No More Learning

TAR
(
“O haud your tongue, daughter, ye'll get better than he. ” –
“O say nae sae, mither, for that canna be:
Though Doumlie is richer and greater than he,
Yet if I maun tak him, I'll certainly dee. -
“Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon ? » –
“O here am I a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon. ”
When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas (wash and go dine);
'Twas wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine. ”
“O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine,
To gar a lady's hasty errand wait till I dine;
((
“But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee. ”
The first line that he read, a low smile gave he;
The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e;
But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee.
“Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town:)
But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green,
O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.
When he came to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there;
Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair:
«Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome,” said she,
« Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see. ”
Pale and wan was she when Glenlogie gaed ben,
But red and rosy grew she whene'er he sat down;
She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e:
“O binna feard, mither, I'll maybe no dee. ”
SCOTTISH MINSTRELSY.


## p. 16929 (#629) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16929
BINNORIE
THERE
HERE were twa sisters sat in a bower;
(Binnorie, O Binnorie ! )
A knight came there, a noble wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie ! )
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing –
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The eldest she was vexèd sair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
And sair envied her sister fair
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Upon a morning fair and clear
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
She cried upon her sister dear,
By the bonny mill-dams o’Binnorie:-
“O sister, sister, tak my hand,”
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
“And let's go down to the river-strand,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. ”
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
And down they went to the river-strand,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
“O sister, sister, reach your hand!
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
“And ye sall be heir o' half my land”
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
«O sister, reach me but your glove! ”
(Binnorie, O Binnorie ! )
“And sweet William sall be your love » -
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
XXVIII-1059


## p. 16930 (#630) ##########################################

16930
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam,
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
Out then cam' the miller's son
(Binnorie, O Binnorie ! )
And saw the fair maid soummin' in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
>
"O father, father, draw your dam! ”
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
« There's either a mermaid or a swan
By the bonny inill-dams o' Binnorie.
The miller quickly drew the dam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
And there he found a drowned womán,
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
Round about her middle sma'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
There went a gowden girdle sma' —
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
All amang her yellow hair
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
A string o' pearls was twisted rare
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
On her fingers, lily-white,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
The jewel-rings were shining bright-
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And by there cam' a harper fine,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie ! )
Harpèd to nobles when they dine –
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on,
(Binnorie, ( Binnorie ! )
He sighed and made a heavy moan,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )


## p. 16931 (#631) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16931
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
He went into her father's hall,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
And played his harp before them all,
By the bonny mill-dams o’Binnorie.
And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
“Fareweel, my father and mither dear! »
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And neist when the harp began to sing,
(Binnorie, 0 Binnorie! )
'Twas “Fareweel, sweetheart ! ” said the string -
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
And then, as plain as plain could be,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie! )
« There sits my sister who drowned me! ” —
By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
Author Unknown.
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
T"
W
HERE lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
They had not been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
When word came to the carline wife
That her sons she'd never see.
“I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fishes in the food,
Till my three sons come hame to me
In earthly flesh and blood!


## p. 16932 (#632) ##########################################

16932
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o’ Paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh.
“Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well!
And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide :
And she's ta'en her mantle her about;
Sat down at the bedside.
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray:
The eldest to the youngest said,
(( 'Tis time we were away! ”
C
The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a',
Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
“Brother, we must awa'.
« The cock doth craw, the day doth daw
The channerin' worm doth chide:
If we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
“Fare ye well, my mother dear!
Farewell to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire! ”
Author Unknown.


## p. 16933 (#633) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16933
LORD LOVEL
ORD Lovel he stood at his castle-gate,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed, speed,
To wish her lover good speed.
“Where are you going, Lord Lovel ? ” she said;
“Oh! where are you going ? ” said she. -
« I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see, to see,
Strange countries for to see. ”
“When will you be back, Lord Lovel ? ” she said;
«Oh! when will you come back? ” said she. -
“In a year or two or three, at the most,
I'll return to my fair Nancy-cy,
I'll return to my fair Nancy. ”
But he had not been gone a year and a day,
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, see,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.
So he rode and he rode on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to London town;
And there he heard St. Pancras's bells,
And the people all mourning round, round,
And the people all mourning round.
“Oh! what is the matter? ) Lord Lovel he said;
“Oh! what is the matter? » said he. -
“A lord's lady is dead," a woman replied,
“And some call her Lady Nancy-cy,
And some call her Lady Nancy. ”
So he ordered the grave to be opened wide,
And the shroud he turned down;
And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down, down,
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day,
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow;


