Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unraveled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love, again.
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unraveled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love, again.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
»
A blue smoke rose from their pistol-locks,
Their sword-blades were still wet;
There were long red smears on their jerkins of buff,
As the table they overset.
Then into their cups they stirred the crusts,
And cursed old London town;
Then waved their swords, and drank with a stamp,
God send this Crum-well down ! »
The 'prentice dropped his can of beer,
The host turned pale as a clout;
The ruby nose of the toping squires
Grew white at the wild men's shout.
Then into their cups they flung the crusts,
And showed their teeth with a frown:
They flashed their swords as they gave the toast,
«God send this Crum-well down! »
The gambler dropped his dog's-eared cards,
The waiting-women screamed,
As the light of the fire, like stains of blood,
On the wild men's sabres gleamed.
Then into their cups they splashed the crusts
And cursed the fool of a town,
And leaped on the table, and roared a toast,
“God send this Crum-well down! )
Till on a sudden fire-bells rang,
And the troopers sprang to horse;
The eldest muttered between his teeth
Hot curses - deep and coarse.
In their stirrup-cups they ſung the crusts,
And cried as they spurred through town,
## p. 16580 (#280) ##########################################
16580
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
With their keen swords drawn and their pistols cocked,
«God send this Crum-well down! )
Away they dashed through Temple Bar,
Their red cloaks flowing free;
Their scabbards clashed, each back-piece shone,–
None liked to touch the three.
The silver cups that held the crusts
They flung to the startled town,
Shouting again with a blaze of swords,
“God send this Crum-well down! »
THE CAVALIER's ESCAPE
TRA
RAMPLE! trample! went the roan,
Trap! trap! went the gray;
But pad! pad! PAD! like a thing that was mad,
My chestnut broke away:
It was just five miles from Salisbury town,
And but one hour to day.
Thud! Thud! came on the heavy roan,
Rap! RAP! the mettled gray;
But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare
That she showed them all the way.
Spur on! spur on! - I doffed my hat,
And wished them all good-day.
They splashed through miry rut and pool,
Splintered through fence and rail;
But chestnut Kate switched over the gate
I saw them droop and tail:
To Salisbury town — but a mile of down,
Once over this brook and rail.
Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs,
Past the walls of mossy stone:
The roan flew on at a staggering pace,
But blood is better than bone;
I patted old Kate and gave her the spur,
For I knew it was all my own.
But trample! trample! came their steeds,
And I saw their wolf's eyes burn:
I felt like a royal hart at bay,
And made me ready to turn;
## p. 16581 (#281) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16581
I looked where highest grew the may,
And deepest arched the fern.
-
I few at the first knave's sallow throat.
One blow and he was down;
The second rogue fired twice and missed
I sliced the villain's crown,
Clove through the rest, and flogged braye Kate,
Fast, fast to Salisbury town.
Pad! pad! they came on the level sward,
Thud! thud! upon the sand,
With a gleam of swords, and a burning match,
And a shaking of flag and hand,
But one long bound, and I passed the gate
Safe from the canting band.
1
1
1
THE THREE SCARS
T"
his I got on the day that Goring
Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring.
The roofs were black, and the streets were full,
The doors built up with the packs of wool:
But our pikes made way through a storm of shot
Barrel to barrel till locks grew hot;
Frere fell dead, and Lucas was gone,
But the drum still beat and the flag went on.
This I caught from a swinging sabre,-
All I had from a long night's labor.
When Chester famed, and the streets were red,
In splashing shower fell the molten lead;
The fire sprang up, and the old roof split,
The fire-ball burst in the middle of it:
With a clash and a clang the troopers they ran,
For the siege was over ere well began.
This I got from a pistol butt
(Lucky my head's not a hazel-nut).
The horse they raced and scudded and swore;
There were Leicestershire gentlemen, seventy score:
Up came the “Lobsters,” covered with steel –
Down we went with a stagger and reel;
Smash at the fag, I tore it to rag,
And carried it off in my foraging bag.
!
## p. 16582 (#282) ##########################################
16582
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WHITE Rose OVER THE WATER
THE
He old men sat with hats pulled down,
Their claret cups before them;
Broad shadows hid their sullen eyes,
The tavern lamps shone o'er them,
As a brimming bowl, with crystal filled,
Came borne by the landlord's daughter,
Who wore in her bosom the fair white rose
That grew best over the water.
Then all leaped up, and joined their hands
With hearty clasp and greeting;
The brimming cups, outstretched by all,
Over the wide bowl meeting.
«A health,” they cried, “to the witching eyes
Of Kate, the landlord's daughter!
But don't forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water. ”
Each other's cups they touched all round,
The last red drop outpouring:
Then with a cry that warmed the blood,
One heart-born chorus roaring —
“Let the glass go round to pretty Kate,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
But never forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water. ”
Then hats flew up and swords sprang out,
And lusty rang the chorus:
“Never,” they cried, “while Scots are Scots
And the broad Frith's before us. ”
A ruby ring the glasses shine
As they toast the landlord's daughter,
Because she wore the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.
A poet cried, “Our thistle's brave,
With all its stings and prickles;
The shamrock with its holy leaf
Is spared by Irish sickles:
But bumpers round, - for what are these
To Kate, the landlord's hter,
## p. 16583 (#283) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16583
Who wears at her bosom the rose as white
That grows best over the water ? »
They dashed the glasses at the wall
No lip might touch them after:
The toast had sanctified the cups
That smashed against the rafter.
Their chairs thrown back, they up again
To toast the landlord's daughter;
But never forgot the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.
1
THE JACOBITES' CLUB
OM
NE threw an orange in the air,
And caught it on his sword;
Another crunched the yellow peel
With his red heel on the board;
A third man cried, “When Jackson comes
Into his large estate,
I'll pave the old hall down in Kent
With golden bits of eight. ”
1
One, turning with a meaning wink,
Fast double-locked the door,
Then held a letter to the fire -
It was all blank before,
But now it's ruled with crimson lines,
And ciphers odd and quaint:
They cluster round, and nod, and laugh,
As one invokes a saint.
He pulls a black wig from his head-
He's shaven like a priest;
He holds his finger to his nose,
And smiles, — «The wind blows east;
The Dutch canals are frozen, sirs; —
I don't say anything,
But when you play at ombre next,
Mind that I lead a king. ” –
« Last night at Kensington I spent;
'Twas gay as any fair:
## p. 16584 (#284) ##########################################
16584
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Lord! how they stared to find that bill
Stuck on the royal chair.
Some fools cried (Treason! ' some, A plot! )
I slipped behind a screen,
And when the guards came fussing in,
Sat chatting with the Queen. ”
«I,) cried a third, “was printing songs
In a garret in St. Giles's,
When I heard the watchman at the door,
And flew up on the tiles.
The press was lowered into the vault,
The types into a drain:
I think you'll own, my trusty sirs,
I have a ready brain. ”
A frightened whisper at the door,
A bell rings — then a shot:
“Shift, boys, the Orangers are come! -
Pity! the punch is hot. ”
A clash of swords -
a shout
a scream,
And all abreast in force,
The Jacobites, some twenty strong,
Break through and take to horse.
GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY.
CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT
E*
NGLAND's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away,
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day:
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,
He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, Aoating hair;
He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and
white,
Struggling to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night. ”
« Sexton," — Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,
With its walls so dark and gloomy,- walls so dark and damp and
cold, -
"I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die
At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. [white,
Cromwell will not come till sunset :” and her face grew strangely
As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night. ”
## p. 16585 (#285) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16585
Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton,- every word pierced her young
heart
Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart,-
"Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy shadowed
tower;
Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour:
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right;
Now I'm old, I will not miss it: girl, the curfew rings to-night! »
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful
brow,
And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn vow.
