No More Learning

MO CÁILIN DONN
He blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree,
And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are caroling their glee;
And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,
All to deck a path of glory for my own Cáilin Donn!
THE
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me,
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree!
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is the coming of my true love — my own Cáilin Donn!
O sycamore! O sycamore! wave, wave your banners green!
Let all your pennons flutter, O beech! before my queen!
Ye fleet and honeyed breezes, to kiss her hand ye run;
But my heart has passed before ye to my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me, etc.
Ring out, ring out, O linden, your merry leafy bells!
Unveil your brilliant torches, o chestnut! to the dells;
Strew, strew the glade with splendor, for morn it cometh on!
Oh, the morn of all delight to me my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me, etc.
She is coming, where we parted, where she wanders every day;
There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away;
Oh, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of freedom's won,
Is the joy around your footsteps, my own Cáilin Donn!
Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me,
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree!
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is your coming, O my true love
- my own Cáilin Donn!
-
GEORGE SIGERSON.


## p. 16454 (#154) ##########################################

16454
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
UNTO THE LEAST OF THESE LITTLE ONES
From Harper's Magazine. Copyright 1889, by Harper & Brothers
O
CHILDREN's eyes unchildlike! Children's eyes
That make pure, hallowed age seem young indeed -
Wan eyes that on drear horrors daily feed;
Learned deep in all that leaves us most unwise !
Poor wells, beneath whose troubled depths Truth lies,
Drowned, drowned, alas! So does my sad heart bleed
When I remember you; so does it plead
And strive within my breast - as one who cries
For torture of her first-born — that the day,
The long, bright day, seems thicker sown for me
With eyes of children than the heavens at night
With stars on stars. To watch you is to pray
That you may some day see as children see
When man, like God, hath said, “Let there be light. ”
Dear Christ, thou hadst thy childhood ere thy cross;
These, bearing first their cross, no childhood know,
But, aged with toil, through countless horrors grow
To age more horrible. Rough locks atoss
Above drink-reddened eyes, like Southern moss
That drops its tangles to the marsh below;
No standard dreamed or real by which to show
The piteous completeness of their loss; ,
No rest, no hope, no Christ: the cross alone
Borne on their backs by day, their bed by night,
Their ghastly plaything when they pause to weep,
Their threat of torture do they dare to moan;
A darkness ever dark across their light,
A weight that makes a waking of their sleep.
Father, who countest such poor birds as fall,
Count thou these children fallen from their place;
Lift and console them of thy pity's grace,
And teach them that to suffer is not all;
Hedge them about with love as with a wall,
Give them in dreams the knowledge of thy face,
And wipe away such stains as sin doth trace,
Sending deliverance when brave souls call.
Deliver them, O Lord, deliver them! -
These children - as thy Son was once a child !
Make them even purer than before they fell,


## p. 16455 (#155) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16455
Radiant in raiment clean from throat to hem;
For, Lord, till thou hast cleansed these sin-defiled,
Of such the kingdom, not of heaven, but hell.
AMÉLIE Rives.
TIRED MOTHERS
A
LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee,–
Your tired knee that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair.
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch
Of warm, moist fingers holding yours so tight;
You do not prize this blessing overmuch:
You almost are too tired to pray, to-night.
But it is blessedness! A year ago
I did not see it as I do to-day:
We are so dull and thankless, and so slow
To catch the sunshine till it slips away.
And now it seems surpassing strange to me,
That while I wore the badge of motherhood,
I did not kiss more oft and tenderly
The little child that brought me only good.
And if, some night, when you sit down to rest,
You miss this elbow from your tired knee,
This restless, curly head froin off your breast,
This lisping tongue that chatters constantly;
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;
If the white feet into their grave had tripped, -
I could not blame you for your heartache then.
I wonder so that mothers ever fret
At little children clinging to their gown;
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet,
Are ever black enough to make them frown.
If I could find a little muddy boot,
Or cap or jacket, on my chamber floor;
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot,
And hear it patter in my home once more;
If I could mend a broken cart to-day,
To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky,–


