”
(Binnorie, O Binnorie !
(Binnorie, O Binnorie !
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.
## p. 16913 (#613) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16913
THE BANNER OF THE JEW
WAKT
AKE, Israel, wake! Recall to-day
The glorious Maccabean rage,
The sire heroic, hoary-gray,
His fivefold lion-lineage -
The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.
From Mizpah's mountain-ridge they saw
Jerusalem's empty streets, her shrine
Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law
With idol and with pagan sign;
Mourners in tattered black were there,
With ashes sprinkled on their hair.
Then from the stony peak there rang
A blast to ope the graves: down poured
The Maccabean clan, who sang
Their battle-anthem to the Lord.
Five heroes lead, and following, see,
Ten thousand rush to victory!
Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now,
To blow a blast of shattering power,
To wake the sleepers high and low,
And rouse them to the urgent hour!
No hand for vengeance — but to save,
A million naked swords should wave.
Oh, deem not dead that martial fire,
Say not the mystic flame is spent!
With Moses's law and David's lyre,
Your ancient strength remains unbent.
Let but an Ezra rise anew,
To lift the Banner of the Jew!
A rag, a mock at first: erelong,
When men have bled and women wept,
To guard its precious folds from wrong,
Even they who shrunk, even they who slept,
Shall leap to bless it, and to save.
Strike! for the brave revere the brave!
EMMA LAZARUS.
XXVIII-1058
## p. 16914 (#614) ##########################################
16914
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE DEAD SOLOMON
K
ING SOLOMON stood in the house of the Lord,
And the Genii silently wrought around,
Toiling and moiling without a word,
Building the temple without a sound.
Fear and rage were theirs, but naught
In mien or face of fear or rage;
For he had guessed their secret thought, -
They had pined in hell for many an age.
Closed were the eyes that the demons feared;
Over his breast streamed his silver beard;
Bowed was his head, as if in prayer,-
As if, through the busy silence there,
The answering voice of God he heard.
Solemn peace was on his brow,
Leaning upon his staff in prayer;
And a breath of wind would come and go,
And stir his robe, and beard of snow,
And long white hair;
But he heeded not,
Rapt afar in holy thought.
King Solomon stood in the house of the Lord,
And the Genii silently wrought around,
Toiling and moiling without a word,
Building the temple without a sound.
And now the work was done,
Perfected in every part;
And the demons rejoiced at heart,
And made ready to depart,
But dared not speak to Solomon,
To tell him their task was done,
And fulfilled the desire of his heart.
So around him they stood with eyes of fire,
Each cursing the king in his secret heart, –
Secretly cursing the silent king,
Waiting but till he should say “Depart":
Cursing the king,
Each evil thing:
## p. 16915 (#615) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16915
But he heeded them not, nor raised his head;
For King Solomon was dead!
Then the body of the king fell down;
For a worm had gnawed his staff in twain.
He had prayed to the Lord that the house he planned
Might not be left for another hand,
Might not unfinished remain :
So praying, he had died;
But he had not prayed in vain.
So the body of the king fell down;
And howling fled the fiends amain:
Bitterly grieved, to be so deceived,
Howling afar they fled.
Idly had they borne his chain,
And done his hateful tasks, in dread
Of mystic penal pain, -
And King Solomon was dead!
JOHN AYLMER DORGAN.
JONAH'S VOYAGE IN THE WHALE
From Patience,' a Poem of the Fourteenth Century
S
A mote in at a minster door, so mighty were its jaws,
A
he reeled in through a gullet, that seemed to him a
road,
tumbling about, aye head over heels,
till he staggers to a place as broad as a hall;
then he fixes his feet there and gropes all about,
and stands up in its belly, that stank as the devil;
in sorry plight there, 'mid grease that savored as he
his bower was arrayed, who would fain risk no ill.
Then he lurks there and seeks in each nook of the nave
the best sheltered spot, yet nowhere he finds
rest or recovery, but filthy mire
wherever he goes; but God is ever dear;
and he tarried at length and called to the Prince.
Then he reached a nook and held himself there,
where no foul filth encumbered him about.
He sat there as safe, save for darkness alone,
as in the boat's stern, where he had slept ere.
## p. 16916 (#616) ##########################################
16916
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Thus, in the beast's bowel, he abides there alive,
three days and three nights, thinking aye on the Lord,
His might and His mercy and His measure eke;
now he knows Him in woe, who could not in weal.
And onward rolls the whale through deep wild-seas,
through many rough regions, in stubborn will;
for, though that mote in its maw was small,
that monster grew sickish at heart, I trow,
and worried the wight. And Jonah aye heard
the huge flood as it lashed the whale's back and its sides.
Author Unknown.
Version of Israel Gollancz.