She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the curfew — Basil Underwood must die. ”
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and
bright-
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — “Curfew must not ring to-night!
((
She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church
door,
Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before:
Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro;
Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,-
Upward still, her pale lips saying, Curfew shall not ring to-night!
(
She has reached the topmost ladder: o'er her hangs the great dark
bell,
And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell!
See, the ponderous tongue is swinging! 'tis the hour of curfew now!
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled
her brow.
Shall she let it ring ? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs and grasps it firmly —"Curfew shall not ring to-night! ”
((
Out she swung, far out; the city seemed a tiny speck below,
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and
fro,
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell),
And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell:
Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating —"Curfew shall not ring
to-night! )
((
## p. 16586 (#286) ##########################################
16586
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
It was o'er; — the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once
more
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before
Human foot had not been planted: and what she this night had
done
Should be told in long years after,- as the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white
Tell their children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.
-
O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie saw him, and her brow,
Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now:
At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and
torn;
And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light-
«Go, your lover lives! ” cried Cromwell: "curfew shall not ring to-
night. ”
ROSA HARTWICK THORPE.
THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN
A.
GOOD sword and a trusty hand,
A merry heart and true!
King James's men shall understand
What Cornish lads can do.
And have they fixed the where and when ?
And shall Trelawny die ?
Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why!
Out spake their captain brave and bold,
A merry wight was he: -
“If London Tower were Michael's hold,
We'll set Trelawny free!
(
“We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, -
The Severn is no stay,-
With one and all,' and hand in hand,
And who shall bid us nay?
"And when we come to London wall,
A pleasant sight to view,
Come forth! come forth, ye cowards all,–
Here's men as good as you!
## p. 16587 (#287) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16587
« Trelawny he's in keep and hold,
Trelawny he may die;
But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER.
THE SONG OF HATRED
B"
RAVE soldier, kiss the trusty wife
And draw the trusty blade!
Then turn ye to the reddening east,
In freedom's cause arrayed.
Till death shall part the blade and hand,
They may not separate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
To right us and to rescue us
Hath Love essayed in vain;
O Hate! proclaim thy judgment-day,
And break our bonds in twain.
As long as ever tyrants last,
Our task shall not abate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
Henceforth let every heart that beats
With hate alone be beating:
Look round! what piles of rotten sticks
Will keep the flame a-heating!
As many as are free and dare,
From street to street go say 't:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
Fight tyranny, while tyranny
The trampled earth above is;
And holier will our hatred be,
Far holier than our love is.
Till death shall part the blade and hand,
They may not separate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
Let's come at last to hate!
GEORGE HERWEGH.
## p. 16588 (#288) ##########################################
16588
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
TE
ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,-
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too should adore:
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.
RICHARD LOVELACE.
“IF DOUGHTY DEEDS »
F DOUGHTY deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colors in my cap,
Thy picture at my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart!
Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
Oh, tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.
If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, —
That voice that nane can match.
-
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow;
## p. 16589 (#289) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16589
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
I never loved but you:
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing,–
Oh, tell me how to woo!
Tell me how to woo thee, Love;
Oh, tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.
GRAHAM OF GARTMORE.
A SPINNING SONG
M
Y LOVE to fight the Saxon goes,
And bravely shines his sword of steel;
A heron's feather decks his brows,
And a spur on either heel;
His steed is blacker than a sloe,
And fleeter than the falling star:
Amid the surging ranks he'll go
And shout for joy of war.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle, let the white wool drift and dwindle;
Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my love's coat of steel.
Hark! the timid, turning treadle, crooning soft old-fashioned ditties
To the low, slow murmur of the brown, round wheel.
My love is pledged to Ireland's fight;
My love would die for Ireland's weal,
To win her back her ancient right,
And make her foemen reel.
Oh, close I'll clasp him to my breast
When homeward from the war he comes;
The fires shall light the mountain's crest,
The valley peal with drums.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle, let the white wool drift and dwindle;
Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my love's coat of steel.
Hark! the timid, turning treadle, crooning soft old-fashioned ditties
To the low, slow murmur of the brown, round wheel.
John FRANCIS O'DONNELL.
## p. 16590 (#290) ##########################################
16590
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
LOVE'S WITHOUT REASON
'
"T"
vis not my lady's face that makes me love her,-
Though beauty there doth rest,
Enough to inflame the breast
Of one that never did discover
The glories of a face before;
But I that have seen thousands more,
See naught in hers but what in others are;-
Only because I think she's fair, she's fair.
'Tis not her virtues, nor those vast perfections
That crowd together in her,
Engage my soul to win her,
For those are only brief collections
Of what's in man in folio writ;
Which by their imitation wit,
Women, like apes and children, strive to do:
But we that have the substance slight the show.
'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure,
My freeborn soul can hold;
For chains are chains, though gold:
Nor do I court her for my pleasure,
Nor for that old morality
Do I love her, 'cause she loves me:
For that's no love, but gratitude; and all
Loves that from fortunes rise with fortunes fall.
If friends or birth created love within me,
Then princes I'd adore,
And only scorn the poor;
If virtue or good parts could win me,
I'd turn platonic and ne'er vex
My soul with difference of sex;
And he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair
Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.
Reason and wisdom are to love high treason;
Nor can he truly love,
Whose flame's not far above
And far beyond his wit or reason.
Then ask no reason for my fires,
For infinite are my desires:
Something there is moves me to love, and I
Do know I love, but know not how nor why.
ALEXANDER BROME.
## p. 16591 (#291) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16591
TO ALTHEA
WE
HEN Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye, –
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,-
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,-
Enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
RICHARD LOVELACE.
AMYNTA
Y SHEEP I neglected, I broke my sheep-crook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook;
No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove:
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love.
M"
## p. 16592 (#292) ##########################################
16592
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Oh! what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow?
Oh! give me my sheep, and my sheep-crook restore,
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.
Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure me from love!
O fool! to imagine that aught could subdue
A love so well founded, a passion so true! -
Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine:
Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine;
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain,
The moments neglected return not again.
SIR GILBERT Elliot.
VISION OF A FAIR WOMAN
(AISLING AIR DHREACH MNA)
TE.
ELL us some of the charms of the stars! -
Close and well set were her ivory teeth;
White as the canna upon the moor
Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath.
Her well-rounded forehead shone
Soft and fair as the mountain-snow:
Her two breasts were heaving full;
To them did the hearts of heroes flow.
Her lips were ruddier than the rose;
Tender and tunefully sweet her tongue;
White as the foam adown her side
Her delicate fingers extended hung.
Smooth as the dusky down of the elk,
Appeared her shady eyebrows to me;
Lovely her cheeks were, like berries red.
From every guile she was wholly free.
Her countenance looked like the gentle buds
Unfolding their beauty in early spring;
Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills;
And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams bring.
Ancient Erse.
## p. 16593 (#293) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16593
THE SONG OF ETHLENN STUART
H"
is face was glad as dawn to me,
His breath was sweet as dusk to me,
His eyes were burning flames to me,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agrah!
The broad noonday was night to me,
The full-moon night was dark to me,
The stars whirled and the Poles span,
The hour God took him far from me.