## p. 16456 (#156) ##########################################

16456
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
There is no woman in God's world could say
She was more blissfully content than I.
But, ah! the dainty pillow next my own
Is never rumpled by a shining head;
My singing birdling from its nest has flown:
The little boy I used to kiss is dead !
May RILEY SMITH.
THE BEDOUIN-CHILD
(Among the Bedouins, a father in enumerating his children never counts his
daughters, for a daughter is considered a disgrace. )
I
LYÀS the prophet, lingering 'neath the moon,
Heard from a tent a child's heart-withering wail,
Mixt with the message of the nightingale,
And entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon,
A little maiden dreaming there alone.
She babbled of her father sitting pale
'Neath wings of Death — 'mid sights of sorrow and bale,
And pleaded for his life in piteous tone.
“Poor child, plead on,” the succoring prophet saith,
While she, with eager lips, like one who tries
To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries
To heaven for help, — “Plead on: such pure love-breath
Reaching the Throne, might stay the wings of Death,
That in the desert fan thy father's eyes. "
The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand;
Seven sons await the morning vultures' claws;
'Mid empty water-skins and camel-maws
The father sits, the last of all the band.
He mutters, drowsing o'er the moonlit sand,
“Sleep fans my brow; Sleep makes us all pashas:
Or if the wings are Death's, why, Azreel draws
A childless father from an empty land. ”
“Nay,” saith a Voice, “the wind of Azreel's wings
A child's sweet breath hath stilled; so God decrees;”
A camel's bell comes tinkling on the breeze,
Filling the Bedouin's brain with bubble of springs
And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering trees,
Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings.
THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON.


## p. 16457 (#157) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16457
A BURMESE PARABLE
WS
ith look of woe and garments rent,
She walked as one whose strength is spent,
And in her arms a burden dread
She bore, - an infant cold and dead.
Men stood beside, and women wept,
As through the gathering throng she crept,
And fell at last, with covered face,
Before the Buddha's seat of grace.
With startled gaze each Brahmin priest
Drew near: at once the Master ceased
His golden words; for he could read
The suffering spirit's inmost need,
And give with subtlest skill the cure
Which best that spirit could endure.
He bade her speak. She faltered wild,
« They told me thou couldst heal my child! ”
"It may be so, but thou must bring
To me this simple offering,-
Some seeds of mustard which have grown
By homes where death was never known,
Nor tears have fallen beside the grave
Of mother, brother, child, or slave.
Go to the happy and the free,
And of their store ring thou to me. )
She rose in haste, and all that day
She went her melancholy way.
No door was shut, for pitying eyes
Her quest beheld in kind surprise ;
But every stranger answering said,
« We too have looked upon the dead, -
We too have wept beside the grave
Of mother, brother, child, or slave. ”
At set of sun alone she stood
Within the vine-entangled wood,
And uttered sadly, "I perceive
That every living heart must grieve.
Brief happiness had made me blind
To common griefs of humankind;
My eyes are open now to see
That all the world has we with me. ”


## p. 16458 (#158) ##########################################

16458
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Beneath the branches sweet and wild
She made a cradle for her child,
And watched until she saw afar
The village lamps, star after star,
Gleam, burn, and fade. « Our lives,” she said,
“Like lamps of night will soon be fled
Sleep soft, my child, until I come
To share thy rest and find thy home. »
FRANCES L. Mace.
LULLABY
LE
ENNAVAN-MO,
Lennavan-mo,
Who is it swinging you to and fro,
With a long low swing and a sweet low croon,
And the loving words of the mother's rune ?
Lennavan-mo,
Lennavan-mo,
Who is it swinging you to and fro?
I'm thinking it is an angel fair,-
The Angel that looks on the gulf from the lowest stair
And swings the green world upward by its leagues of sunshine hair.
Lennavan-nio,
Lennavan-mo,
Who is it swings you and the Angel to and fro?
It is He whose faintest thought is a world afar;
It is He whose wish is a leaping seven-mooned star;
It is He, Lennavan-mo,
To whom you and I and all things flow.
Lennavan-mo,
Lennavan-mo,
It is only a little wee lass you are, Eilidh-mo-chree,
But as this wee blossom has roots in the depths of the sky,
So you are at one with the Lord of Eternity –
Bonnie wee lass that you are,
My morning-star,
Eilidh-mo-chree, Lennavan-mo,
Lennavan-mo.
FIONA MACLEOD.


## p. 16459 (#159) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16459
AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE
GOOD painter, tell me true,
Has your hand the cunning to draw
Shapes of things that you never saw ?
Aye? Well, here is an order for you.
O
Woods and cornfields a little brown,-
The picture must not be over-bright, -
Yet all in the golden and gracious light
Of a cloud when the summer sun is down;
Alway and alway, night and morn,
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn
Lying between them, not quite sere,
And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom,
When the wind can hardly find breathing-room
Under their tassels; - cattle near,
Biting shorter the short green grass,
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras,
With bluebirds twittering all around, -
(Ah, good painter, you can't paint sound! )
These, and the house where I was born,
Low and little, and black and old,
With children, many as it can hold,
All at the windows open wide, -
Heads and shoulders clear outside,
And fair young faces all ablush,-
Perhaps you may have seen, some day,
Roses crowding the selfsame way
Out of a wilding, wayside bush.
Listen closer. When you have done
With woods and cornfields and grazing herds,
A lady, the loveliest ever the sun
Looked down upon, you must paint for me:
Oh, if I only could make you see
The clear blue eyes, the tender smile,
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace,
The woman's soul, and the angel's face
That are beaming on me all the while,
I need not speak these foolish words:
Yet one word tells you all I would say,–
She is my mother; you will agree
That all the rest may be thrown away.