PEARL
(C
(A fourteenth-century poem; author unknown; modernized by Israel Gol-
lancz.
In this poem the author laments the loss of his child, Margaret, a
«pearl, fair enow for princes' pleasance,) and relates the vision which he has
of her in Paradise. ]
EARL! fair enow for princes' pleasance,
deftly set in gold so pure,
from orient lands, I durst avouch, -
ne'er saw I a gem its peer,
so round, so comely-shaped withal,
so small, with sides so smooth, -
where'er judged of radiant gems,
I placed my pearl supreme.
PAS
SO
I lost it — in an arbor - alas!
It passed from me through grass to earth.
I pine, despoiled of love's dominion,-
of mine own, my spotless pearl.
Sithence how oft have I tarried there,
where it vanished, -seeking the joy
that whilom scattered all my woe,
and raised so high my bliss !
It doth but pierce my heart with pangs,
and kindle my breast with sorrow;
yet ne'er was heard so sweet a song
as the still hour let steal to me thither.
Ah me! what thoughts stole there to my mind!
To think of my fair one o'erlaid with clay! -
## p. 16917 (#617) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16917
O earth! thou marrest a joyous theme,-
mine own, my spotless pearl.
On a day I entered that arbor green, –
fain would I picture the place in words:
'twas August, the year's high festival,
when the corn is cut with the keen-edged hook;
where my pearl had erewhile rolled adown
was shaded with herbage full beauteous and bright, -
gillyflowers, ginger, and gromwell-seed,
and peonies sprent between.
But fair as was the sight to see,
fairer the fragrance that wafted thence,
where dwelleth that glory, I wot and ween, -
my precious, my spotless pearl.
I gazed on the sight: my hands I clasped;
chill sorrow seized my heart:
wild grief made tumult in my breast,
though reason whispered "peace. ”
I wailed for my pearl, held fast from me there,-
dread doubt fought hard with doubt,-
though Christ's self shewed whence comfort is,
my will was bondman to woe.
I fell upon that flowery plat;
such fragrance rose to my brain,
that soon I was lulled in a reverie
o'er my precious, my spotless pearl.
My spirit thence sped forth into space,
my body lay there entranced on that mound,
my soul, by grace of God, had fared
in quest of adventure, where marvels be.
I knew not where that region was;
I was borne, iwis, where the cliffs rose sheer;
toward a forest I set my face,
where rocks so radiant were to see,
that none can trow how rich was the light,
the gleaming glory that glinted therefrom,
for never a web by mortal spun
was half so wondrous fair.
The hillsides there were crowned
with crystal cliffs full clear,
## p. 16918 (#618) ##########################################
16918
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
and holts and woods, all bright with boles
blue as the blue of Inde,
and trembling leaves, thick on every branch,
as burnished silver shone,–
with shimmering sheen they glistened,
touched by the gleam of the glades,-
and the gravel that rolled upon that strand
was precious orient pearls.
The sun's own light had paled before
that sight so wondrous fair.
'Mid the magic charm of those wondrous hills
my spirit forgot all woe;
fruit there of such rare flavor grew,
'twas food to make one strong:
birds flew there in peace together,
of flaming hues, both small and great;
nor citern-string, nor minstrel,
can tell their joyous glee,
for lo! whene'er they beat their wings,
they sang with sweet accord:
no rapture could so stir a man
as their song and that wondrous sight.
More of such wealth was there withal
than I might tell, though leisure were mine,
for earthly spirit cannot grasp
a tenth part of that fair delight;-
certes methought that paradise
lay those broad banks beyond:
I trowed the stream was some device,
a lake in the midst of a pleasance;
beyond the brook, by glen or glade,
I trowed to find where the moat was marked:
but the water was deep,- I durst not pass;
and ever I longed still more and more.
More and more, and yet still more
I longed to see beyond that brook;
for if 'twas fair where I passed along,
far fairer was that further land.
I stayed my steps; I gazed about;
I sought full hard to find some ford –
the farther I wended along the strand
the way grew harder, iwis:
## p. 16919 (#619) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16919
no peril methought would make me turn
where such rich treasures were, -
when fresh delights were nigh at hand,
that moved my mind still more and more.
More marvels arose to daunt my soul:
I saw beyond that gladsome mere
a crystal cliff that shone full bright,-
many a noble ray gleamed forth;-
at the foot thereof there sat a child,
a gracious maiden, so debonair;
robed was she in glistening white, -
I knew her well, I had seen her ere.
Radiant as refined gold
shone that glory 'neath the cliff;
long I gazed upon her there,-
the longer, I knew her more and more.
More than my longing was now my dread;
I stood full still; I durst not call;
with open eyes and fast-closed mouth,
I stood as a well-trained hawk in a hall;
twixt hope that it came for my soul's behoof,
and fear lest perchance it might so befall,
that the prize I chose might escape from me,
ere I held it within my grasp;
when lo! that spotless creature of grace,
so gentle, so small, so winsomely lithe,
riseth up in her royal array,-
a precious thing with pearls bedight.