## p. 16934 (#634) ##########################################

16934
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.
Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras's church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover's a brier, brier,
And out of her lover's a brier.
They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,
And then they could grow no higher:
So there they entwined in a true-lovers' knot,
For all lovers true to admire-mire,
For all lovers true to admire.
Author Unknown.
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY
I
N SCARLET towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the towne where shee was dwellin :-
“You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
« For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen. ” —
« Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee
For bonny Barbara Allen. ”
>
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;


## p. 16935 (#635) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16935
And all she sayd, when there she came
“Yong man, I think y'are dying. ”
»
He turned his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing:-
“O lovely maid, come pity mee,
I'me on my death-bed lying. ” –
(
“If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin ?
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell,” sayd Barbara Allen.
He turned his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
“Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen ! »
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
“Unworthye Barbara Allen! )
She turned her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
“Laye down, laye down the corps,” she sayd,
« That I may look upon him. ”
(c
(
With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin,
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
“Unworthye Barbara Allen! »
When he was dead and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe:-
“O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.
«Hard-harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
Oh that I had been more kind to him,
When he was alive and neare me! »
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the daye
That she did ere denye him.


## p. 16936 (#636) ##########################################

16936
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
«Farewell,” she sayd, “ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in :
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen. ”
Author Unknown.
THE LAST HUNT
O"
H, It's twenty gallant gentlemen
Rode out to hunt the deer,
With mirth upon the silver horn
And gleam upon the spear;
They galloped through the meadow-grass,
They sought the forest's gloom,
And loudest rang Sir Morven's laugh,
And lightest tost his plume.
There's no delight by day or night
Like hunting in the morn;
So busk ye, gallant gentlemen,
And sound the silver horn!
They rode into the dark greenwood
By ferny dell and glade,
And now and then upon their cloaks
The yellow sunshine played;
They heard the timid forest-birds
Break off ainid their glee,
They saw the startled leveret,
But not a stag did see.
Wind, wind the horn, on suminer morn!
Though ne'er a buck appear,
There's health for horse and gentleman
A-hunting of the deer!
They panted up Ben Lomond's side
Where thick the leafage grew,
And when they bent the branches back
The sunbeams darted through:
Sir Morven in his saddle turned,
And to his comrades spake -
“Now quiet! we shall find a stag
Beside the Brownies' Lake. ”
-


## p. 16937 (#637) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16937
Then sound not on the bugle-horn,
Bend bush and do not break,
Lest ye should start the timid hart
A-drinking at the lake.
Now they have reached the Brownies' Lake,-
A blue eye in the wood, -
And on its brink a moment's space
All motionless they stood;
When suddenly the silence broke
With fifty bowstrings' twang,
And hurtling through the drowsy air
Full fifty arrows sang.
Ah, better for those gentlemen
Than horn and slender spear,
Were morion and buckler true,
A-hunting of the deer.
Not one of that brave company
Shall hunt the deer again:
Some fell beside the Brownies' Pool,
Some dropt in dell or glen;
An arrow pierced Sir Morven's breast,
His horse plunged in the lake,
And swimming to the farther bank
He left a bloody wake.
Ah, what avails the silver horn,
And what the slender spear ?
There's other quarry in the wood
Beside the fallow deer!
(C
O'er ridge and hollow sped the horse,
Besprent with blood and foam,
Nor slackened pace until at eve
He brought his master home.
How tenderly the Lady Ruth
The cruel dart withdrew!
“False Tirrell shot the bolt,” she said,
“That my Sir Morven slew ! )
Deep in the forest lurks the foe,
While gayly shines the morn;
Hang up the broken spear, and blow
A dirge upon the horn.
WILLIAM Roscoe THAYER.