## p. 16460 (#160) ##########################################

16460
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Two little urchins at her knee
You must paint, sir: one like me, –
The other with a clearer brow,
And the light of his adventurous eyes
Flashing with boldest enterprise:
At ten years old he went to sea, -
God knoweth if he be living now,
He sailed in the good ship Commodore;
Nobody ever crossed her track
To bring us news, and she never came back.
Ah, it is twenty long years and more
Since that old ship went out of the bay
With my great-hearted brother on her deck:
I watched him till he shrank to a speck,
And his face was toward me all the way.
Bright his hair was, a golden brown,
The time we stood at our mother's knee;
That beauteous head, if it did go down,
Carried sunshine into the sea!
Out in the fields one summer night
We were together, half afraid
Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade
Of the high hills, stretching so still and far,-
Loitering till after the low little light
Of the candle shone through the open door,
And over the haystack's pointed top,
All of a tremble and ready to drop,
The first half-hour, the great yellow star,
That we, with staring, ignorant eyes,
Had often and often watched to see
Propped and held in its place in the skies
By the fork of a tall red mulberry-tree
Which close in the edge of our fax-field grew,-
Dead at the top, -- just one branch full
Of leaves, notched round, and lined with wool,
From which it tenderly shook the dew
Over our heads, when we came to play
In its hand-breadth of shadow, day after day.
Afraid to go home, sir: for one of us bore
A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs,-
The other, a bird, held fast by the legs,
Not so big as a straw of wheat;
The berries we gave her she wouldn't eat,


## p. 16461 (#161) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16461
But cried and cried, till we held her bill,
So slim and shining, to keep her still.
At last we stood at our mother's knee.
Do you think, sir, if you try,
You can paint the look of a lie ?
If you can, pray have the grace
To put it solely in the face
Of the urchin that is likest me;
(I think 'twas solely mine, indeed;
But that's no matter, - paint it so ;)
The eyes of our mother (take good heed)
Looking not on the nestful of eggs,
Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs,
But straight through our faces down to our lies,
And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise!
I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though
A sharp blade struck through it.
You, sir, know
That you on the canvas are to repeat
Things that are fairest, things most sweet, -
Woods and cornfields and mulberry-tree,
The mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee:
But oh, that look of reproachful woe!
High as the heavens your name I'll shout,
If you paint me the picture, and leave that out.
ALICE CARY.
RACHEL
N°
TO DAYS that dawn can match for her
The days before her house was bare;
Sweet was the whole year with the stir
Of young feet on the stair.
Once was she wealthy with small cares,
And small hands clinging to her knees;
Now she is poor, and, weeping, bears
Her strange new hours of ease.
LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE.


## p. 16462 (#162) ##########################################

16462
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE DEAD MOTHER
A
s I LAY asleep, as I lay asleep,
Under the grass as I lay so deep,
As I lay asleep in my cotton serk
Under the shade of Our Lady's kirk,
I wakened up in the dead of night,
I wakened up in my death-serk white,
And I heard a cry from far away,
And I knew the voice of my daughter May:-
« Mother, mother, come hither to me!
Mother, mother, come hither and see!
Mother, mother, mother dear,
Another mother is sitting here:
My body is bruised, and in pain I cry;
On the straw in the dark afraid I lie;
I thirst and hunger for drink and meat,
And mother, mother, to sleep were sweet! »
I heard the cry, though my grave was deep,
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep.
I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep,
Up I rose from my grave so deep!
The earth was black, but overhead
The stars were yellow, the moon was red;
And I walked along all white and thin,
And lifted the latch and entered in.
I reached the chamber as dark as night,
And though it was dark my face was white.
Mother, mother, I look on thee!
Mother, mother, you frighten me!
For your cheeks are thin and your hair is gray! ”
But I smiled, and kissed her fears away;
I smoothed her hair and I sang a song,
And on my knee I rocked her long :
“O mother, mother, sing low to me –
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! »
I kissed her, but I could not weep,
And she went to sleep, she went to sleep.
As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep,
My May and I, in our grave so deep,
As we lay asleep in the midnight mirk,
l'nder the shade of Our Lady's kirk,