Favored mortal might there see
choicest pearls of sovereign price,
when all as fresh as a fleur-de-lys
she came adown that bank.
Gleaming white was her tunic rich;
at its sides 'twas open, and wondrously stitched
with the winsomest pearls, I trow full well,
that e'er mine eyes had seen:
broad were the sleeves, I ween and wot,
with double braid of pearls bedecked,
and her bright kirtle followed suit,
with precious pearls bedight.
A crown that maiden wore withal,
bedecked with pearls, with none other stones,
## p. 16920 (#620) ##########################################
16920
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
and pinnacled high with pure white pearls,
with figured flowers wrought thereon;
no other gem was on her head;
her hair, too, hung about her neck;
her look was grave, as a duke's or an earl's;
whiter than whalebone was her hue.
Her locks shone then as bright pure gold;
loose on her shoulders so softly they lay;
though deep their color, they needed not
those precious pearls on her robe bedight.
“O Pearl! ) quoth I, “with pearls bedight,
art thou my Pearl ? — of me so lone
regretted, and through the night bewailed.
Much longing for thee have I borne concealed,
since thou glancedst from me into grass;
pensive, shattered, forlorn, am I,
but thou hast reached a life of joy
in the strifeless home of Paradise.
What chance hath hither brought my jewel,
and me in dolorous plight hath cast ?
Since we twain were sundered and set apart,
have I been joyless, so loved I my jewel. ”
That jewel then, so fair begemmed,
veered up her visage, raised her gray eyes,
set on her crown of orient pearls,
and gently thus she spake :-
“Sir, thou hast misread thy tale,
to say thy pearl is all perdu,
that is in a casket so well bestowed,
yea, in this garden of grace and joy.
herein for ever to dwell and play,
where sin nor mourning come ne'er nigh:
this were thy treasure-hold in sooth,
didst thou love thy jewel aright. ”
## p. 16921 (#621) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16921
THE WEDDING OF PALE BRONWEN
I
T**
THE wind was waked by the morning light,
And it cried in the gray birch-tree,
And the cry was plain in Bronwen's bower,
“O Bronwen, come to me! ”
Pale, pale sleeps · Bronwen, pale she wakes:
«What bird to my bower is flown ?
For my lover, Red Ithel, is at the wars
Before Jerusalem town. ”
But still the wind sang in the tree, -
«Come forth, 'tis your wedding morn,
And you must be wed in Holy Land
Ere your little babe is born. ”
c
And still the wind had her true-love's cry,
«Kind Bronwen, come ! ) until
She could not rest, and rose to look
To the sea beyond Morva Hill.
And afar came the cry over Morva Hill,
«Kind Bronwen, come to me! »
Till she could not stay, for very love,
And stole away to the sea.
She crossed the hill to the fishing-boats,
And away she sailed so fine:
"Is it far, my love, in the summer sun
To the shores of fair Palestine ? »
II
There was no sun at sea that day,
To watch pale Bronwen drown;
the sun was hot on the deadly sands
Before Jerusalem town.
All day Red Ithel lay dying there,
But he thought of the far-off sea;
And he cried all day till his lips grew white,
“Kind Bronwen, come to me! ”
c
And so it passed till the evening time,
And then the sea-wind came,
## p. 16922 (#622) ##########################################
16922
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And he thought he lay on Morva Hill
And heard her call his name.
c
He heard her voice, he held her hand:--
« This is the day,” she said,
“And this is the hour, that Holy Church
Has given for us to wed. ”
There was no strength in him to speak,
But his eyes had yet their say:-
“Kind Bronwen, now we will be wed
For ever and ever and aye! "
INI
Beneath the sea pale Bronwen lies,
Red Ithel beneath the sand;
But they are one in Holy Church,
One in love's Holy Land.
Red Ithel lies by Jerusalem town,
And she in the deep sea lies;
But I trow their little babe was born
In the gardens of Paradise.
ERNEST Rhys.
THE FOLK OF THE AIR
O
'DRISCOLL drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted weeds
Of the drear Heart Lake.
And he saw how the weeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,
And he dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.
And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place,
## p. 16923 (#623) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16923
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.
The dancers crowded about him,
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine,
And a young girl white bread.
But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.
The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the folk of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.
He played with the merry old men,
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.
He bore her away in his arms,-
The handsomest young man there,–
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.
O'Driscoll got up from the grass
. And scattered the cards with a cry;
But the old men and dancers were gone
As a cloud faded into the sky.