## p. 16938 (#638) ##########################################

16938
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE RED FISHERMAN
or
THE DEVIL'S DECOY
“O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! »
- ROMEO AND JULIET. '
THE
HE Abbot arose, and closed his book,
And donned his sandal shoon,
And wandered forth, alone, to look
Upon the summer moon:
A starlight sky was o'er his head,
A quiet breeze around;
And the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed,
And the waves a soothing sound:
It was not an hour, nor a scene, for aught
But love and calm delight;
Yet the holy man had a cloud of thought
On his wrinkled brow that night.
He gazed on the river that gurgled by,
But he thought not of the reeds;
He clasped his gilded rosary,
But he did not tell the beads;
If he looked to the heaven, 'twas not to invoke
The spirit that dwelleth there;
If he opened his lips, the words they spoke
Had never the tone of prayer.
A pious priest might the Abbot seem,
He had swayed the crozier well;
But what was the theme of the Abbot's dream,
The Abbot were loath to tell.
Companionless, for a mile or more
He traced the windings of the shore.
Oh, beauteous is that river still,
As it winds by many a sloping hill,
And many a dim o'erarching grove,
And many a flat and sunny cove,
And terraced lawns whose bright arcades
The honeysuckle sweetly shades,
And rocks whose very crags seem bowers,
So gay they are with grass and flowers!
But the Abbot was thinking of scenery
About as much, in sooth,


## p. 16939 (#639) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16939
As a lover thinks of constancy,
Or an advocate of truth.
He did not mark how the skies in wrath
Grew dark above his head;
He did not mark how the mossy path
Grew damp beneath his tread:
And nearer he came, and still more near,
To a pool, in whose recess
The water had slept for many a year,
Unchanged and motionless;
From the river-stream it spread away
The space of half a rood;
The surface had the hue of clay
And the scent of human blood;
The trees and the herbs that round it grew
Were venomous and foul,
And the birds that through the bushes flew
Were the vulture and the owl;
The water was as dark and rank
As ever a Company pumped,
And the perch, that was netted and laid on the bank,
Grew rotten while it jumped;
And bold was he who thither came
At midnight, man or boy,
For the place was cursed with an evil name,
And that name was “The Devil's Decoy! ”
The Abbot was weary as abbot could be,
And he sat down to rest on the stump of a tree;
When suddenly rose a dismal tone,-
Was it a song, or was it a moan ?
“Oho! O ho!
Above - below -
Lightly and brightly they glide and go!
The hungry and keen on the top are leaping,
The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping:
Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy,
Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy! ”
In a monstrous fright, by the murky light,
He looked to the left and he looked to the right,
And what was the vision close before him,
That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him ?


## p. 16940 (#640) ##########################################

16940
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
'Twas a sight to make the hair uprise,
And the life-blood colder run:
The startled Priest struck both his thighs,
And the abbey-clock struck one!
All alone, by the side of the pool,
A tall man sat on a three-legged stool,
Kicking his heels on the dewy sod,
And putting in order his reel and rod:
Red were the rags his shoulders wore,
And a high red cap on his head he bore;
His arms and his legs were long and bare;
And two or three locks of long red hair
Were tossing about his scraggy neck,
Like a tattered flag o'er a splitting wreck.
It might be time, or it might be trouble,
Had bent that stout back nearly double,
Sunk in their deep and hollow sockets
That blazing couple of Congreve rockets,
And shrunk and shriveled that tawny skin
Till it hardly covered the bones within.
The line the Abbot saw him throw
Had been fashioned and formed long ages ago,
And the hands that worked his foreign vest
Long ages ago had gone to their rest:
You would have sworn as you looked on them,
He had fished in the Flood with Ham and Shem!
There was turning of keys and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
Minnow or gentle, worm or fly,-
It seemed not such to the Abbot's eye:
Gayly it glittered with jewel and gem,
And its shape was the shape of a diadem.
It was fastened a gleaming hook about
By a chain within and a chain without;
The Fisherman gave it a kick and a spin,
And the water fizzed as it tumbled in!
From the bowels of the earth
Strange and varied sounds had birth:
Now the battle's bursting peal,
Neigh of steed and clang of steel;
Now an old man's hollow groan
Echoed from the dungeon-stone;