## p. 16463 (#163) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16463
I wakened up in the dead of night,
Though May my daughter lay warm and white,
And I heard the cry of a little one,
And I knew 'twas the voice of Hugh my son:-
“Mother, mother, come hither to me!
Mother, mother, come hither and see!
Mother, mother, mother dear,
Another mother is sitting here:
My body is bruised and my heart is sad,
But I speak my mind and call them bad;
I thirst and hunger night and day,
And were I strong I would fly away! ”
I heard the cry though my grave was deep,
And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep.
(
I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep,
Up I rose from my grave so deep:
The earth was black, but overhead
The stars were yellow, the moon was red;
And I walked along all white and thin,
And lifted the latch and entered in.
Mother, mother, and art thou here?
I know your face, and I feel no fear;
Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek,
For oh, I am weary and sore and weak. ”
I smoothed his hair with a mother's joy,
And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy;
I raised and held him on my breast,
Sang him a song and bade him rest.
“Mother, mother, sing low to me
I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! »
I kissed him, and I could not weep,
As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep.
As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep.
With my girl and boy in my grave so deep,
As I lay asleep, I awoke in fear,-
Awoke, but awoke not my children dear,-
And heard a cry so low and weak
From a tiny voice that could not speak;
I heard the cry of a little one,
My bairn that could neither talk nor run,-
My little, little one, uncaressed,
Starving for lack of the milk of the breast:


## p. 16464 (#164) ##########################################

16464
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And I rose from sleep and entered in,
And found my little one pinched and thin,
And crooned a song and hushed its moan,
And put its lips to my white breast-bone;
And the red, red moon that lit the place
Went white to look at the little face,
And I kissed, and kissed, and I could not weep,
As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep.
As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep.
I set it down in the darkness deep,
Smoothed its limbs and laid it out,
And drew the curtains round about;
And into the dark, dark room I hied,
Where he lay awake at the woman's side;
And though the chamber was black as night,
He saw my face, for it was so white:
I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain,
And I knew he never would sleep again;
And back to my grave went silently,
And soon my baby was brought to me:
My son and daughter beside me rest,
My little baby is on my breast;
Our bed is warm and our grave is deep,
But he cannot sleep, he cannot sleep.
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
LITTLE WILLIE
Pº
OOR little Willie,
With his many pretty wiles;
Worlds of wisdom in his looks,
And quaint, quiet smiles;
Hair of amber, touched with
Gold of heaven so brave;
All lying darkly hid
In a workhouse grave.
You remember little Willie:
Fair and funny fellow! he
Sprang like a lily
From the dirt of poverty.


## p. 16465 (#165) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16465
Poor little Willie!
Not a friend was nigh,
When, from the cold world,
He crouched down to die.
In the day we wandered foodless,
Little Willie cried for bread;
In the night we wandered homeless,
Little Willie cried for bed.
Parted at the workhouse door,
Not a word we said:
Ah, so tired was poor Willie,
And so sweetly sleep the dead.
'Twas in the dead of winter
We laid him in the earth;
The world brought in the New Year,
On a tide of mirth.
But for lost little Willie
Not a tear we crave:
Cold and hunger cannot wake him
In his workhouse grave.
We thought him beautiful,
Felt it hard to part;
We loved him dutiful:
Down, down, poor heart !
The storms they may beat;
The winter winds may rave;
Little Willie feels not,
In his workhouse grave.
No room for little Willie;
In the world he had no part;
On him stared the Gorgon-eye
Through which looks no heart.
Come to me, said Heaven;
And if Heaven will save,
Little matters though the door
Be a workhouse grave.
GERALD Massey.
XXVIII-1030


## p. 16466 (#166) ##########################################

16466
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE APPARITION
I
IN the grayness rose:
I could not sleep for thinking of one dead.
Then to the chest I went
Where lie the things of my beloved spread.
Quietly these I took:
A little glove, a sheet of music torn,
Paintings, ill-done perhaps;
Then lifted up
dress that she had worn.
And now I came to where
Her letters are, they lie beneath the rest,-
And read them in the haze:
She spoke of many things, was sore opprest.
But these things moved me not:
Not when she spoke of being parted quite,
Of being misunderstood,
Or growing weary of the world's great fight.
Not even when she wrote
Of our dead child, and the handwriting swerved:
Not even then I shook ;
Not even by such words was I unnerved.
I thought — She is at peace;
Whither the child has gone, she too has passed,
And a much-needed rest
Is fallen upon her; she is still at last.
But when at length I took
From under all those letters one small sheet,
Folded and writ in haste,
Why did my heart with sudden sharpness beat?
Alas, it was not sad!
Her saddest words I had read calmly o'er.
Alas, it had no pain!
Her painful words, all these I knew before.
A hurried, happy line!
A little jest, too slight for one so dead:
This did I not endure;
Then with a shuddering heart no more I read.
STEPHEN PHILLIPS.