Perhaps he dreams in heaven now,
Perhaps he doth in worship bow,
A white flame round his foam-white brow,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agràh!
I laugh to think of him like this,
Who once found all his joy and bliss
Against my heart, against my kiss,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agrah !
Star of my joy, art still the same
Now thou hast gotten a new name,
Pulse of my heart, my Blood, my Flame,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agràh?
FIONA MACLEOD.
UNNUMBERED
Hº"
ow many times do I love thee, dear ?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fallen year,
Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:
So many times do I love thee, dear.
How many times do I love, again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unraveled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love, again.
THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES.
XXVIII-1038
## p. 16594 (#294) ##########################################
16594
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
MOLLY ASTHORE
O
MARY dear! O Mary fair!
O branch of generous stem!
White blossom of the banks of Nair,
Though lilies grow on them,-
You've left me sick at heart for love,
So faint I cannot see;
The candle swims the board above,
I'm drunk for love of thee!
O stately stem of maiden pride,
My woe it is and pain
That I thus severed from thy side
The long night must remain.
Through all the towns of Innisfail
I've wandered far and wide;
But from Downpatrick to Kinsale,
From Carlow to Kilbride,-
Many lords and dames of high degree,-
Where'er my feet have gone,
My Mary, one to equal thee
I never looked upon.
I live in darkness and in doubt
Whene'er my love's away;
But were the gracious sun put out,
Her shadow would make day.
'Tis she, indeed, young bud of bliss,
As gentle as she's fair.
Though lily-white her bosom is,
And sunny bright her hair,
And dewy azure her blue eye,
And rosy red her cheek,
Yet brighter she in modesty,
Most beautifully meek.
The world's wise men from north to south
Can never cure my pain;
But one kiss from her honey mouth
Would make me well again.
SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.
## p. 16595 (#295) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16595
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN
K
ATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN! the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill;
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is
shaking,-
Kathleen mavourneen! what, slumbering still ?
Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever ?
Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part ?
It may be for years, and it may be forever!
Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
Oh! why art thou silent, Kathleen mavourneen?
Kathleen mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers !
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light;
Ah, where is the spell that once hung on my numbers ?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night!
Mavourneen, mavourneen, my sad tears are falling,
To think that from Erin and thee I must part!
It may be for years, and it may be forever!
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ?
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen mavourneen?
LOUISA MACARTNEY CRAWFORD.
WAVE-WON
T-
TO-NIGHT I hunger so,
Beloved one, to know
If you recall and crave again the dream
That haunted our canoe,
And wove its witchcraft through
Our hearts as 'neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream.
Ah! dear, if only we
As yesternight could be
Afloat within that light and lonely shell,
To drift in silence till
Heart-hushed, and lulled and still
The moonlight through the melting air Aung forth its fatal spell.
The dusky summer night,
The path of gold and white
The moon had cast across the river's breast,
## p. 16596 (#296) ##########################################
16596
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The shores in shadows clad,
The far-away, half-sad
Sweet singing of the whippoorwill, all soothed our souls to rest.
You trusted I could feel
My arm as strong as steel,
So still your upturned face, so calm your breath,
While circling eddies curled,
While laughing rapids whirled
From bowlder unto bowlder, till they dashed themselves to death.
Your splendid eyes aflame
Put heaven's stars to shame;
Your god-like head so near my lap was laid
My hand is burning where
It touched your wind-blown hair,
As sweeping to the rapids' verge I changed my paddle blade.
The boat obeyed my hand,
Till wearied with its grand
Wild anger, all the river lay aswoon;
And as my paddle dipped,
Through pools of pearl it slipped
And swept beneath a shore of shade, beneath a velvet moon.
To-night, again dream you
Our spirit-winged canoe
Is listening to the rapids purling past ?
Where in delirium reeled
Our maddened hearts that kneeled
To idolize the perfect world, to taste of love at last.
E. PAULINE JOHNSON (“Tekahionwake”).
WHEN DID WE MEET?
WER
HEN did I know thee and not love thee ?
How could I live and know thee not?
The look of thine that first did move me
I have forgot.
Canst thou recall thy life's beginning?
Will childhood's conscious wonder last ?
Each glance from thee, so worth the winning,
Blots all the past.
ELAINE GOODALE.
## p. 16597 (#297) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16597
SONG TO AITHNE
T"
HY dark eyes to mine, Aithne,
Lamps of desire!
Oh how my soul leaps,
Leaps to their fire!
Sure now,
if I in heaven,
Dreaming in bliss,
Heard but the whisper,
But the lost echo even,
Of one such kiss,
1
1
All of the Soul of me
Would leap afar;
If that called me to thee,
Aye, I would leap afar,
A falling star!
IAN CAMERON (“Ian Mòr").
GRACIE OG MACHREE
SONG OF THE “WILD GEESE »
I
PLACED the silver in her palm
By Inny's smiling tide,
And vowed, ere summer-time came on,
To claim her as a bride.
But when the summer-time came on,
I dwelt beyond the sea;
Yet still my heart is ever true
To Gracie og machree.
Oh, bonnie are the woods of Targ,
And green thy hills, Rathmore,
And soft the sunlight ever falls
On Darre's sloping shore;
And there the eyes I love, in tears
Shine ever mournfully,
While I am far and far away
From Gracie og machree.
When battle-steeds were neighing loud,
With bright blades in the air,
## p. 16598 (#298) ##########################################
16598
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Next to my inmost heart I wore
A bright tress of her hair.
When stirrup-cups were lifted up
To lips, with soldier glee,
One toast I always fondly pledged, -
'Twas Gracie og machree.
John K. Casey.
ROBIN ADAIR
W*
ELCOME on shore again,
Robin Adair!
Welcome once more again,
Robin Adair!
I feel thy trembling hand;
Tears in thy eyelids stand,
To greet thy native land,
Robin Adair!
!
Long I ne'er saw thee, love,
Robin Adair!
Still I prayed for thee, love,
Robin Adair!
When thou wert far at sea
Many made love to me,
But still I thought on thee,
Robin Adair!
Come to my heart again,
Robin Adair!
Never to part again,
Robin Adair!
And if you still are true,
I will be constant too,
And will wed none but you,
Robin Adair!
LADY CAROLINE KEPPEL,
## p. 16599 (#299) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16599
WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS
HOE'ER she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
W
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Faith stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called, my absent kisses.
I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie,-
Something more than
Taffeta or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan,-
A face that's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest;
Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers,
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers;
Days, that in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night;
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, “Welcome, friend. "
## p. 16600 (#300) ##########################################
16600
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish no more.
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions— but her story.
RICHARD CRASHAW.
AMATURUS
S
OMEWHERE beneath the sun,-
These quivering heart-strings prove it, -
Somewhere there must be one
Made for this soul to move it:
Some one that hides her sweetness
From neighbors whom she slights,
Nor can attain completeness,
Nor give her heart its rights;
Some one whom I could court
With no great change of manner,
Still holding reason's fort,
Though waving fancy's banner:
A lady, not so queenly
As to disdain my hand,
Yet born to smile serenely
Like those that rule the land, -
Noble, but not too proud;
With soft hair simply folded,
And bright face crescent-browed,
,And throat by Muses molded;
And eyelids lightly falling
On little glistening seas,
Deep-calm, when gales are brawling,
Though stirred by every breeze;
## p. 16601 (#301) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16601
Swift voice, like flight of dove
Through minster arches floating,
With sudden turns, when love
Gets overnear to doting;
Keen lips, that shape soft sayings
Like crystals of the snow,
With pretty half-betrayings
Of things one may not know;
Fair hand, whose touches thrill
Like golden rod of wonder,
Which Hermes wields at will
Spirit and flesh to sunder;
Light foot to press the stirrup
In fearlessness and glee,
Or dance till finches chirrup
And stars sink to the sea.
