrams/. Ngrams are probably unreliable.

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mealy-mouthed

"afraid to say what one really thinks," 1570s; first element perhaps from Old English milisc "sweet," from Proto-Germanic *meduz "honey" (see mead (n.1)), which suits the sense, but if the Old English word did not survive long enough to be the source of this, perhaps the first el

read

Middle English reden, ireden, "to counsel, advise," also "to read," from Old English rædan, gerædan (West Saxon), redan, geredan (Anglian) "to advise, counsel, persuade; discuss, deliberate; rule, guide; arrange, equip; forebode; to read (observe and apprehend the meaning of some

talent

late 13c., "inclination, disposition, will, desire;" c. 1300, "feeling, emotion, passion," senses now obsolete, from Old French talent (12c.), from Medieval Latin talenta, plural of talentum "inclination, leaning, will, desire" (11c.), in classical Latin "balance, weight; sum of

dwarf

Old English dweorh, dweorg (West Saxon), duerg (Mercian), "very short human being, person much below ordinary stature, whether of proportionate parts or not," also "supernatural being of subhuman size," from Proto-Germanic *dweraz (source also of Old Frisian dwerch, Old Saxon dwe

pistachio

1590s, "nut of the pistachio tree," from Italian pistacchio, from Latin pistacium "pistachio nut," from Greek pistakion "pistachio nut," from pistakē "pistachio tree," from Persian pistah "pistachio." Borrowed earlier in English as pystace, pistace (mid-15c.), from Old French pis

Rasputin

acquired name (Russian, literally "debauchee") of Grigory Yefimovich Novykh (c. 1872-1916), mystic and faith healer who held sway over court of Nicholas II of Russia. His nickname is from his doctrine of "rebirth through sin," that true holy communion must be preceded by immersio

palate

late 14c., "roof of the mouth of a human or animal; the parts which separate the oral from the nasal cavity," from Old French palat and directly from Latin palatum "roof of the mouth," also "a vault," which is perhaps of Etruscan origin [Klein], but de Vaan suggests an IE root me

appreciate

1650s, "to esteem or value highly," from Late Latin appretiatus, past participle of appretiare "to set a price to," from ad "to" (see ad-) + pretium "price" (see price (n.)). The meaning "to rise in value" (intransitive) is by 1787; the sense of "be fully conscious of" is by 1833

dauphin

title of the eldest son of the king of France (in use from 1349-1830), early 15c., from Old French dauphin, literally "dolphin" (see dolphin). Originally it was the title attached to "the Dauphin of Viennois," whose province (in the French Alps north of Provence) came to be known

experiment

mid-14c., "action of observing or testing; an observation, test, or trial;" also "piece of evidence or empirical proof; feat of magic or sorcery," from Old French esperment "practical knowledge, cunning; enchantment, magic spell; trial, proof, example; lesson, sign, indication,"

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Wednesday 28 August 2024

Expiation






Anne's apartment

Lily is there waiting for her to return. She finds Buffy's stuffed duck and picks it up to stroke it. 

Buffy opens the door, 

comes in and closes it behind her.

Lily puts the duck down and steps closer to Buffy.


Lily: Did you find Rickie? I thought of--well, he likes to go to this movie house, you can get in around the back--


Buffy: (interrupting) Lily . . . I think he's dead.


Lily: (very sad and lost) But . . . he takes care of me.


Buffy: I'm sorry.


Lily: We're gonna get a place. His cousin can get him a job at the car wash.


Buffy: Lily, there's (exhales) there's something else. (sits on the bed) The, the person that I found . . . was old. He-he looked about eighty.


Lily: Well, that's not Rickie!


Buffy: I'm SURE it was. I, I don't know how, but . . . it was like something drained the life out of him.


Lily: Do you mean like a vampire?


Buffy: No. A vampire couldn't accelerate the aging process. Maybe it was something in his blood. (has a thought) When was the last time you guys gave blood together?


Lily: I don't understand. Maybe it's not Rickie, okay?


Buffy: (stands up) Lily, this is something you're just gonna have to deal with.


Lily: (flustered) But he didn't do anything wrong! Why would this happen to him?