## p. 16467 (#167) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16467
THE OTHER ONE
S"
WEET little maid with winsome eyes
That laugh all day through the tangled hair;
Gazing with baby looks so wise
Over the arm of the oaken chair:
Dearer than you is none to me,
Dearer than you there can be none;
Since in your laughing face I see
Eyes that tell of another one.
Here where the firelight softly glows,
Sheltered and safe and snug and warm,
What to you is the wind that blows,
Driving the sleet of the winter storm?
Round your head the ruddy light
Glints on the gold from your tresses spun,
But deep is the drifting snow to-night
Over the head of the other one.
Hold me close as you sagely stand,
Watching the dying embers shine;
Then shall I feel another hand
That nestled once in this hand of mine -
Poor little hand, so cold and chill,
Shut from the light of stars and sun,
Clasping the withered roses still
That hide the face of the sleeping one.
Laugh, little maid, while laugh you may!
Sorrow comes to us all, I know ;-
Better perhaps for her to stay
Under the drifting robe of snow.
Sing while you may your baby songs,
Sing till your baby days are done;
But oh, the ache of the heart that longs
Night and day for the other one!
HARRY THURSTON PECK.


## p. 16468 (#168) ##########################################

16468
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
IN USUM DELPHINI
Hºw
ow fain were I, O Curly-pate,
To smooth the wrinkle from thy brow,
The tangled sentence to make straight,
Nor vex thee with the why and how.
But darker riddles for thee wait:
Who may emend the scroll of fate ?
That moldering myth of lust and hate
For thee how gladly I'd revise,
Nor suffer aught to desecrate
The gleam of those unsullied eyes:
This page I'd spare thee to translate;
But who man's heart can expurgate ?
In vain for boyhood's prince-estate
Our love betrays the bitter trust.
The Three no tribute will abate
From king or churl: all mortals must -
Or on the throne or at the gate
Read life's full lesson soon or late.
GEORGE M. WHICHER.
THE WOODSIDE WAY
I
WANDERED down the woodside way,
Where branching doors ope with the breeze,
And saw a little child at play
Among the strong and lovely trees:
The dead leaves rustled to her knees;
Her hair and eyes were brown as they.
“O little child,” I softly said,
“You come a long, long way to me;
The trees that tower overhead
Are here in sweet reality,
But you're the child I used to be,
And all the leaves of May you tread. ”
ETHELWYN WETHERALD,


## p. 16469 (#169) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16469
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR
A
YOUTH, light-hearted and content,
I wander through the world;
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent,
And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream that once a wife
Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
A blessed child I rocked.
I wake! Away, that dream,- away!
Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day
It ever comes again.
The end lies ever in my thought; –
To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
Then dropped the child asleep.
But now the dream is wholly o’er;
I bathe mine eyes and see;
And wander through the world once more,
A youth so light and free.
Two locks,- and they are wondrous fair,-
Left me that vision mild:
The brown is from the mother's hair,
The blond is from the child.
And when I see that lock of gold,
Pale grows the evening-red;
And when the dark lock I behold,
I wish that I were dead.
GUSTAV PFIZER.
Longfellow's Translation.


## p. 16470 (#170) ##########################################

16470
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE BRAMBLE FLOWER
THY
why fruit full well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So put thou forth thy small white rose:
I love it for his sake.
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow
O’er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show
Thy satin-threaded flowers.
For dull the eye, the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms are;
How delicate thy gauzy frill,
How rich thy branchy stem,
How soft thy voice when woods are still,
And thou sing'st hymns to them;
While silent showers are falling slow,
And, 'mid the general hush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,
Lone whispering through the bush!
The primrose to the grave is gone;
The hawthorn flower is dead;
The violet by the mossed gray stone
Hath laid her weary head:
But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power,
The fresh green days of life's fair spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.
Scorned bramble of the brake! once more
Thou bidd'st me be a boy,
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er,
In freedom and in oy.
EBENEZER ELLIOT.
BEGONE, DULL CARE
B
EGONE, dull care!
I prithee begone from me;
Begone, dull care!
Thou and I can never agree.


## p. 16471 (#171) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16471
Long while thou hast been tarrying here,
And fain thou wouldst me kill;
But i' faith, dull care,
Thou never shalt have thy will.
Too much care
Will make a young man gray;
Too much care
Will turn an old man to clay:
My wife shall dance, and I will sing,
So merrily pass the day;
For I hold it is the wisest thing
To drive dull care away.
Hence, dull care!
l'll none of thy company;
Hence, dull care!
Thou art no pair for me.
We'll hunt the wild boar through the wold,
So merrily pass the day;
And then at night, o'er a cheerful bowl,
We'll drive dull care away.
Author Unknown.
T"
THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER
HERE was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee; [he;
He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as
And this the burden of his song forever used to be:
«I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me.
“I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife;
I would not change my station for any other in life;
No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor e'er had a groat from me:
I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me. ”
When spring begins his merry career, oh, how his heart grows gay:
No summer's drought alarms his fear, nor winter's cold decay;
No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say,
“Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day. ”
Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing:
The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring :
Let heart and voice and all agree to say, “Long live the king. ”
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. "