Forth, Love, and find this maid,
Wherever she be hidden:
Speak, Love, be not afraid,
But plead as thou art bidden;
And say that he who taught thee
His yearning want and pain,
Too dearly, dearly bought thee
To part with thee in vain.
WILLIAM JOHNSON-Cory.
TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE
'HEN Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move; —
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
WE
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear;
No other wit but hers approve;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove; .
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
## p. 16602 (#302) ##########################################
16602
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before, -
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.
FAIR HELEN
I
wish I were where Helen lies; -
Night and day on me she cries:
Oh that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot -
And in my hands burd Helen dropt,
And died to succor me!
O think na but my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea,–
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I die.
## p. 16603 (#303) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16603
Oh that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise —
Says, “Haste and come to me! »
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.
Author Unknown.
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
O
F ALL the girls that are so smart
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy 'em:
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely:
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely;
## p. 16604 (#304) ##########################################
16604
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh then I shall have money:
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,
I'll give it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbors all
Make game of me and Sally;
And but for her, I'd better be
A slave and row a galley :
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh then I'll marry Sally;
Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed -
But not in our alley.
HENRY CAREY.
## p. 16605 (#305) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
166o5
SHEPHERD'S SONG
E THAT have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
W*
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-crooks for our use desire;
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their feeces gold;
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good-morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend us from the rain;
As warm too, in an equal eye,
As those bestained in scarlet dye.
The shepherd with his homespun lass
As many merry hours doth pass
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
A MADRIGAL
L"
Ove me not for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For these may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
John WilbYE.
## p. 16606 (#306) ##########################################
16606
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
METEMPSYCHOSIS
TH
HOU wert a shepherdess with fawn-like eyes;
I but a linnet swinging on a spray,
Who sang to thee of love the livelong day,
’Neath the deep azure of Ionian skies:
And thou didst throw me crumbs, and smile upon
The rustic wooing of some Corydon.
Thou wert a princess in Provençal towers;
I but a hunchback minstrel of her train,
Whose beauty tuned my lute's divinest strain
To sing its master's love to pitying flowers:
Yet once, led forth a monarch's bride to be,
Thou kissed the dead lips that had sung of thee.
And now again I see thee as of yore;
In charms mysterious, fadeless, and supreme.
Still must I chant the love-slain minstrel's dream,
Still weave in song the linnet's passion lore.
And thou? hast thou yet nothing more to give ?
Wilt thou not love me, sweet, while now I live ?
DUFFIELD OSBORNE.
AN OPAL
A
ROSE of fire shut in a veil of snow,
An April gleam athwart a misted sky:
A jewel — a soul! gaze deep if thou wouldst know
The flame-wrought spell of its pale witchery;
And now each tremulous beauty lies revealed,
And now the drifted snow doth beauty shield.
So my shy love, aneath her kerchief white,
Holdeth the glamour of the East in fee;
Warm Puritan who fears her own delight,
Who trembleth over that she yieldeth me.
And now her lips her heart's rich flame have told;
And now they pale that they have been so bold.
EDNAH PROCTER CLARKE,
## p. 16607 (#307) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16607
HOLD, POETS!
H
OLD, poets! Hear me tell
Where Beauty's queen doth dwell!
'Tis in no foreign land,
'Tis by no storied strand,
But here her sweet renown
Haunts an old fishing-town.
Not alone Beauty's queen,-
Virtue were proud, I ween,
Could she be known to fame
By this dear maiden's name,
Or could her ways so win
Followers to walk therein.
1
1
10
Wit's arrow on her lips
First into honey dips;
Lips at whose magic spell
Shamed Music breaks her shell.
All to bless, naught to blame,-
Blanche is her sweetest name.
4
n
Now, poets, spend your days
Piping in her pure praise ;
Wake, when fond love inspires,
To her your happy lyres:
Not to my halting songs
Such a charmed theme belongs !
RICHARD S. SPOFFORD.
PANGLORY'S WOOING SONG
Ove is the blossom where there blows
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love;
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak,
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Softened by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease:
He burns the fishes in the seas;
## p. 16608 (#308) ##########################################
16608
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Not all the skill his wounds can stanch;
Not all the sea his fire can quench.
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a leafy coat to wear,
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play;
And of all love's joyful flame
I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me —
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See! see the flowers that below
Now freshly as the morning blow,
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows-
How they all unleavéd die,
Losing their virginity;
Like unto a summer shade,
But now born, and now they fade:
Everything doth pass away;
There is danger in delay.
Come, come, gather then the rose;
Gather it, or it you lose.
All the sand of Tagus's shore
In my bosom casts its ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne;
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of ladies send me,
In my chambers to attend me;
All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more, are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
Giles FLETCHER,
## p. 16609 (#309) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16609
LOVE IN THE VALLEY
UM
NDER yonder beech-tree standing on the greensward,
Couched with her arms behind her little head,
Her knees folded up, her tresses on her bosom,
Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her,
Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded slow!
Waking on the instant she could not but embrace me —
Ah! would she hold me, and never let me go?
Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the swallow;
Swift as the swallow when athwart the western flood
Circleting the surface he meets his mirrored winglets,-
Is that dear one in her maiden bud.
Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine-tops;
Gentle — ah! that she were jealous as the dove!
Full of all the wildness of the woodland creatures,
Happy in herself is the maiden that I love!
What can have taught her distrust of all I tell her ?
Can she truly doubt me when looking on my brows?
Nature never teaches distrust of tender love-tales,
What can have taught her distrust of all my vows ?
No, she does not doubt me! on a dewy eve-tide,
Whispering together beneath the listening moon,
I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till she faltered
Fluttered to my bosom - ah! to fly away so soon!
When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror,
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair,
Often she thinks, «Were this wild thing wedded,
I should have more love, and much less care. ”
When her mother tends her before the bashful mirror,
Loosening her laces, combing down her curls,
Often she thinks, “Were this wild thing wedded,
I should lose but one for so many boys and girls. ”
Clambering roses peep into her chamber,
Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet;
White-necked swallows twittering of summer,
Fill her with balm and nested peace from head to feet.
Ah! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely,
When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on the leaves ?
Will the autumn garners see her still ungathered,
When the fickle swallows forsake the weeping eaves ?
XXVIII-1039
## p. 16610 (#310) ##########################################
16610
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Comes a sudden question - should a strange hand pluck her!
Oh what an anguish smites me at the thought,
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with jewels! -
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ?
Sometimes the huntsmen prancing down the valley
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth;
They see as I see, mine is the fairest!
Would she were older, and could read my worth!
Are there not sweet maidens if she will deny me?
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star ?
Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow,
Chattering one note like a brown eve-jar?
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before me -
Through the milky meadows from flower to flower she flies,
Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled eyelids
From the golden love that looks too eager in her eyes.
When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face gazes
Out on the weather through the window-panes,
Beauteous she looks! like a white water-lily
Bursting out of bud on the rippled river-plains.
When from bed she rises, clothed from neck to ankle
In her long nightgown, sweet as boughs of May,
Beauteous she looks!