## p. 16941 (#641) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16941
Now the weak and wailing cry
Of a stripling's agony! -
Cold by this was the midnight air;
But the Abbot's blood ran colder
When he saw a gasping Knight lie there,
With a gash beneath his clotted hair,
And a hump upon his shoulder.
And the loyal churchman strove in vain
To mutter a Pater Noster;
For he who writhed in mortal pain
Was camped that night on Bosworth plain -
The cruel Duke of Gloster!
There was turning of keys and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
It was a haunch of princely size,
Filling with fragrance earth and skies.
The corpulent Abbot knew full well
The swelling form and the steaming smell:
Never a monk that wore a hood
Could better have guessed the very wood
Where the noble hart had stood at bay,
Weary and wounded, at close of day.
Sounded then the noisy glee
Of a reveling company. -
Sprightly story, wicked jest,
Rated servant, greeted guest,
Flow of wine and flight of cork,
Stroke of knife and thrust of fork:
But where'er the board was spread,
Grace, I ween, was never said ! -
Pulling and tugging the Fisherman sat;
And the Priest was ready to vomit
When he hauled out a gentleman, fine and fat,
With a belly as big as a brimming vat,
And a nose as red as a comet.
"A capital stew,” the Fisherman said,
« With cinnamon and sherry! ”
And the Abbot turned away his head,
For his brother was lying before him dead,
The mayor of St. Edmund's Bury!
There was turning of keys and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.


## p. 16942 (#642) ##########################################

16942
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
It was a bundle of beautiful things,-
A peacock's tail, and a butterfly's wings,
A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl,
A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl,
And a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold
Such a stream of delicate odors rolled,
That the Abbot fell on his face and fainted,
And deemed his spirit was half-way sainted.
Sounds seemed dropping from the skies,-
Stifled whispers, smothered sighs,
And the breath of vernal gales,
And the voice of nightingales:
But the nightingales were mute,
Envious, when an unseen lute
Shaped the music of its chords
Into passion's thrilling words:-
"Smile, Lady, smile! — I will not set
Upon my brow the coronet,
Till thou wilt gather roses white
To wear around its gems of light.
Smile, Lady, smile! -I will not see
Rivers and Hastings bend the knee,
Till those bewitching lips of thine
Will bid me rise in bliss from mine.
Smile, Lady, smile!
for who would win
A loveless throne through guilt and sin ?
Or who would reign o'er vale and hill,
If woman's heart were rebel still ? ”
One jerk, and there a lady lay,
A lady wondrous fair;
But the rose of her lip had faded away,
And her cheek was as white and as cold as clay,
And torn was her raven hair.
“Ah ha! ” said the Fisher, in merry guise,
“Her gallant was hooked before ;)
And the Abbot heaved some piteous sighs,
For oft he had blessed those deep blue eyes, —
The eyes of Mistress Shore !
There was turning of keys and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait froin his iron box.
Many the cunning sportsman tried,
Many he flung with a frown aside:


## p. 16943 (#643) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16943
A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest,
A hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest,
Jewels of lustre, robes of price,
Tomes of heresy, loaded dice,
And golden cups of the brightest wine
That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine.
There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre,
As he came at last to a bishop's mitre!
From top to toe the Abbot shook,
As the Fisherman armed his golden hook,
And awfully were his features wrought
By some dark dream or wakened thought.
Look how the fearful felon gazes
On the scaffold his country's vengeance rạises,
When the lips are cracked and the jaws are dry
With the thirst which only in death shall die;
Mark the mariner's frenzied frown
As the swaling wherry settles down,
When peril has numbed the senses and will,
Though the hand and the foot may struggle still; —
Wilder far was the Abbot's glance,
Deeper far was the Abbot's trance:
Fixed as a monument, still as air,
He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer;
But he signed — he knew not why or how-
The sign of the Cross on his clammy brow.
There was turning of keys and creaking of locks,
As he stalked away with his iron box.
« Oho! Oho!
The cock doth crow;
It is time for the Fisher to rise and go.
Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine !
He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line:
Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south,
The Abbot will carry my hook in his mouth! ”
The Abbot had preached for many years
With as clear articulation
As ever was heard in the House of Peers
Against Emancipation;
His words had made battalions quake,
Had roused the zeal of martyrs,


## p. 16944 (#644) ##########################################

16944
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Had kept the Court an hour awake,
And the King himself three-quarters:
But ever from that hour, 'tis said,
He stammered and he stuttered,
As if an axe went through his head
With every word he uttered.
He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban,
He stuttered, drunk or dry;
And none but he and the Fisherman
Could tell the reason why!
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
A FOLK-SONG
THE MARINE
(Poitevin)
THE
He bold Marine comes back from war,
All so kind;
The bold Marine comes back from war,
So kind:
With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe.
“Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you,
All so kind? » -
“I travel back from the war, madame,
All so kind;
I travel back from the war, madame,
So kind:
For a glass of wine and a bowl of whey
'Tis I who will sing you a ballad gay,
All so kind. ”
The bold Marine he sips his whey,
All so kind;
He sips and he sings his ballad gay,
So kind:
But the dame she turns her against the wall,
For to wipe her tears that fall and fall,
All so kind.
«What aileth you at my song, madame,
All so kind ?


