No More Learning

Do you catch the hint of our forming line ?
And now the artillery moves to the front,
Have you never a qualm, Bay Bess of mine?
It is dainty to see you sidle and start,
As you move to the battle's cloudy marge,
And to feel the swells of your wakening heart
When our sonorous bugles sound a charge.
At the scream of the shell and the roar of the drum
You feign to be frightened with roguish glance;
But up the green slopes where the bullets hum
Coquettishly, darling, I've known you dance.
Your skin is satin, your nostrils red,
Your eyes are a bird's, or a loving girl's;
And from delicate fetlock to stately head
A throbbing vein-cordage around you curls.
O joy of my heart! if you they slay,
For triumph or rout I little care;
For there isn't in all the wide valley to-day
Such a dear little bridle-wise, thoroughbred mare!
CHARLES G. HALPINE.
THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT
He stream was smooth as glass: we said, “Arise and let's away;"
The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay;
And, spread the sail and strong the oar, we gayly took our way.
When shall the sandy bar be crossed ? When shall we find the bay?
THE
The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted plains;
The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains:
The laborer looks up to see our shallop speed away.
When shall the sandy bar be crossed? When shall we find the bay?
Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large,
Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks Alaming at their marge.
XXVIII-1031


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

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

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

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

## p. 16484 (#184) ##########################################

16484
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up-stairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep;
There we pinch their arms and thighs -
None escapes and none espies.
But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duly she is paid;
For we use, before we go,
To drop a tester in her shoe.
Upon a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread:
A grain of rye or wheat
Is manchet which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups, filled to the brink.
The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve us for our minstrelsy;
Grace said, we dance awhile,
And so the time beguile;
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.
On tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.
Author Unknown.
THE FAIRY QUEEN SLEEPING
W* Seeking lovely dreams for thee, –
,-
Where is there we have not been
Gathering gifts for our sweet queen ?
We are come with sound and sight
Fit for fairy's sleep to-night:


## p. 16485 (#185) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16485
First around thy couch shall sweep
Odors such as roses weep
When the earliest spring rain
Calls them into life again;
Next upon thine ear shall float
Many a low and silver note
Stolen from a dark-eyed maid,
When her lover's serenade,
Rising as the stars grew dim,
Wakened from her thoughts of him;
There shall steal o'er lip and cheek
Gales, but all too light to break
Thy soft rest,- such gales as hide
All day orange-flowers inside,
Or that, through hot noontide, dwell
In the purple hyacinth bell;
And before thy sleeping eyes
Shall come glorious pageantries,-
Palaces of gems and gold
Such as dazzle to behold,
Gardens in which every tree
Seems a world of bloom to be,
Fountains whose clear waters show
The white pearls that lie below.
During slumber's magic reign
Other times shall live again:
First thou shalt be young and free
In thy days of liberty,
Then again be wooed and won
By thy stately Oberon;
Or thou shalt descend to earth,
And see all of mortal birth -
No, that world's too full of care
For e'en dreams to linger there. -
But behold, the sun is set,
And the diamond coronet
Of the young moon is on high
Waiting for our revelry;
And the dew is on the flower,
And the stars proclaim our hour:
Long enough thy rest has been,-
Wake, Titania, wake, our queen!
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.


## p. 16486 (#186) ##########################################

16486
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW
F
ROM Oberon, in fairy-land,
The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin, I, at his command,
Am sent to view the night-sports here.
What revel rout
Is kept about
In every corner where I go,
I will o'ersee,
And merrie be,
And make good sport with ho, ho, ho!
More swift than lightning can I flye
About this aëry welkin soone,
And in a minute's space descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone.
There's not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry 'Ware goblins! where I go;
But Robin, I,
Their feates will spy,
And send them home with ho, ho, ho!
Whene'er such wanderers I meete,
As from their night-sports they trudge home,
With counterfeiting voice I greete,
And call on them with me to roame
Through woods, through lakes,
Through bogs, through brakes;
Or else unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke,
To play some tricke,
And frolick it with ho, ho, ho!
Sometimes I meete them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round;
But if to ride,
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I goe;
O’er hedge and lands,
Through pools and ponds,
I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho!