A blue smoke rose from their pistol-locks,
Their sword-blades were still wet;
There were long red smears on their jerkins of buff,
As the table they overset.
Then into their cups they stirred the crusts,
And cursed old London town;
Then waved their swords, and drank with a stamp,
God send this Crum-well down ! »
The 'prentice dropped his can of beer,
The host turned pale as a clout;
The ruby nose of the toping squires
Grew white at the wild men's shout.
Then into their cups they flung the crusts,
And showed their teeth with a frown:
They flashed their swords as they gave the toast,
«God send this Crum-well down! »
The gambler dropped his dog's-eared cards,
The waiting-women screamed,
As the light of the fire, like stains of blood,
On the wild men's sabres gleamed.
Then into their cups they splashed the crusts
And cursed the fool of a town,
And leaped on the table, and roared a toast,
“God send this Crum-well down! )
Till on a sudden fire-bells rang,
And the troopers sprang to horse;
The eldest muttered between his teeth
Hot curses - deep and coarse.
In their stirrup-cups they ſung the crusts,
And cried as they spurred through town,
## p. 16580 (#280) ##########################################
16580
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
With their keen swords drawn and their pistols cocked,
«God send this Crum-well down! )
Away they dashed through Temple Bar,
Their red cloaks flowing free;
Their scabbards clashed, each back-piece shone,–
None liked to touch the three.
The silver cups that held the crusts
They flung to the startled town,
Shouting again with a blaze of swords,
“God send this Crum-well down! »
THE CAVALIER's ESCAPE
TRA
RAMPLE! trample! went the roan,
Trap! trap! went the gray;
But pad! pad! PAD! like a thing that was mad,
My chestnut broke away:
It was just five miles from Salisbury town,
And but one hour to day.
Thud! Thud! came on the heavy roan,
Rap! RAP! the mettled gray;
But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare
That she showed them all the way.
Spur on! spur on! - I doffed my hat,
And wished them all good-day.
They splashed through miry rut and pool,
Splintered through fence and rail;
But chestnut Kate switched over the gate
I saw them droop and tail:
To Salisbury town — but a mile of down,
Once over this brook and rail.
Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs,
Past the walls of mossy stone:
The roan flew on at a staggering pace,
But blood is better than bone;
I patted old Kate and gave her the spur,
For I knew it was all my own.
But trample! trample! came their steeds,
And I saw their wolf's eyes burn:
I felt like a royal hart at bay,
And made me ready to turn;
## p. 16581 (#281) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16581
I looked where highest grew the may,
And deepest arched the fern.
-
I few at the first knave's sallow throat.
One blow and he was down;
The second rogue fired twice and missed
I sliced the villain's crown,
Clove through the rest, and flogged braye Kate,
Fast, fast to Salisbury town.
Pad! pad! they came on the level sward,
Thud! thud! upon the sand,
With a gleam of swords, and a burning match,
And a shaking of flag and hand,
But one long bound, and I passed the gate
Safe from the canting band.
1
1
1
THE THREE SCARS
T"
his I got on the day that Goring
Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring.
The roofs were black, and the streets were full,
The doors built up with the packs of wool:
But our pikes made way through a storm of shot
Barrel to barrel till locks grew hot;
Frere fell dead, and Lucas was gone,
But the drum still beat and the flag went on.
This I caught from a swinging sabre,-
All I had from a long night's labor.
When Chester famed, and the streets were red,
In splashing shower fell the molten lead;
The fire sprang up, and the old roof split,
The fire-ball burst in the middle of it:
With a clash and a clang the troopers they ran,
For the siege was over ere well began.
This I got from a pistol butt
(Lucky my head's not a hazel-nut).
The horse they raced and scudded and swore;
There were Leicestershire gentlemen, seventy score:
Up came the “Lobsters,” covered with steel –
Down we went with a stagger and reel;
Smash at the fag, I tore it to rag,
And carried it off in my foraging bag.
!
## p. 16582 (#282) ##########################################
16582
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WHITE Rose OVER THE WATER
THE
He old men sat with hats pulled down,
Their claret cups before them;
Broad shadows hid their sullen eyes,
The tavern lamps shone o'er them,
As a brimming bowl, with crystal filled,
Came borne by the landlord's daughter,
Who wore in her bosom the fair white rose
That grew best over the water.
Then all leaped up, and joined their hands
With hearty clasp and greeting;
The brimming cups, outstretched by all,
Over the wide bowl meeting.
«A health,” they cried, “to the witching eyes
Of Kate, the landlord's daughter!
But don't forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water. ”
Each other's cups they touched all round,
The last red drop outpouring:
Then with a cry that warmed the blood,
One heart-born chorus roaring —
“Let the glass go round to pretty Kate,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
But never forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water. ”
Then hats flew up and swords sprang out,
And lusty rang the chorus:
“Never,” they cried, “while Scots are Scots
And the broad Frith's before us. ”
A ruby ring the glasses shine
As they toast the landlord's daughter,
Because she wore the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.
A poet cried, “Our thistle's brave,
With all its stings and prickles;
The shamrock with its holy leaf
Is spared by Irish sickles:
But bumpers round, - for what are these
To Kate, the landlord's hter,
## p. 16583 (#283) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16583
Who wears at her bosom the rose as white
That grows best over the water ? »
They dashed the glasses at the wall
No lip might touch them after:
The toast had sanctified the cups
That smashed against the rafter.
Their chairs thrown back, they up again
To toast the landlord's daughter;
But never forgot the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.
1
THE JACOBITES' CLUB
OM
NE threw an orange in the air,
And caught it on his sword;
Another crunched the yellow peel
With his red heel on the board;
A third man cried, “When Jackson comes
Into his large estate,
I'll pave the old hall down in Kent
With golden bits of eight. ”
1
One, turning with a meaning wink,
Fast double-locked the door,
Then held a letter to the fire -
It was all blank before,
But now it's ruled with crimson lines,
And ciphers odd and quaint:
They cluster round, and nod, and laugh,
As one invokes a saint.
He pulls a black wig from his head-
He's shaven like a priest;
He holds his finger to his nose,
And smiles, — «The wind blows east;
The Dutch canals are frozen, sirs; —
I don't say anything,
But when you play at ombre next,
Mind that I lead a king. ” –
« Last night at Kensington I spent;
'Twas gay as any fair:
## p. 16584 (#284) ##########################################
16584
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Lord! how they stared to find that bill
Stuck on the royal chair.
Some fools cried (Treason! ' some, A plot! )
I slipped behind a screen,
And when the guards came fussing in,
Sat chatting with the Queen. ”
«I,) cried a third, “was printing songs
In a garret in St. Giles's,
When I heard the watchman at the door,
And flew up on the tiles.
The press was lowered into the vault,
The types into a drain:
I think you'll own, my trusty sirs,
I have a ready brain. ”
A frightened whisper at the door,
A bell rings — then a shot:
“Shift, boys, the Orangers are come! -
Pity! the punch is hot. ”
A clash of swords -
a shout
a scream,
And all abreast in force,
The Jacobites, some twenty strong,
Break through and take to horse.
GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY.
CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT
E*
NGLAND's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away,
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day:
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,
He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, Aoating hair;
He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and
white,
Struggling to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night. ”
« Sexton," — Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,
With its walls so dark and gloomy,- walls so dark and damp and
cold, -
"I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die
At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. [white,
Cromwell will not come till sunset :” and her face grew strangely
As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night. ”
## p. 16585 (#285) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16585
Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton,- every word pierced her young
heart
Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart,-
"Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy shadowed
tower;
Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour:
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right;
Now I'm old, I will not miss it: girl, the curfew rings to-night! »
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful
brow,
And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn vow.