## p. 16945 (#645) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16945
I hope that I sing no wrong, madame,
So kind:
Or grieves it you that a beggar should dine
On a bowl of whey and this good white wine,
All so kind ? ».
“It ails me not at your ballad gay,
All so kind;
It ails not for the wine and whey,
So kind:
But it ails me sore at the voice and eyes
Of a good man long in Paradise,
All so kind. ”
»
« You have fair children five, madame,
All so kind;
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
Your good man left you children three —
Whence came these twain for company,
All so kind ? » —
“A letter came from the war, Marine,
All so kind;
A letter came from the war, Marine,
So kind:
For a while I wept for the good man dead,
But another good man in a while I wed,
All so kind. ”
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
All so kind;
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
So kind:
He said not a word, though the tears they flowed,
But back to his regiment took the road,
All so kind.
Q.
"Chants et Chansons Populaires des Provinces de l'Ouest. )
XXVIII-1060


## p. 16946 (#646) ##########################################

16946
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE STORY OF KARIN
K
ARIN the fair, Karin the gay,
She came on the morn of her bridal day,–
She came to the mill-pond clear and bright,
And viewed hersel' in the morning light.
“And oh,” she cried, « that my bonny brow
May ever be white and smooth as now!
“And oh, my hair, that I love to braid,
Be yellow in sunshine, and brown in shade!
"And oh, my waist, sae slender and fine,
May it never need girdle longer than mine! ”
She lingered and laughed o'er the waters clear,
When sudden she starts, and shrieks in fear :-
“Oh, what is this face, sae laidly old,
That looks at my side in the waters cold ? »
She turns around to view the bank,
And the osier willows dark and dank;
And from the fern she sees arise
An aged crone wi' awesome eyes.
C
“Ha! ha! ” she laughed, “ye're a bonny bride!
See how ye'll fare gin the New Year tide!
« Ye'll wear a robe sae blithely gran',
An ell-long girdle canna span.
«When twal-months three shall pass away,
Your berry-brown hair shall be streaked wi' gray.
"And gin ye be mither of bairnies nine,
Your brow shall be wrinkled and dark as mine. )
Karin she sprang to her feet wi' speed,
And clapped her hands abune her head:
"I pray to the saints and spirits all,
That never a child may me mither call! »
The crone drew near, and the crone she spake:-
“Nine times flesh and banes shall ache.
Laidly and awesome ye shall wane
Wi' toil, and care, and travail-pain. ”


## p. 16947 (#647) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16947
« Better,” said Karin, “lay me low,
And sink for aye in the water's flow! )
The crone raised her withered hand on high,
And showed her a tree that stood near by.
(
“And take of the bonny fruit,” she said,
"And eat till the seeds are dark and red.
« Count them less, or count them more,
Nine times you shall number o'er; —
“And when each number you shall speak,
Cast seed by seed into the lake. ”
Karin she ate of the fruit sae fine;
'Twas mellow as sand, and sweet as brine.
Seed by seed she let them fall :
The waters rippled over all.
But ilka seed as Karin threw,
Uprose a bubble to her view,-
Uprose a sigh from out the lake,–
As thougii a baby's heart did break.
Twice nine years are come and gone;
Karin the fair she walks her lone.
She sees around on ilka side,
Maiden and mither, wife and bride.
Wan and pale her bonny brow,
Sunken and sad her eyelids now.
Slow her step and heavy her breast,
And never an arm whereon to rest.
The old kirk-porch when Karin spied,
The postern-door was open wide.
<< Wae's me! ” she said: “I'll enter in
And shrive me from my every sin. ”
Twas silence all within the kirk;
The aisle was empty, chill, and mirk.
The chancel-rails were black and bare;
Nae priest, nae penitent, was there.


