Monday, April 1, 2013

Flora Of The Island: A Vectensian Lay

After many hours of careful work, a few sheets from the Tin Box have been separated and interpreted. As far as we can ascertain, they are the work of Mrs N's youngest son Alfred, writing under the nom de plume Afton Marsh. Scanning a few lines, one quickly realises the need for a pseudonym. Here are the opening stanzas of Flora of the Island, restored and recreated as far as possible from the much-crossed-out and much-smudged MS.


From Bembridge to the Needles Light ;  from Niton to the Coweses ;
Down all the lanes ;  up all the Downs ;  and round about the houses ;
A maid there was whose name the Sentiment of Wight arouses :
Flora of the Island.

O give to me the Eagle’s eye that soars above the sea,
And I’ll describe the rolling land that ripples under me,—
The wild and wind-swept West of Wight, whose Daughter true was she :
Flora of the Island.

The diamond-figur’d Isle of Wight is cleft from North to South
By Estuaries several, each one a river’s mouth
Carv’d by courses prehistoric, flows from far-flung South
’Fore it was an island.

The western-most of these, the Yar,— a cruel, jagged slash,—
Cleaves off the West from all the rest,  its traces does unlash,
Whose sandy Bays the broad Atlantic’s boundless waves do splash
                                      For aye upon the Island.

There laughs a little silver stream, beside a humble cot ;
A yeoman couple dwelt there, poor but honest, Heav’n wot ;
And by these twain, by Heav’n’s grace, one daughter was begot :
Flora of the Island.

The West’s a garden, guarded by Pam’s sturdy fortress towers ;
And if a maid a blossom be, then many were the flowers
Whereat the little busy bee improv’d the shining hours,
                                      A-buzz about the Island.

Poets, laud ye not the lesser femininity ;
Speak not of Atalanta, nor sing of Aura Lee ;
The golden Rose of Vectis is the only maid for me :
Flora of the Island !

The brightest Rose that in that rose-bud girly-garden blew,
Her eyes were quite as diamonds bright and sparkl’d as the dew ;
She was the finest Rose-bud Freshwater ever knew :
Flora of the Island !

Fair Flora’s physiognomy the sternest muse might sate ;
With cam’ra, Mrs Cam’ron oft besought her chaste portrait
(Even tho’ she could not keep her thumb-prints off the plate)
Of Flora of the Island.

And Mr Watts the painter too would snare her in his toils,
Would ’tice her to his studio and her likeness craft in oils ;
Had not her native modesty denied his victor’s spoils,
Mild Flora of the Island !

Each youth of Vectis pressed his suit on Vectis’ fairest daughter,
For young men all from far and near in matrimony sought her ;
But ne’er a one, or rich or poor, in Cupid’s nets had caught her,
Flora of the Island.

These lads those lips did long for, and they’d flutter and they’d fuss :
‘ One kiss ! one kiss ! o Flora dear, we beg you, grant to us ! ’
But ev’ry one walked sadly home — he had missed his buss
From Flora of the Island.

But one among those boys was there that would not be gainsaid,
One who must needs follow where’er his ardour led,—
One who knew, in True Love’s ways, his heart must rule his head
O’er Flora of the Island.

Humility made valiant by love for Vectis’ lily ;
‘ Faint heart fair lady never won, ’ he cried, but still he
Let ‘ I dare not ’ wait upon ‘ I would, ’ — o silly Billy !
                                      Win Flora of the Island !

 ... and this is as far as we've got so far.

2 comments:

  1. So Bill married her we can assume? Can't wait to hear more...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hmm... would you expect a happy ending from Tennyson? Enoch Arden or Pedro the Fisherman?

    ReplyDelete