She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the curfew — Basil Underwood must die. ”
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and
bright-
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — “Curfew must not ring to-night!
((
She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church
door,
Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before:
Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro;
Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,-
Upward still, her pale lips saying, Curfew shall not ring to-night!
(
She has reached the topmost ladder: o'er her hangs the great dark
bell,
And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell!
See, the ponderous tongue is swinging! 'tis the hour of curfew now!
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled
her brow.
Shall she let it ring ? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs and grasps it firmly —"Curfew shall not ring to-night! ”
((
Out she swung, far out; the city seemed a tiny speck below,
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and
fro,
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell),
And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell:
Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating —"Curfew shall not ring
to-night! )
((
## p. 16586 (#286) ##########################################
16586
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
It was o'er; — the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once
more
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before
Human foot had not been planted: and what she this night had
done
Should be told in long years after,- as the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white
Tell their children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.
-
O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie saw him, and her brow,
Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now:
At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and
torn;
And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light-
«Go, your lover lives! ” cried Cromwell: "curfew shall not ring to-
night. ”
ROSA HARTWICK THORPE.
THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN
A.
GOOD sword and a trusty hand,
A merry heart and true!
King James's men shall understand
What Cornish lads can do.
And have they fixed the where and when ?
And shall Trelawny die ?
Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why!
Out spake their captain brave and bold,
A merry wight was he: -
“If London Tower were Michael's hold,
We'll set Trelawny free!
(
“We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, -
The Severn is no stay,-
With one and all,' and hand in hand,
And who shall bid us nay?
"And when we come to London wall,
A pleasant sight to view,
Come forth! come forth, ye cowards all,–
Here's men as good as you!
## p. 16587 (#287) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16587
« Trelawny he's in keep and hold,
Trelawny he may die;
But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER.
THE SONG OF HATRED
B"
RAVE soldier, kiss the trusty wife
And draw the trusty blade!
Then turn ye to the reddening east,
In freedom's cause arrayed.
Till death shall part the blade and hand,
They may not separate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
To right us and to rescue us
Hath Love essayed in vain;
O Hate! proclaim thy judgment-day,
And break our bonds in twain.
As long as ever tyrants last,
Our task shall not abate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
Henceforth let every heart that beats
With hate alone be beating:
Look round! what piles of rotten sticks
Will keep the flame a-heating!
As many as are free and dare,
From street to street go say 't:
We've practiced loving long enough,
And come at length to hate!
Fight tyranny, while tyranny
The trampled earth above is;
And holier will our hatred be,
Far holier than our love is.
Till death shall part the blade and hand,
They may not separate:
We've practiced loving long enough,
Let's come at last to hate!
GEORGE HERWEGH.
## p. 16588 (#288) ##########################################
16588
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
TE
ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,-
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too should adore:
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.
RICHARD LOVELACE.
“IF DOUGHTY DEEDS »
F DOUGHTY deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colors in my cap,
Thy picture at my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart!
Then tell me how to woo thee, Love;
Oh, tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.
If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, —
That voice that nane can match.
-
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow;
## p. 16589 (#289) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16589
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
I never loved but you:
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing,–
Oh, tell me how to woo!
Tell me how to woo thee, Love;
Oh, tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.
GRAHAM OF GARTMORE.
A SPINNING SONG
M
Y LOVE to fight the Saxon goes,
And bravely shines his sword of steel;
A heron's feather decks his brows,
And a spur on either heel;
His steed is blacker than a sloe,
And fleeter than the falling star:
Amid the surging ranks he'll go
And shout for joy of war.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle, let the white wool drift and dwindle;
Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my love's coat of steel.
Hark! the timid, turning treadle, crooning soft old-fashioned ditties
To the low, slow murmur of the brown, round wheel.
My love is pledged to Ireland's fight;
My love would die for Ireland's weal,
To win her back her ancient right,
And make her foemen reel.
Oh, close I'll clasp him to my breast
When homeward from the war he comes;
The fires shall light the mountain's crest,
The valley peal with drums.
Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle, let the white wool drift and dwindle;
Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my love's coat of steel.
Hark! the timid, turning treadle, crooning soft old-fashioned ditties
To the low, slow murmur of the brown, round wheel.
John FRANCIS O'DONNELL.
## p. 16590 (#290) ##########################################
16590
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
LOVE'S WITHOUT REASON
'
"T"
vis not my lady's face that makes me love her,-
Though beauty there doth rest,
Enough to inflame the breast
Of one that never did discover
The glories of a face before;
But I that have seen thousands more,
See naught in hers but what in others are;-
Only because I think she's fair, she's fair.
'Tis not her virtues, nor those vast perfections
That crowd together in her,
Engage my soul to win her,
For those are only brief collections
Of what's in man in folio writ;
Which by their imitation wit,
Women, like apes and children, strive to do:
But we that have the substance slight the show.
'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure,
My freeborn soul can hold;
For chains are chains, though gold:
Nor do I court her for my pleasure,
Nor for that old morality
Do I love her, 'cause she loves me:
For that's no love, but gratitude; and all
Loves that from fortunes rise with fortunes fall.
If friends or birth created love within me,
Then princes I'd adore,
And only scorn the poor;
If virtue or good parts could win me,
I'd turn platonic and ne'er vex
My soul with difference of sex;
And he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair
Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.
Reason and wisdom are to love high treason;
Nor can he truly love,
Whose flame's not far above
And far beyond his wit or reason.
Then ask no reason for my fires,
For infinite are my desires:
Something there is moves me to love, and I
Do know I love, but know not how nor why.
ALEXANDER BROME.
## p. 16591 (#291) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16591
TO ALTHEA
WE
HEN Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye, –
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,-
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,-
Enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
RICHARD LOVELACE.
AMYNTA
Y SHEEP I neglected, I broke my sheep-crook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook;
No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove:
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love.
M"
## p. 16592 (#292) ##########################################
16592
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Oh! what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow?
Oh! give me my sheep, and my sheep-crook restore,
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.
Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure me from love!
O fool! to imagine that aught could subdue
A love so well founded, a passion so true! -
Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine:
Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine;
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain,
The moments neglected return not again.
SIR GILBERT Elliot.
VISION OF A FAIR WOMAN
(AISLING AIR DHREACH MNA)
TE.
ELL us some of the charms of the stars! -
Close and well set were her ivory teeth;
White as the canna upon the moor
Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath.
Her well-rounded forehead shone
Soft and fair as the mountain-snow:
Her two breasts were heaving full;
To them did the hearts of heroes flow.
Her lips were ruddier than the rose;
Tender and tunefully sweet her tongue;
White as the foam adown her side
Her delicate fingers extended hung.
Smooth as the dusky down of the elk,
Appeared her shady eyebrows to me;
Lovely her cheeks were, like berries red.
From every guile she was wholly free.
Her countenance looked like the gentle buds
Unfolding their beauty in early spring;
Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills;
And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams bring.
Ancient Erse.
## p. 16593 (#293) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16593
THE SONG OF ETHLENN STUART
H"
is face was glad as dawn to me,
His breath was sweet as dusk to me,
His eyes were burning flames to me,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agrah!
The broad noonday was night to me,
The full-moon night was dark to me,
The stars whirled and the Poles span,
The hour God took him far from me.