## p. 16948 (#648) ##########################################

16948
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Karin knelt, and her prayer she said;
But her heart within her was heavy and dead.
Her prayer fell back on the cold gray stone;
It would not rise to heaven alone.
Darker grew the darksome aisle,
Colder felt her heart the while.
“Wae's me! ” she cried, “what is my sin ?
Never I wronged kith nor kin.
“But why do I start and quake wi' fear
Lest I a dreadful doom should hear?
“And what is this light that seems to fall
On the sixth command upon the wall ?
"And who are these I see arise
And look on me wi' stony eyes?
«A shadowy troop, they flock sae fast
The kirk-yard may not hold the last.
“Young and old of ilk degree,
Bairns, and bairnies' bairns, I see.
(
"All I look on either way,
(Mother, mother! ) seem to say.
<< We are souls that might have been,
But for your vanity and sin.
«« (We, in numbers multiplied,
Might have lived, and loved, and died, -
« (Might have served the Lord in this, -
Might have met thy soul in bliss.
« (Mourn for us, then, while you pray,
Who might have been, but never may! ) »
Thus the voices died away,
“Might have been, but never may! »
Karin she left the kirk no more ;
Never she passed the postern-door.
They found her dead at the vesper toll:-
May Heaven in mercy rest her soul!
Danish.


## p. 16949 (#649) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16949
THE MERMAN
‘Dº
O THOU, dear mother, contrive amain
How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain. ”
She made him, of water, a noble steed,
Whose trappings were formed from rush and reed.
To a young knight changed she then her son;
To Mary's church at full speed he's gone.
His foaming horse to the gate he bound,
And paced the church full three times round.
When in he walked with his plume on high,
The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh;
The priest heard that, and he closed his book –
“Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look. ”
Then laughed the maiden beneath her sleeve:
“If he were my husband I should not grieve. ”
He stepped over benches one and two:
“O Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you. ”
He stepped over benches two and three:
“O Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me. ”
Then said the maid without more ado,-
«Here, take my troth – I will go with you. ”
They went from the church a bridal train,
And danced so gayly across the plain;
They danced till they came to the strand, and then
They were forsaken by maids and men.
(
Now, Marsk Stig's daughter, sit down and rest:
To build a boat I will do my best. ”
He built a boat of the whitest sand,
And away they went from the smiling land;
But when they had crossed the ninth green wave,
Down sunk the boat to the ocean cave!
I caution ye, maids, as well as I can,
Ne'er give your troth to an unknown man.
Translation of George Borrow.
Danish.


## p. 16950 (#650) ##########################################

16950
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER
[Scene: Fort Constitution, on the island of Newcastle, off Portsmouth, New
Hampshire,, Colonel Walbach commanding. Period, the fall of 1813. )
ORE ill at ease was never man than Walbach, that Lord's day,
M
this way! ”
His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls,
And turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of
Shoals.
An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed
red;
Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead.
Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake;
When loud a second voice hallooed, “Two war-ships hither make! )
Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose:
Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose.
Fleet-winged they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view,
Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to.
(
“To arms, 0 townsfolk! ) Walbach cried. « Behold these black hawk
three!
Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me.
“The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear,
If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear.
“But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned;
(Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand;)
«And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands,
My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands! »
Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town:
“Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first! » — and all the folk knelt
down.
"O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee:
Lend us thy hand in this sore strait, - and thine the glory be. ”
«Amen! Amen! ” the chorus rose; “Amen! ) the pines replied;
And through the church-yard's rustling grass an "Amen” softly
sighed.


## p. 16951 (#651) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16951
Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang;
Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang.
None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that
night:
But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might.
Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay,
Peopling with Titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray;
Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix;
Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks;
While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well,
Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel.
And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied,
An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side;
And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared,
Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared.
O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done,
And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun.
One stormy cloud its lips upblew; and as its thunder rolled,
Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold.
Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made,
To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid.
“God be our stay,” the parson cried, “who hearkened Israel's wail! »
And as he spake, - all in a line, seaward the ships set sail.
GEORGE HOUGHTON.
THE PIPER OF GIJÓN
"Nº"
ow the dancers take their places;
But the piper, where is he?
“He is burying his mother,
But he'll be here presently. ” —
“And will he come? ) What can he do?
See him now, to duty true,
With his pipes; but ah, how heavy
A heart he carries is only known
To the piper,
To the piper of Gijón!