He knew now the folk of the air,
And his heart was blackened by dread,
And he ran to the door of his house:
Old women were keening the dead;
But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad
And never was piping so gay.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS.
## p. 16924 (#624) ##########################################
16924
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
FATHER GILLIGAN
THE
He old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day;
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.
Once while he nodded on a chair,
At the moth-hour of eve,
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.
“I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die ;)
And after cried he, “God forgive!
My body spake, not I! ”
(
And then, half-lying on the chair,
He knelt, prayed, fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.
They slowly into inillions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind;
And God covered the world with shade,
And whispered to mankind.
Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.
“Marrone, mavrone! the man has died,
While I slept on the chair ;)
He roused his horse out of its sleep,
And rode with little care.
He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lake and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door:
“Father! you come again! ” —
"And is the poor man dead ? ” he cried. –
«He died an hour ago. ”
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.
## p. 16925 (#625) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16925
“When you were gone he turned and died
As merry as a bird. ”
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word:-
“He who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of his great angels down
To help me in my need.
“He who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in his care,
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair. ”
WILLIAM BUTLER Yeats.
THE SEVEN FIDDLERS
A
BLUE robe on their shoulder,
And an ivory bow in hand,
Seven fiddlers came with their fiddles
A-fiddling through the land,
And they fiddled a tune on their fiddles
That none could understand.
For none who heard their fiddling
Might keep his ten toes still:
E'en the cripple threw down his crutches,
And danced against his will;
Young and old they all fell a-dancing,
While the fiddlers fiddled their fill.
They fiddled down to the ferry -
The ferry by Severn-side;
And they stept aboard the ferry,
None else to row or guide,
And deftly steered the pilot,
And stoutly the oars they plied.
Then suddenly in the mid-channel
These fiddlers ceased to row,
And the pilot spake to his fellows
In a tongue that none may know:-
"Let us home to our fathers and brothers,
And the maidens we love below. ”
## p. 16926 (#626) ##########################################
16926
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Then the fiddlers seized their fiddles,
And sang to their fiddles a song:
“We are coming, coming, O brothers,
To the home we have left so long;
For the world still loves the fiddler,
And the fiddler's tune is strong. "
Then they stept from out the ferry
Into the Severn-sea,
Down into the depths of the waters
Where the homes of the fiddlers be,
And the ferry-boat drifted slowly
Forth to the ocean free!
But where those jolly fiddlers
Walked down into the deep,
The ripples are never quiet,
But for ever dance and leap,
Though the Severn-sea be silent,
And the winds be all leep.
SEBASTIAN EVANS.
THE BALLAD OF THE BRIDES OF QUAIR
A
STILLNESS crept about the house,
At evenfall, in noontide glare;
Upon the silent hills looked forth
The many-windowed House of Quair.
The peacock on the terrace screamed;
Browsed on the lawn the timid hare;
The great trees grew i’ the avenue,
Calm by the sheltered House of Quair.
The pool was still; around its brim
The alders sickened all the air;
There came no murmur from the streams,
Though nigh flowed Leithen, Tweed, and Quair.
The days hold on their wonted pace,
And men to court and camp repair,
Their part to fill, of good or ill,
While women keep the House of Quair.
And one is clad in widow's weeds,
And one is maiden-like and fair,
## p. 16927 (#627) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16927
And day by day they seek the paths
About the lonely fields of Quair.
To see the trout leap in the streams,
The summer clouds reflected there,
The maiden loves in pensive dreams
To hang o'er silver Tweed and Quair.
Within, in pall-black velvet clad,
Sits stately in her oaken chair
A stately dame of ancient name -
The Mother of the House of Quair.
Her daughter broiders by her side,
With heavy, drooping golden hair,
And listens to her frequent plaint:-
«Ill fare the Brides that come to Quair.
(
“For more than one hath lived in pine,
And more than one hath died of care,
And more than one hath sorely sinned,
Left lonely in the House of Quair.
“Alas! and ere thy father died
I had not in his heart a share,
And now
may God forfend her ill —
Thy brother brings his Bride to Quair! )
She came: they kissed her in the hall,
They kissed her on the winding stair,
They led her to her chamber high,
The fairest in the House of Quair.
They bade her from the window look,
And mark the scene how passing fair,
Among whose ways the quiet days
Would linger o'er the wife of Quair.
«'Tis fair,” she said on looking forth,
“But what although 'twere bleak and bare” –
She looked the love she did not speak,
And broke the ancient curse of Quair
« Where'er he dwells, where'er he goes,
His dangers and his toils I share. ”
What need be said — she was not one
Of the ill-fated Brides of Quair!
)
ISA CRAIG KNOX.
## p. 16928 (#628) ##########################################
16928
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
GLENLOGIE
HREESCORE o' nobles rade up the king's ha',
But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower of them a',
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e.
«Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!
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.