Perhaps he dreams in heaven now,
Perhaps he doth in worship bow,
A white flame round his foam-white brow,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agràh!
I laugh to think of him like this,
Who once found all his joy and bliss
Against my heart, against my kiss,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agrah !
Star of my joy, art still the same
Now thou hast gotten a new name,
Pulse of my heart, my Blood, my Flame,
Shule, Shule, Shule, agràh?
FIONA MACLEOD.
UNNUMBERED
Hº"
ow many times do I love thee, dear ?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fallen year,
Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:
So many times do I love thee, dear.
How many times do I love, again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unraveled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love, again.
THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES.
XXVIII-1038
## p. 16594 (#294) ##########################################
16594
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
MOLLY ASTHORE
O
MARY dear! O Mary fair!
O branch of generous stem!
White blossom of the banks of Nair,
Though lilies grow on them,-
You've left me sick at heart for love,
So faint I cannot see;
The candle swims the board above,
I'm drunk for love of thee!
O stately stem of maiden pride,
My woe it is and pain
That I thus severed from thy side
The long night must remain.
Through all the towns of Innisfail
I've wandered far and wide;
But from Downpatrick to Kinsale,
From Carlow to Kilbride,-
Many lords and dames of high degree,-
Where'er my feet have gone,
My Mary, one to equal thee
I never looked upon.
I live in darkness and in doubt
Whene'er my love's away;
But were the gracious sun put out,
Her shadow would make day.
'Tis she, indeed, young bud of bliss,
As gentle as she's fair.
Though lily-white her bosom is,
And sunny bright her hair,
And dewy azure her blue eye,
And rosy red her cheek,
Yet brighter she in modesty,
Most beautifully meek.
The world's wise men from north to south
Can never cure my pain;
But one kiss from her honey mouth
Would make me well again.
SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.
## p. 16595 (#295) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16595
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN
K
ATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN! the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill;
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is
shaking,-
Kathleen mavourneen! what, slumbering still ?
Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever ?
Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part ?
It may be for years, and it may be forever!
Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
Oh! why art thou silent, Kathleen mavourneen?
Kathleen mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers !
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light;
Ah, where is the spell that once hung on my numbers ?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night!
Mavourneen, mavourneen, my sad tears are falling,
To think that from Erin and thee I must part!
It may be for years, and it may be forever!
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ?
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen mavourneen?
LOUISA MACARTNEY CRAWFORD.
WAVE-WON
T-
TO-NIGHT I hunger so,
Beloved one, to know
If you recall and crave again the dream
That haunted our canoe,
And wove its witchcraft through
Our hearts as 'neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream.
Ah! dear, if only we
As yesternight could be
Afloat within that light and lonely shell,
To drift in silence till
Heart-hushed, and lulled and still
The moonlight through the melting air Aung forth its fatal spell.
The dusky summer night,
The path of gold and white
The moon had cast across the river's breast,
## p. 16596 (#296) ##########################################
16596
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The shores in shadows clad,
The far-away, half-sad
Sweet singing of the whippoorwill, all soothed our souls to rest.
You trusted I could feel
My arm as strong as steel,
So still your upturned face, so calm your breath,
While circling eddies curled,
While laughing rapids whirled
From bowlder unto bowlder, till they dashed themselves to death.
Your splendid eyes aflame
Put heaven's stars to shame;
Your god-like head so near my lap was laid
My hand is burning where
It touched your wind-blown hair,
As sweeping to the rapids' verge I changed my paddle blade.
The boat obeyed my hand,
Till wearied with its grand
Wild anger, all the river lay aswoon;
And as my paddle dipped,
Through pools of pearl it slipped
And swept beneath a shore of shade, beneath a velvet moon.
To-night, again dream you
Our spirit-winged canoe
Is listening to the rapids purling past ?
Where in delirium reeled
Our maddened hearts that kneeled
To idolize the perfect world, to taste of love at last.
E. PAULINE JOHNSON (“Tekahionwake”).
WHEN DID WE MEET?
WER
HEN did I know thee and not love thee ?
How could I live and know thee not?
The look of thine that first did move me
I have forgot.
Canst thou recall thy life's beginning?
Will childhood's conscious wonder last ?
Each glance from thee, so worth the winning,
Blots all the past.
ELAINE GOODALE.
## p. 16597 (#297) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16597
SONG TO AITHNE
T"
HY dark eyes to mine, Aithne,
Lamps of desire!
Oh how my soul leaps,
Leaps to their fire!
Sure now,
if I in heaven,
Dreaming in bliss,
Heard but the whisper,
But the lost echo even,
Of one such kiss,
1
1
All of the Soul of me
Would leap afar;
If that called me to thee,
Aye, I would leap afar,
A falling star!
IAN CAMERON (“Ian Mòr").
GRACIE OG MACHREE
SONG OF THE “WILD GEESE »
I
PLACED the silver in her palm
By Inny's smiling tide,
And vowed, ere summer-time came on,
To claim her as a bride.
But when the summer-time came on,
I dwelt beyond the sea;
Yet still my heart is ever true
To Gracie og machree.
Oh, bonnie are the woods of Targ,
And green thy hills, Rathmore,
And soft the sunlight ever falls
On Darre's sloping shore;
And there the eyes I love, in tears
Shine ever mournfully,
While I am far and far away
From Gracie og machree.
When battle-steeds were neighing loud,
With bright blades in the air,
## p. 16598 (#298) ##########################################
16598
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Next to my inmost heart I wore
A bright tress of her hair.
When stirrup-cups were lifted up
To lips, with soldier glee,
One toast I always fondly pledged, -
'Twas Gracie og machree.
John K. Casey.
ROBIN ADAIR
W*
ELCOME on shore again,
Robin Adair!
Welcome once more again,
Robin Adair!
I feel thy trembling hand;
Tears in thy eyelids stand,
To greet thy native land,
Robin Adair!
!
Long I ne'er saw thee, love,
Robin Adair!
Still I prayed for thee, love,
Robin Adair!
When thou wert far at sea
Many made love to me,
But still I thought on thee,
Robin Adair!
Come to my heart again,
Robin Adair!
Never to part again,
Robin Adair!
And if you still are true,
I will be constant too,
And will wed none but you,
Robin Adair!
LADY CAROLINE KEPPEL,
## p. 16599 (#299) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16599
WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS
HOE'ER she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
W
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Faith stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called, my absent kisses.
I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie,-
Something more than
Taffeta or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan,-
A face that's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest;
Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers,
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers;
Days, that in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night;
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, “Welcome, friend. "
## p. 16600 (#300) ##########################################
16600
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish no more.
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions— but her story.
RICHARD CRASHAW.
AMATURUS
S
OMEWHERE beneath the sun,-
These quivering heart-strings prove it, -
Somewhere there must be one
Made for this soul to move it:
Some one that hides her sweetness
From neighbors whom she slights,
Nor can attain completeness,
Nor give her heart its rights;
Some one whom I could court
With no great change of manner,
Still holding reason's fort,
Though waving fancy's banner:
A lady, not so queenly
As to disdain my hand,
Yet born to smile serenely
Like those that rule the land, -
Noble, but not too proud;
With soft hair simply folded,
And bright face crescent-browed,
,And throat by Muses molded;
And eyelids lightly falling
On little glistening seas,
Deep-calm, when gales are brawling,
Though stirred by every breeze;
## p. 16601 (#301) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16601
Swift voice, like flight of dove
Through minster arches floating,
With sudden turns, when love
Gets overnear to doting;
Keen lips, that shape soft sayings
Like crystals of the snow,
With pretty half-betrayings
Of things one may not know;
Fair hand, whose touches thrill
Like golden rod of wonder,
Which Hermes wields at will
Spirit and flesh to sunder;
Light foot to press the stirrup
In fearlessness and glee,
Or dance till finches chirrup
And stars sink to the sea.
