William Wordsworth: Resolution and Independence / Lewis Carroll: Haddocks' Eyes and The Aged Aged Man (Upon the Lonely Moor)

Laura Haddock and the ‘Princess deep-V’: photo by Jon Furniss/Corbis/Splash News via the Guardian, 8 February 2015

 

The Poem

I'll tell thee everything I can:

    There's little to relate.

I saw an aged aged man,

    A-sitting on a gate.

"Who are you, aged man?" I said,

    "And how is it you live?"

And his answer trickled through my head,

    Like water through a sieve.

He said "I look for butterflies

    That sleep among the wheat:

I make them into mutton-pies,

    And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men," he said,

    "Who sail on stormy seas;

And that's the way I get my bread –

    A trifle, if you please."

But I was thinking of a plan

    To dye one's whiskers green,

And always use so large a fan

    That they could not be seen.

So, having no reply to give

    To what the old man said,

I cried "Come, tell me how you live!"

    And thumped him on the head.

His accents mild took up the tale:

    He said "I go my ways,

And when I find a mountain-rill,

    I set it in a blaze;

And thence they make a stuff they call

    Rowlands' Macassar-Oil -- 

Yet twopence-halfpenny is all

    They give me for my toil."

But I was thinking of a way

    To feed oneself on batter,

And so go on from day to day

    Getting a little fatter.

I shook him well from side to side,

    Until his face was blue:

"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,

    "And what it is you do!"

He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes

    Among the heather bright,

And work them into waistcoat-buttons

    In the silent night.

And these I do not sell for gold

    Or coin of silvery shine,

But for a copper halfpenny,

    And that will purchase nine.

"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,

    Or set limed twigs for crabs:

I sometimes search the grassy knolls

    For wheels of Hansom-cabs.

And that's the way" (he gave a wink)

    "By which I get my wealth --

And very gladly will I drink

    Your Honour's noble health."

I heard him then, for I had just

    Completed my design

To keep the Menai bridge from rust

    By boiling it in wine.

I thanked him much for telling me

    The way he got his wealth,

But chiefly for his wish that he

    Might drink my noble health.

And now, if e'er by chance I put

    My fingers into glue,

Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot

    Into a left-hand shoe,

Or if I drop upon my toe

    A very heavy weight,

I weep, for it reminds me so

Of that old man I used to know --

Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow

Whose hair was whiter than the snow,

Whose face was very like a crow,

With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,

Who seemed distracted with his woe,

Who rocked his body to and fro,

And muttered mumblingly and low,

As if his mouth were full of dough,

Who snorted like a buffalo --

That summer evening long ago,

    A-sitting on a gate.

Postcard photo of an unknown young man at Herne Bay, Kent, England, dated 1903-1914. The photographer was Fred C. Palmer of Tower Studio, Herne Bay, Kent, who is believed to have died 1936-1939. The man is wearing a fob with Masonic insignia on his watch chain. His hair is plastered down with macassar oil.His waistcoat (vest in U.S.) is edged with woven fabric, but the main body of the waistcoat appears to be hand-knitted. The informal pose and position in front of a door-frame was unusual at that time; he may be a friend or relative of Fred C. Palmer: image via Storye book, 16 March 2011



Pont Menai [Menai bridge]: photo by John Thomas (1838-1905), c. 1875; image by John Cummings, 3 April 2013 (John Thomas Collection at the National Library of Wales)

 

A View of Menai Suspension Bridge in Bangor, North Wales. Built by one of England's greatest civil engineers, Thomas Telford (1757 - 1834); construction began in 1819 and the bridge opened for traffic in 1826. It crosses the Menai Straits between Bangor and Anglesey.: photo by Francis Bedford (1816 - 1894), c. 1880 (National Media Museum, UK)

Sunrise from Menai Bridge, Isle of Anglesey, looking east towards Bangor Pier: photo by Talsmu Times, 6 October 2012

A haddock caught in the nets of a Scottish trawler: photo by Christopher Furlong / The Guardian, 10 September 2010

Lewis Carroll: Upon the Lonely Moor

I met an aged, aged man

Upon the lonely moor:

I knew I was a gentleman,

And he was but a boor.

So I stopped and roughly questioned him,

"Come, tell me how you live!"

But his words impressed my ear no more

Than if it were a sieve.

He said, "I look for soap-bubbles,

That lie among the wheat,

And bake them into mutton-pies,

And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men," he said,

"Who sail on stormy seas;

And that's the way I get my bread --

A trifle, if you please."

But I was thinking of a way

To multiply by ten,

And always, in the answer, get

The question back again.

I did not hear a word he said,

But kicked that old man calm,

And said, "Come, tell me how you live!"

And pinched him in the arm.

His accents mild took up the tale:

He said, "I go my ways,

And when I find a mountain-rill,

I set it in a blaze.

And thence they make a stuff they call

Rowland's Macassar Oil;

But fourpence-halfpenny is all

They give me for my toil."

But I was thinking of a plan

To paint one's gaiters green,

So much the color of the grass

That they could ne'er be seen.

I gave his ear a sudden box,

And questioned him again,

And tweaked his grey and reverend locks,

And put him into pain.

He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes

Among the heather bright,

And work them into waistcoat-buttons

In the silent night.

And these I do not sell for gold,

Or coin or silver-mine,

But for a copper-halfpenny,

And that will purchase nine.

"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,

Or set limed twigs for crabs;

I sometimes search the flowery knolls

For wheels of hansom cabs.

And that's the way" (he gave a wink)

"I get my living here,

And very gladly will I drink

Your Honour's health in beer."

I heard him then, for I had just

Completed my design

To keep the Menai bridge from rust

By boiling it in wine.

I duly thanked him, ere I went,

For all his stories queer,

But chiefly for his kind intent

To drink my health in beer.