## p. 16472 (#172) ##########################################

16472
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
VANITAS! VANITATUM VANITAS!
I
've set my heart upon nothing, you see;
Hurrah!
And so the world goes well with me:
Hurrah!
And who has a mind to be fellow of mine,
Why, let hiin take hold and help me drain
These moldy lees of wine.
I set my heart at first upon wealth;
Hurrah!
And bartered away my peace and health:
But ah!
The slippery change went about like air,-
And when I had clutched me a handful here,
Away it went there!
I set my heart upon woman next;
Hurrah!
For her sweet sake was oft perplexed:
But ah!
The False one looked for a daintier lot,
The Constant one wearied me out and out,
The Best was not easily got.
I set my heart upon travels grand;
Hurrah!
And spurned our plain old fatherland:
But ah!
Naught seemed to be just the thing it should, -
Most comfortless beds and indifferent food!
My tastes misunderstood!
I set my heart upon sounding fame:
Hurrah!
And lo! I'm eclipsed by some upstart's name;
And ah!
When in public life I loomed quite high,
The folks that passed me would look awry;
Their very worst friend was I.
And then I set my heart upon war:
Hurrah!
We gained some battles with éclat;
Hurrah !


## p. 16473 (#173) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16473
We troubled the foe with sword and flame-
And some of our friends fared quite the same:
I lost a leg for fame.
Now I've set my heart upon nothing, you see;
Hurrah !
And the whole wide world belongs to me:
Hurrah!
The feast begins to run low, no doubt;
But at the old cask we'll have one good bout -
Come, drink the lees all out!
GOETHE.
Translation of John Sullivan Dwight.
DEATH AN EPICUREAN
D
EATH loveth not the woeful heart,
Or the soul that's tired of living.
Nay, it's up and away
With the heart that's gay
And the life that's worth the giving.
Seldom he stops where his welcome's sure,
Where age and want are sighing.
Nay, it's up and away,
For he scorns to stay
With the wretch who would be dying.
Ah, it's youth and love and a cloudless sky
The epicurean's after.
Nay, it's up and away
When the world's in May
And life is full of laughter.
JEAN WRIGHT.


## p. 16474 (#174) ##########################################

16474
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN
TH
HERE came three men out of the West,
Their victory to try;
And they have taken a solemn oath
Poor Barleycorn should die.
They took a plow and plowed him in,
And harrowed clods on his head;
And then they took a solemn oath
Poor Barleycorn was dead.
There he lay sleeping in the ground
Till rain from the sky did fall;
Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.
1
i
There he remained till midsummer,
And looked both pale and wan;
Then Barleycorn he got a beard,
And became a man.
Then they sent men with scythes so sharp,
To cut him off at knee;
And then poor little Barleycorn
They served him barbarously :
Then they sent men with pitchforks strong,
To pierce him through the heart;
And, like a dreadful tragedy,
They bound him to a cart.
And then they brought him to a barn,
A prisoner, to endure;
And so they fetched him out again,
And laid him on the floor:
Then they set men with holly clubs
To beat the flesh from his bones;
But the miller he served him worse than that,
For he ground him betwixt two stones.
Oh, Barleycorn is the choicest grain
That ever was sown on land!
It will do inore than any grain
By the turning of your hand.
It will make a boy into a man,
And a man into an ass;
It will change your gold into silver,
And your silver into brass :


## p. 16475 (#175) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16475
It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,
That never wound his horn;
It will bring the tinker to the stocks,
That people may him scorn;
It will put sack into a glass,
And claret in the can;
And it will cause a man to drink
Till he neither can go nor stan'.
Author Unknown.
SPARKLING AND BRIGHT
SPAR
PARKLING and bright in liquid light
Does the wine our goblets gleam in,
With a hue as red as the rosy bed
Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then fill to-night, with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting,
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim
And break on the lips while meeting.
Oh! if mirth might arrest the flight
Of time through life's dominions,
We here awhile would now beguile
The graybeard of his pinions.
So drink to-night, with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting,
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim
And break on the lips while meeting.
But since delight can't tempt the wight,
Nor fond regret delay him,
Nor Love himself can hold the elf,
Nor sober Friendship stay him,
We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting,
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim
And break on the lips while meeting.
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.