Forth, Love, and find this maid,
Wherever she be hidden:
Speak, Love, be not afraid,
But plead as thou art bidden;
And say that he who taught thee
His yearning want and pain,
Too dearly, dearly bought thee
To part with thee in vain.
WILLIAM JOHNSON-Cory.
TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE
'HEN Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move; —
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
WE
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear;
No other wit but hers approve;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove; .
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
## p. 16602 (#302) ##########################################
16602
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before, -
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.
FAIR HELEN
I
wish I were where Helen lies; -
Night and day on me she cries:
Oh that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot -
And in my hands burd Helen dropt,
And died to succor me!
O think na but my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea,–
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I die.
## p. 16603 (#303) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16603
Oh that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise —
Says, “Haste and come to me! »
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.
Author Unknown.
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
O
F ALL the girls that are so smart
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy 'em:
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely:
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely;
## p. 16604 (#304) ##########################################
16604
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh then I shall have money:
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,
I'll give it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbors all
Make game of me and Sally;
And but for her, I'd better be
A slave and row a galley :
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh then I'll marry Sally;
Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed -
But not in our alley.
HENRY CAREY.
## p. 16605 (#305) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
166o5
SHEPHERD'S SONG
E THAT have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
W*
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-crooks for our use desire;
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their feeces gold;
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good-morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend us from the rain;
As warm too, in an equal eye,
As those bestained in scarlet dye.
The shepherd with his homespun lass
As many merry hours doth pass
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
A MADRIGAL
L"
Ove me not for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For these may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
John WilbYE.
## p. 16606 (#306) ##########################################
16606
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
METEMPSYCHOSIS
TH
HOU wert a shepherdess with fawn-like eyes;
I but a linnet swinging on a spray,
Who sang to thee of love the livelong day,
’Neath the deep azure of Ionian skies:
And thou didst throw me crumbs, and smile upon
The rustic wooing of some Corydon.
Thou wert a princess in Provençal towers;
I but a hunchback minstrel of her train,
Whose beauty tuned my lute's divinest strain
To sing its master's love to pitying flowers:
Yet once, led forth a monarch's bride to be,
Thou kissed the dead lips that had sung of thee.
And now again I see thee as of yore;
In charms mysterious, fadeless, and supreme.
Still must I chant the love-slain minstrel's dream,
Still weave in song the linnet's passion lore.
And thou? hast thou yet nothing more to give ?
Wilt thou not love me, sweet, while now I live ?
DUFFIELD OSBORNE.
AN OPAL
A
ROSE of fire shut in a veil of snow,
An April gleam athwart a misted sky:
A jewel — a soul! gaze deep if thou wouldst know
The flame-wrought spell of its pale witchery;
And now each tremulous beauty lies revealed,
And now the drifted snow doth beauty shield.
So my shy love, aneath her kerchief white,
Holdeth the glamour of the East in fee;
Warm Puritan who fears her own delight,
Who trembleth over that she yieldeth me.
And now her lips her heart's rich flame have told;
And now they pale that they have been so bold.
EDNAH PROCTER CLARKE,
## p. 16607 (#307) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16607
HOLD, POETS!
H
OLD, poets! Hear me tell
Where Beauty's queen doth dwell!
'Tis in no foreign land,
'Tis by no storied strand,
But here her sweet renown
Haunts an old fishing-town.
Not alone Beauty's queen,-
Virtue were proud, I ween,
Could she be known to fame
By this dear maiden's name,
Or could her ways so win
Followers to walk therein.
1
1
10
Wit's arrow on her lips
First into honey dips;
Lips at whose magic spell
Shamed Music breaks her shell.
All to bless, naught to blame,-
Blanche is her sweetest name.
4
n
Now, poets, spend your days
Piping in her pure praise ;
Wake, when fond love inspires,
To her your happy lyres:
Not to my halting songs
Such a charmed theme belongs !
RICHARD S. SPOFFORD.
PANGLORY'S WOOING SONG
Ove is the blossom where there blows
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love;
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak,
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Softened by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease:
He burns the fishes in the seas;
## p. 16608 (#308) ##########################################
16608
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Not all the skill his wounds can stanch;
Not all the sea his fire can quench.
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a leafy coat to wear,
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play;
And of all love's joyful flame
I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me —
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See! see the flowers that below
Now freshly as the morning blow,
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows-
How they all unleavéd die,
Losing their virginity;
Like unto a summer shade,
But now born, and now they fade:
Everything doth pass away;
There is danger in delay.
Come, come, gather then the rose;
Gather it, or it you lose.
All the sand of Tagus's shore
In my bosom casts its ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne;
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of ladies send me,
In my chambers to attend me;
All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more, are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
Giles FLETCHER,
## p. 16609 (#309) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16609
LOVE IN THE VALLEY
UM
NDER yonder beech-tree standing on the greensward,
Couched with her arms behind her little head,
Her knees folded up, her tresses on her bosom,
Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her,
Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded slow!
Waking on the instant she could not but embrace me —
Ah! would she hold me, and never let me go?
Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the swallow;
Swift as the swallow when athwart the western flood
Circleting the surface he meets his mirrored winglets,-
Is that dear one in her maiden bud.
Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine-tops;
Gentle — ah! that she were jealous as the dove!
Full of all the wildness of the woodland creatures,
Happy in herself is the maiden that I love!
What can have taught her distrust of all I tell her ?
Can she truly doubt me when looking on my brows?
Nature never teaches distrust of tender love-tales,
What can have taught her distrust of all my vows ?
No, she does not doubt me! on a dewy eve-tide,
Whispering together beneath the listening moon,
I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till she faltered
Fluttered to my bosom - ah! to fly away so soon!
When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror,
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair,
Often she thinks, «Were this wild thing wedded,
I should have more love, and much less care. ”
When her mother tends her before the bashful mirror,
Loosening her laces, combing down her curls,
Often she thinks, “Were this wild thing wedded,
I should lose but one for so many boys and girls. ”
Clambering roses peep into her chamber,
Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet;
White-necked swallows twittering of summer,
Fill her with balm and nested peace from head to feet.
Ah! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely,
When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on the leaves ?
Will the autumn garners see her still ungathered,
When the fickle swallows forsake the weeping eaves ?
XXVIII-1039
## p. 16610 (#310) ##########################################
16610
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Comes a sudden question - should a strange hand pluck her!
Oh what an anguish smites me at the thought,
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with jewels! -
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ?
Sometimes the huntsmen prancing down the valley
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth;
They see as I see, mine is the fairest!
Would she were older, and could read my worth!
Are there not sweet maidens if she will deny me?
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star ?
Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow,
Chattering one note like a brown eve-jar?
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before me -
Through the milky meadows from flower to flower she flies,
Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled eyelids
From the golden love that looks too eager in her eyes.
When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face gazes
Out on the weather through the window-panes,
Beauteous she looks! like a white water-lily
Bursting out of bud on the rippled river-plains.
When from bed she rises, clothed from neck to ankle
In her long nightgown, sweet as boughs of May,
Beauteous she looks!
