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I am a Witch, and a kind old Witch,
There's many a one knows that—
Alone I live in my little dark house
With Pillycock, my cat.
A girl came running through the night,
When all the winds blew free—
"O mother, change a young man's heart
That will not look on me.
O mother, brew a magic mead
To stir his heart so cold."
"Just as you will, my dear," said I;
"And I thank you for your gold."
So here am I in the wattled copse
Where all the twigs are brown,
To find what I need to brew my mead
As the dark of night comes down.
Primroses in my old hands,
Sweet to smell and young,
And violets blue that spring in the grass
Wherever the larks have sung.
With celandines as heavenly crowns
Yellowy-gold and bright; All of these,
O all of these,
Shall bring her Love's delight.
But orchids growing snakey green
Speckled dark with blood,
And fallen leaves that curled and shrank
And rotted in the mud,
With blistering nettles burning harsh
And blinding thorns above;
All of these, O all of these
Shall bring the pains of Love.
Shall bring the pains of Love, my Puss,
That cease not night or day,
The bitter rage, nought can assuage
Till it bleeds the heart away.
Pillycock mine, my hands are full
My pot is on the fire.
Purr, my pet, this fool shall get
Her fool's desire.
Barry Cornwall’s (the pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter) poem "The Old Witch in the Copse" is a deceptively simple yet thematically rich work that explores the dual nature of love—its capacity for both enchantment and torment. Through the persona of an old witch, the poem weaves together folklore, natural imagery, and psychological insight to create a meditation on desire, manipulation, and the inevitable suffering that accompanies human passion. This essay will examine the poem’s historical and cultural context, its use of literary devices, its central themes, and its emotional resonance, while also considering comparative and philosophical perspectives where relevant.
To fully appreciate "The Old Witch in the Copse," one must situate it within the broader literary and cultural movements of the early 19th century. Barry Cornwall was a contemporary of Romantic poets such as John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and his work shares their fascination with the supernatural, the natural world, and the darker aspects of human emotion.
The figure of the witch in literature has long been a complex symbol, embodying both malevolence and wisdom. In the Romantic era, witches were often depicted as liminal figures—existing on the margins of society, possessing forbidden knowledge, and wielding power that could be either benevolent or destructive. Cornwall’s witch is no exception: she is at once a maternal figure ("mother") and a trickster who knowingly delivers both love’s ecstasy and its agony.
The poem also draws upon folk traditions of love magic, a practice historically associated with cunning folk and witches who were believed to concoct potions to induce affection or obsession. The witch’s gathering of flowers and poisonous plants mirrors the dualistic nature of love itself—sweet yet painful, nourishing yet destructive. This duality aligns with the Romantic preoccupation with the sublime, where beauty and terror are intertwined.
Cornwall employs a rich tapestry of literary devices to convey the poem’s themes, most notably through contrasting imagery, deliberate diction, and a pervasive sense of irony.
The poem’s most striking feature is its juxtaposition of beautiful, delicate flowers with harsh, sinister plants, each representing different facets of love. The witch gathers:
Primroses, violets, and celandines – symbols of youth, sweetness, and romantic idealism ("Shall bring her Love's delight").
Orchids "speckled dark with blood," rotting leaves, nettles, and thorns – emblems of love’s darker side: obsession, decay, and pain ("Shall bring the pains of Love").
This dichotomy reflects the ancient literary trope of love as both a blessing and a curse, seen in works from Ovid’s Metamorphoses (where love leads to transformation and suffering) to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (where love potions cause chaos). The witch’s potion, therefore, is not a simple love charm but a mirror of love’s inherent contradictions.
The witch’s language oscillates between comforting and ominous. She begins by declaring herself a "kind old Witch," adopting an almost grandmotherly tone ("Just as you will, my dear"). Yet her final lines—"Purr, my pet, this fool shall get / Her fool's desire"—carry a biting irony. The repetition of "fool" suggests that the girl’s wish is naïve, and the witch, though obliging, knows the inevitable suffering that awaits her.
The word "copse" (a small group of trees) evokes an enclosed, secretive space where magic occurs, reinforcing the witch’s role as an intermediary between the natural and supernatural worlds. The "dark of night" setting further enhances the poem’s gothic undertones, recalling the liminal time when spirits and witches were believed to be most active.
The poem’s irony lies in the witch’s detached amusement at human folly. She does not deceive the girl—she grants her wish—but she also knows that love’s delight is inseparable from its torment. This fatalistic view aligns with classical and Romantic conceptions of love as an uncontrollable, often destructive force. The witch’s final remark to her cat, Pillycock, underscores her cynical wisdom: humans pursue love blindly, unaware that their desires will lead to anguish.
At its core, "The Old Witch in the Copse" is a meditation on the paradoxical nature of love—its capacity to exalt and destroy.
The witch’s potion is not a straightforward love spell but a concoction that ensures the girl will experience love in its entirety—both its ecstasy and its agony. This reflects a deeply ingrained literary and philosophical tradition, from Sappho’s lyrics (which depict love as both sweet and bitter) to Schopenhauer’s later assertion that romantic desire is a trap set by nature to propagate the species, indifferent to individual suffering.
The girl believes she can manipulate the young man’s heart, but the witch’s actions reveal that love cannot be controlled. The very act of seeking to command another’s emotions ensures that the seeker, too, will be ensnared by love’s unpredictable power. This theme resonates with the myth of Cupid and Psyche, where attempts to control love lead to trials and suffering.
Unlike malevolent witches in fairy tales, Cornwall’s witch is not evil; she is merely an agent of truth. She does not inflict suffering arbitrarily but fulfills the girl’s request in a way that reveals love’s true nature. In this sense, she resembles the Fates of Greek mythology or the Norns of Norse legend—weavers of destiny who operate beyond human moral binaries.
Cornwall’s witch can be usefully compared to other literary witches, such as:
Shakespeare’s Weird Sisters (Macbeth) – Like them, she deals in ambiguous prophecies, but unlike them, she is not overtly malevolent.
Keats’s Lamia – A figure who embodies both allure and danger, much like the dual-natured potion in Cornwall’s poem.
Coleridge’s Geraldine (Christabel) – A deceptive enchantress whose beauty masks a sinister nature, though Cornwall’s witch is more neutral, even sympathetic.
Unlike these figures, Cornwall’s witch does not act out of personal malice; she is a pragmatist who understands that love’s pain is inevitable.
The poem’s emotional power lies in its blend of whimsy and melancholy. The witch’s playful tone ("Pillycock, my cat") initially disarms the reader, making the darker turn in the final stanzas more jarring. The realization that the girl’s wish will bring her suffering evokes both pity and a sense of inevitability.
The final lines—"Purr, my pet, this fool shall get / Her fool's desire"—linger with unsettling resonance. They suggest that human longing is inherently foolish, yet inescapable. The witch’s detachment contrasts with the girl’s desperate passion, creating a poignant tension between wisdom and naivety.
"The Old Witch in the Copse" is a masterful exploration of love’s dual nature, blending folklore, natural symbolism, and psychological acuity. Through the witch’s ambiguous role and the poem’s rich imagery, Cornwall presents love not as a simple blessing but as a force that encompasses both rapture and ruin. The poem’s enduring relevance lies in its unflinching acknowledgment that to love is to risk suffering—a truth as old as literature itself.
In the end, the witch does not judge; she merely acts as nature’s accomplice, ensuring that the girl learns what all lovers must: that desire is as much a trial as it is a joy. And in this, Cornwall’s poem achieves something rare—a work that is at once enchanting and unsettling, much like love itself.
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