## p. 16476 (#176) ##########################################

16476
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WASSAIL CHORUS
From (The Coming of Love and Other Poems. ? John Lane: London and
New York, 1898.
CHORUS
C
HRISTMAS knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place –
Where?
RALEIGH
'Tis by Devon's glorious halls,
Whence, dear Ben, I come again:
Bright with golden roofs and walls-
El Dorado's rare domain
Seem those halls when sunlight launches
Shafts of gold through leafless branches,
When the winter's feathery mantle blanches
Field and farm and lane.
CHORUS
Christmas knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place -
Where?
DRAYTON
'Tis where Avon's wood-sprites weave
Through the boughs a lace of rime,
While the bells of Christmas Eve
Fling for Will the Stratford-chime
O'er the river-flags embossed
Rich with flowery runes of frost -
O'er the meads where snowy tufts are tossed -
Strains of olden time.
CHORUS
Christmas knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:


## p. 16477 (#177) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16477
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place
Where?
“MR. W. H. )
'Tis, methinks, on any ground
Where our Shakespeare's feet are set.
There smiles Christmas, holly-crowned
With his blithest coronet.
Friendship's face he loveth well:
'Tis a countenance whose spell
Sheds a balm o'er every mead and dell
Where we used to fret.
CHORUS
Christmas knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place -
Where?
HEYWOOD
More than all the pictures, Ben,
Winter weaves by wood or stream,
Christmas loves our London, when
Rise thy clouds of wassail-steam
Clouds like these, that, curling, take
Forms of faces gone, and wake
Many a lay from lips we loved, and make
London like a dream.
CHORUS
Christmas knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place-
Where?
BEN JONSON
Love's old songs shall never die,
Yet the new shall suffer proof;
Love's old drink of Yule brew I,
Wassail for new love's behoof:
Drink the drink I brew, and sing
Till the berried branches swing,


## p. 16478 (#178) ##########################################

16478
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Till our song make all the Mermaid ring -
Yea, from rush to roof.
FINALE
Christmas loves this merry, merry place:
Christmas saith with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair,
« Ben! the drink tastes rare of sack and mace;
Rare! »
THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON.
MEDIÆVAL LATIN STUDENT SONGS
Time's A-FLYING (LAURIGER HORATIUS)
(“Two lyrics of distinguished excellence, which still hold their place in the
(Commersbuch, cannot claim certain antiquity in their present form.
The first starts with an allusion to the Horatian tempus edax rerum. ”]
L
AUREL-CROWNED Horatius,
True, how true thy saying!
Swift as wind Aies over us
Time, devouring, slaying.
Where are, oh! those goblets full
Of wine honey-laden,
Strifes and loves and bountiful
Lips of ruddy maiden?
Grows the young grape tenderly,
And the maid is growing;
But the thirsty poet, see,
Years on him are snowing!
What's the use on hoary curls
Of the bays undying,
If we may not kiss the girls,
Drink while time's a-flying?
Translation of John Addington Symonds.
GAUDEAMUS IGITUR
[“Having alluded to (Gaudeamus Igitur,' I shall close my translations with
a version of it into English. The dependence of this lyric upon the rhythm
and substance of the poem "On Contempt for the World)
is perhaps
the reason why it is sung by German students after the funeral of a comrade.


## p. 16479 (#179) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16479
The Office for the Dead sounding in their ears, occasions the startling igitur
[“therefore )) — «let us then”) with which it opens; and their mind reverts to
solemn phrases in the midst of masculine determination to enjoy the present
while it is yet theirs. ”]
Et us live, then, and be glad
While young life's before us!
After youthful pastime had,
After old age hard and sad,
Earth will slumber o'er us.
LET
Where are they who in this world,
Ere we kept, were keeping ?
Go ye to the gods above;
Go to hell; inquire thereof:
They are not: they're sleeping.
Brief is life, and brevity
Briefly shall be ended:
Death comes like a whirlwind strong,
Bears us with his blast along;
None shall be defended.
Live this university,
Men that learning nourish;
Live each member of the same,
Long live all that bear its name;
Let them ever flourish!
Live the commonwealth also,
And the men that guide it!
Live our town in strength and health,
Founders, patrons, by whose wealth
We are here provided!
Live all girls! A health to you,
Melting maids and beauteous!
Live the wives and women too,
Gentle, loving, tender, true,
Good, industrious, duteous!
Perish cares that pule and pine!
Perish envious blamers!
Die the Devil, thine and mine!
Die the starch-neck Philistine!
Scoffers and defamers!
Translation of John Addington Symonds.