## p. 16952 (#652) ##########################################

16952
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
When he thinks how desolate
A hearth awaits now his return,
Tears like molten lead his bosom,
In secret overflowing, burn.
But his brothers must be fed;
His the hands must earn their bread:
So his merry tunes, though joy
From his life for aye be gone,
Plays the piper,
Plays the piper of Gijón.
In all the western land was never
Mother held than his more dear;
And now the grave has closed above her,
Parting them forever here.
While he pipes his merry strain,
Sobs he seeks to still in vain
With it mingle, fierce and bitter,
Like the wounded lion's groan.
Hapless piper !
Hapless piper of Gijón!
C
«Faster! ) cry the eager dancers;
«Faster! ) Faster still he plays;
Beneath a smiling face his anguish
To hide, though vainly, he essays.
And seeing him pipe gayly thus,
While flow his tears, as Zoilus
Blind Homer once, some pitiless
Mock the aspect woebegone
Of the piper,
Of the piper of Gijón.
“Ah,” he cries, with bosom heaving,
« Mother, mother, how a sigh
Relieves the breast with anguish laden,”
While he pipes on merrily;
For in his breast the voice he hears,
Now stilled in death, that on his ears
Fell sweetest, that shall ever echo
In the heart, a benison,
Of the piper,
Of the piper of Gijón.
How many another, too, concealing
Beneath a smiling countenance


## p. 16953 (#653) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16953
His unshared agony, pipes gayly
That others to his strains may dance.
So does the poet with his song
Rejoice the world, while he among
Its merry masquers sits apart,
In spirit and in heart alone,
Like the piper,
Like the piper of Gijón.
RAMON DE CAMPOAMOR (Spanish).
Translation of Mary J. Serrano.
OJISTOH
I
AM Ojistoh, I am she, the wife
Of him whose name breathes bravery and life
And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.
I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he
Is land and lake and sky — and soul, to me.
Ah! but they hated him, those Huron braves,
Him who had flung their warriors into graves,
Him who had crushed them underneath his heel,
Whose arm was iron, and whose heart was steel
To all — save me, Ojistoh, chosen wife
Of my great Mohawk, white star of his life.
Ah! but they hated him, and counciled long
With subtle witchcraft how to work him wrong;
How to avenge their dead, and strike him where
His pride was highest, and his fame most fair.
Their hearts grew weak as women at his name;
They dared no war-path since my Mohawk came
With ashen bow and flinten arrow-head
To pierce their craven bodies; but their dead
Must be avenged. Avenged? They dared not walk
In day and meet his deadly tomahawk;
They dared not face his fearless scalping-knife:
So-Niyoh! * — then they thought of me, his wife. .
Oh! evil, evil face of them they sent
With evil Huron speech : “Would I consent
*God, in the Mohawk language.


## p. 16954 (#654) ##########################################

16954
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
To take of wealth ? be queen of all their tribe?
Have wampum ermine ? ) Back I flung the bribe
Into their teeth, and said, “While I have life,
Know this, - Ojistoh is the Mohawk's wife. ”
Wah! how we struggled! But their arms were strong.
They flung me on their pony's back, with thong
Round ankle, wrist, and shoulder. Then upleapt
The one I hated most; his eye he swept
Over my misery, and sneering said,
“Thus, fair Ojistoh, we avenge our dead. ”
And we two rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,
I, bound with buckskin to his hated waist,
He, sneering, laughing, jeering, while he lashed
The horse to foam, as on and on we dashed.
Plunging through creek and river, bush and trail,
On, on we galloped, like a northern gale.
At last, his distant Huron fires aflame
We saw, and nearer, nearer still we came.
I, bound behind him in the captive's place,
Scarcely could see the outline of his face.
I smiled, and laid my cheek against his back:-
“Loose thou my hands,” I said. “This pace let slack.
Forget we now that thou and I are foes.
I like thee well, and wish to clasp thee close;
I like the courage of thine eye and brow;
I like thee better than my Mohawk now. ”
He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste.
I wound my arms about his tawny waist;
My hand crept up the buckskin of his belt;
His knife hilt in my burning palm I felt;
One hand caressed his cheek, the other drew
The weapon softly — "I love you, love you,”
I whispered, love you as my life; »
And — buried in his back his scalping knife.
Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,
Mad with my sudden freedom, mad with haste,
Back to my Mohawk and my home; I lashed
That horse to foam, as on and on I dashed.
Plunging through creek and river, bush and trail,
On, on I galloped like a northern gale.