Buffy: That's *not* the point. (Lily calms a bit) These things happen all the time. You can't just . . . close your eyes and hope that they're gonna go away.






Lily: Is it 'cause of you?


Buffy: (confused) What?


Lily: You know about . . . monsters and stuff. You could have brought this with you.


Buffy: (very annoyed) I didn't bring anything with me. And I didn't ask for you to come to me with your problems. I just wanted to be left alone. If you can't deal, then don't lay it off on me!


Lily can't take it. She holds up her hands to deny what she's hearing and walks out of the apartment. Buffy sighs, regretting raising her voice to Lily.

Monday 26 August 2024

Goblin Men



Goblin Market
BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Morning and evening 
Maids heard the goblins cry: 
“Come buy our orchard fruits, 
Come buy, come buy: 
Apples and quinces, 
Lemons and oranges, 
Plump unpeck’d cherries, 
Melons and raspberries, 
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches, 
Swart-headed mulberries, 
Wild free-born cranberries, 
Crab-apples, dewberries, 
Pine-apples, blackberries, 
Apricots, strawberries;— 
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 bow’d her head to hear, 
Lizzie veil’d her blushes: 
Crouching close together 
In the cooling weather, 
With clasping arms and cautioning lips, 
With tingling cheeks and finger tips. 
“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 cover’d up her eyes, 
Cover’d close lest they should look; 
Laura rear’d her glossy head, 
And whisper’d 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 
Through 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 whisk’d a tail, 
One tramp’d at a rat’s pace, 
One crawl’d like a snail, 
One like a wombat prowl’d obtuse and furry, 
One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. 
She heard a voice like voice of doves 
Cooing all together: 
They sounded kind and full of loves 
In the pleasant weather. 

Laura stretch’d 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 
Turn’d and troop’d the goblin men, 
With their shrill repeated cry, 
Come buy, come buy.” 
When they reach’d 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 rear’d his plate; 
One began to weave a crown 
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 
(Men sell not such in any town); 
One heav’d the golden weight 
Of dish and fruit to offer her: 
Come buy, come buy,” was still their cry. 
Laura stared but did not stir, 
Long’d but had no money: 
The whisk-tail’d merchant bade her taste 
In tones as smooth as honey, 
The cat-faced purr’d, 
The rat-faced 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 answer’d all together: 
“Buy from us with a golden curl.” 
She clipp’d a precious golden lock, 
She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl, 
Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red: 
Sweeter than honey from the rock, 
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, 
Clearer than water flow’d that juice; 
She never tasted such before, 
How should it cloy with length of use? 
She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more 
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; 
She suck’d until her lips were sore; 
Then flung the emptied rinds away 
But gather’d up one kernel stone, 
And knew not was it night or day 
As she turn’d 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 
Pluck’d from bowers 
Where summer ripens at all hours? 
But ever in the noonlight 
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; 
To-morrow night I will 
Buy more;” and kiss’d her: 
“Have done with sorrow; 
I’ll bring you plums to-morrow 
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 curtain’d bed: 
Like two blossoms on one stem, 
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow, 
Like two wands of ivory 
Tipp’d with gold for awful kings. 
Moon and stars gaz’d in at them, 
Wind sang to them lullaby, 
Lumbering owls forbore to fly, 
Not a bat flapp’d to and fro 
Round their rest: 
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast 
Lock’d together in one nest. 

Early in the morning 
When the first cock crow’d his warning, 
Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, 
Laura rose with Lizzie: 
Fetch’d in honey, milk’d the cows, 
Air’d and set to rights the house, 
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, 
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, 
Next churn’d butter, whipp’d up cream, 
Fed their poultry, sat and sew’d; 
Talk’d 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 pluck’d 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 loiter’d 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 
Though this is summer weather, 
Put out the lights and drench us through; 
Then if we lost our way what should we do?” 

Laura turn’d 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 droop’d from the root: 
She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache; 
But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning, 
Trudg’d 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 gnash’d her teeth for baulk’d 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 wax’d bright 
Her hair grew thin and grey; 
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; 
Dew’d it with tears, hoped for a root, 
Watch’d 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 dream’d of melons, as a traveller sees 
False waves in desert drouth 
With shade of leaf-crown’d trees, 
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. 