## p. 16480 (#180) ##########################################

16480
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A CITIZEN OF COSMOPOLIS
WHAT
At is the name of your country — where
Is the land of your love that you leave behind ?
And what is the country to which you fare,
And what is the hope that you have in mind ? -
"My land is wherever my rest I find,
My home is wherever I chance to be,
My way and mine end are by fate assigned -
Io vengo da Cosmopoli! » *
((
Is there no woman whose songs ensnare
Your heart to follow, yet unresigned ?
No subtle thread of a golden hair,
Like Lilith's hair, round your heart entwined ?
«In no fetter of gold is my heart confined,
No siren lures me across the sea,
I am not to hold, I am not to bind
Io vengo da Cosmopoli! »
(c
When flames of the burning cities flare,
And towers fall down, being undermined,
When drums are beaten and trumpets blare,
And the neigh of the war-horse is on the wind, -
Under which king? – “Since Fortune is blind
And I am her soldier, I do not see
Or friend or foe in the ranks aligned:
Io vengo da Cosmopoli ! »
ENVOI
-
« The world, my lords, has been cruel and kind, —
I have laughed and suffered, but not repined:
If I live or die matters little to me,
Or whether my grave with a cross be signed –
Io vengo da Cosmopoli! »
ELIZABETH PULLEN.
*«I come from Cosmopolis. ”


## p. 16481 (#181) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16481
THE TROOPER TO HIS MARE
OP
LD girl that has borne me far and fast
On pawing hoofs that were never loath,
Our gallop to-day may be the last
For you, or for me, or perhaps for both!
As I tighten your girth do you nothing daunt?
Do you catch the hint of our forming line ?
And now the artillery moves to the front,
Have you never a qualm, Bay Bess of mine?
It is dainty to see you sidle and start,
As you move to the battle's cloudy marge,
And to feel the swells of your wakening heart
When our sonorous bugles sound a charge.
At the scream of the shell and the roar of the drum
You feign to be frightened with roguish glance;
But up the green slopes where the bullets hum
Coquettishly, darling, I've known you dance.
Your skin is satin, your nostrils red,
Your eyes are a bird's, or a loving girl's;
And from delicate fetlock to stately head
A throbbing vein-cordage around you curls.
O joy of my heart! if you they slay,
For triumph or rout I little care;
For there isn't in all the wide valley to-day
Such a dear little bridle-wise, thoroughbred mare!
CHARLES G. HALPINE.
THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT
He stream was smooth as glass: we said, “Arise and let's away;"
The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay;
And, spread the sail and strong the oar, we gayly took our way.
When shall the sandy bar be crossed ? When shall we find the bay?
THE
The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted plains;
The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains:
The laborer looks up to see our shallop speed away.
When shall the sandy bar be crossed? When shall we find the bay?
Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large,
Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks Alaming at their marge.
XXVIII-1031


## p. 16482 (#182) ##########################################

16482
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The waves are bright with mirrored light as jacinths on our way.
When shall the sandy bar be crossed ? When shall we find the bay ?
The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see
The spreading river's either bank; and surging distantly,
There booms a sullen thunder as of breakers far away:
Now shall the sandy bar be crossed; now shall we find the bay!
The sea-gull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight
The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the
night.
We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay,
When now the sandy bar is crossed, and we are in the bay.
What rises white and awful as a shroud-infolded ghost ?
What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangor on the coast ?
Pull back, pull back! The raging food sweeps every oar away.
O stream, is this thy bar of sand ? O boat, is this the bay?
RICHARD GARNETT.
THE CROSS BY THE WAY
(KROAZ ANN HENT)
WEET in the greenwood a birdie sings;
Golden-yellow its two bright wings;
Red its heartikin, blue its crest:
Oh, but it sings with the sweetest breast!
Su
Early, early it 'lighted down
On the edge of my ingle-stone,
As I prayed my morning prayer,-
“Tell me thy errand, birdie fair. ”
Then sung it as many sweet things to me
As there are roses on the rose-tree:
« Take a sweetheart, lad, an' you may;
To gladden your heart both night and day. ”
Past the cross by the way as I went,
Monday, I saw her fair as a saint:
Sunday, I will go to mass,
There on the green I'll see her pass.
Water poured in a beaker clear
Dimmer shows than the eyes of my dear;


## p. 16483 (#183) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16483
Pearls themselves are not more bright
Than her little teeth, pure and white.
Then her hands and her cheek of snow,
Whiter than milk in a black pail, show.
Yes, if you could my sweetheart see,
She would charm the heart from thee.
Had I as many crowns at my beck
As hath the Marquis of Poncalec,
Had I a gold-mine at my door,
Wanting my sweetheart I were poor.
If on my door-sill up should come
Golden flowers for furze and broom,
Till my court were with gold piled high,
Little I'd reck, but she were by.
Doves must have their close warm nest,
Corpses must have the tomb for rest;
Souls to Paradise must depart:
And I, my love, must to thy heart.
Every Monday at dawn of day
I'll on my knees to the cross by the way;
At the new cross by the way I'll bend,
In thy honor, my gentle friend!
Mediæval Breton.
Translation of Tom Taylor.
THE FAIRY QUEEN
C°
HOME, follow, follow me
You, fairy elves that be,
Which circle on the green
Come, follow Mab your queen!
Hand in hand let's dance around;
For this place is fairy ground.