She no more swept the house, 
Tended the fowls or cows, 
Fetch’d 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 yoke and stir 
Poor Laura could not hear; 
Long’d to buy fruit to comfort her, 
But fear’d 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 
Seem’d knocking at Death’s door: 
Then Lizzie weigh’d no more 
Better and worse; 
But put a silver penny in her purse, 
Kiss’d Laura, cross’d 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. 

Laugh’d 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,— 
Hugg’d her and kiss’d her: 
Squeez’d and caress’d her: 
Stretch’d 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, 
Toss’d them her penny. 
“Nay, take a seat with us, 
Honour and eat with us,” 
They answer’d 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 flavour 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 though much and many, 
Give me back my silver penny 
I toss’d you for a fee.”— 
They began to scratch their pates, 
No longer wagging, purring, 
But visibly demurring, 
Grunting and snarling. 
One call’d her proud, 
Cross-grain’d, uncivil; 
Their tones wax’d loud, 
Their looks were evil. 
Lashing their tails 
They trod and hustled her, 
Elbow’d and jostled her, 
Claw’d with their nails, 
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, 
Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking, 
Twitch’d her hair out by the roots, 
Stamp’d upon her tender feet, 
Held her hands and squeez’d 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-vein’d stone 
Lash’d by tides obstreperously,— 
Like a beacon left alone 
In a hoary roaring sea, 
Sending up a golden fire,— 
Like a fruit-crown’d orange-tree 
White with blossoms honey-sweet 
Sore beset by wasp and bee,— 
Like a royal virgin town 
Topp’d with gilded dome and spire 
Close beleaguer’d by a fleet 
Mad to tug her standard down. 

One may lead a horse to water, 
Twenty cannot make him drink. 
Though the goblins cuff’d and caught her, 
Coax’d and fought her, 
Bullied and besought her, 
Scratch’d her, pinch’d her black as ink, 
Kick’d and knock’d her, 
Maul’d and mock’d her, 
Lizzie utter’d not a word; 
Would not open lip from lip 
Lest they should cram a mouthful in: 
But laugh’d in heart to feel the drip 
Of juice that syrupp’d all her face, 
And lodg’d in dimples of her chin, 
And streak’d her neck which quaked like curd. 
At last the evil people, 
Worn out by her resistance, 
Flung back her penny, kick’d their fruit 
Along whichever road they took, 
Not leaving root or stone or shoot; 
Some writh’d into the ground, 
Some div’d into the brook 
With ring and ripple, 
Some scudded on the gale without a sound, 
Some vanish’d in the distance. 

In a smart, ache, tingle, 
Lizzie went her way; 
Knew not was it night or day; 
Sprang up the bank, tore thro’ 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 fear’d some goblin man 
Dogg’d her with gibe or curse 
Or something worse: 
But not one goblin scurried after, 
Nor was she prick’d 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 
Squeez’d 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, 
Clutch’d 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 ruin’d in my ruin, 
Thirsty, canker’d, goblin-ridden?”— 
She clung about her sister, 
Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her: 
Tears once again 
Refresh’d her shrunken eyes, 
Dropping like rain 
After long sultry drouth; 
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, 
She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth. 

Her lips began to scorch, 
That juice was wormwood to her tongue, 
She loath’d the feast: 
Writhing as one possess’d she leap’d and sung, 
Rent all her robe, and wrung 
Her hands in lamentable haste, 
And beat her breast. 
Her locks stream’d 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 through her veins, knock’d 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 fail’d 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-topp’d 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 watch’d by her, 
Counted her pulse’s flagging stir, 
Felt for her breath, 
Held water to her lips, and cool’d her face 
With tears and fanning leaves: 
But when the first birds chirp’d about their eaves, 
And early reapers plodded to the place 
Of golden sheaves, 
And dew-wet grass 
Bow’d in the morning winds so brisk to pass, 
And new buds with new day 
Open’d of cup-like lilies on the stream, 
Laura awoke as from a dream, 
Laugh’d in the innocent old way, 
Hugg’d Lizzie but not twice or thrice; 
Her gleaming locks show’d not one thread of grey, 
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.”