## p. 16487 (#187) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16487
When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with junkets fine,
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And to make sport
I fume and snort,
And out the candles do I blow;
The maids I kiss,-
They shrieke, Who's this ?
I answer naught but ho, ho, ho!
Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll,
And when they sleepe and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow:
If any wake,
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing ho, ho, ho!
When house or hearth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens black and blue;
The bedd-clothes from the bedd pull I,
And lay them naked all to view.
'Twixt sleepe and wake
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw;
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho!
When any need to borrow aught,
We lend them what they do require,
And for the use demand we naught,-
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go;
And night by night,
I them afright,
With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!
When lazie queans have naught to do
But study how to cog and lye,


## p. 16488 (#188) ##########################################

16488
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
To make debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretly,
I marke their gloze,
And it disclose
To them whom they have wronged so.
When I have done
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
When men do traps and engines set
In loopeholes where the vermine creepe,
Who from their foldes and houses get
Their duckes, and geese, and lambes, and sheepe,
I spy the gin,
And enter in,
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out, laughing ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our heyday guise,
And to our fairye kinge and queene
We chant our moonlighte minstrelsies.
When larkes 'gin sing,
Away we fling;
And babes new-born steale as we go,
And elfe in bed
We leave instead,
And wend us, laughing ho, ho, ho!
From hag-bred Merlin's time have I
Thus nightly reveled to and fro;
And for my prankes, men call me by
The name of Robin Good-Fellow.
Friends, ghosts, and sprites
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins, do me know;
And beldames old
My feates have told -
So vale, vale! Ho, ho, ho!
Author Unknown.


## p. 16489 (#189) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16489
THE FAIRY NURSE
SWE
WEET babe! a golden cradle holds thee,
And soft the snow-white fleece infolds thee;
In airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
When mothers languish broken-hearted,
When young wives are from husbands parted,
Ah! little think the keeners lonely,
They weep some time-worn fairy only.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Within our magic halls of brightness
Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness, –
Stolen maidens, queens of fairy,
And kings and chiefs a slaugh shee 'airy.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,
And as thy mortal mother nearly :
Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,
That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
Rest, thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers
Shall fee at the magic Koelshie's numbers;
In airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen, sho, lulo lo!
EDWARD WALSH.
SONG OF THE FAIRY PEDDLER
L
ADY and gentleman fays, come buy!
No peddler has such a rich packet as I.
Who wants a gown,
Of purple fold,
Embroidered down
The seams with gold ?
See here! A tulip richly laced
To please a royal fairy's taste!


## p. 16490 (#190) ##########################################

16490
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Who wants a cap
Of crimson grand ?
By great good hap
I've one on hand;
Look, sir! A cock’s-comb, flowering red:
'Tis just the thing, sir, for your head!
Who wants a frock
Of vestal hue ?
Or snowy smock?
Fair maid, do you?
O me! a lady's smock so white,-
Your bosom's self is not more bright.
Who wants to sport
A slender limb ?
I've every sort
Of hose for him –
Both scarlet, striped, and yellow ones:
This woodbine makes such pantaloons!
Who wants (hush! hush! )
A box of paint ?
'Twill give a blush
Yet leave no taint:
This rose with natural rouge is filled,
From its own dewy leaves distilled.
Then, lady and gentleman fays, come buy!
You never will meet such a merchant as I!
GEORGE DARLEY.
SONG OF THE FAIRIES
Y THE moon we sport and play;
With the night begins our day:
As we dance the dew doth fall;
Trip it, little urchins, all,
B
Lightly as the little bee,
Two by two, and three by three,
And about go we, and about go we.
JOHN LYLY.


## p. 16491 (#191) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16491
THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY
SWE
Weet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,
Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;
Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers
Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air.
Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming
To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above:
Oh that, in tears from my rocky prison streaming,
I too could glide to the bower of my love!
Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her,
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay,
Listening like the dove, while the fountains echo round her
To her lost mate's call in the forest far away.
Come, then, my bird! for the peace thou ever bearest,
Still Heaven's messenger of comfort to me;
Come! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my fairest,
Bleeds with its death-wound, - but deeper yet for thee.
GEORGE DARLEY.
SERENADE
R.
ISE, lady mistress, rise!
The night hath tedious been;
No sleep has fallen on my eyes,
Nor slumber made me sin:
Is she not a saint then, say,
Thought of whom keeps sin away?
Rise, madam, rise, and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover,
And ignorance, darker than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover:
All want day till thy beauty rise;
For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.
NATHANIEL FIELD.


## p. 16492 (#192) ##########################################

16492
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
FAITHFUL FRIENDS
W"
HILST as fickle fortune smiled
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy, like the wind:
Faithful friends are hard to find.
»
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering,
Pity but he were a king! ”
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to woman he be bent,
They have him at commandment.
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They have fawned on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow he will weep;
If thou wake he cannot sleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.
RICHARD BARNFIELD.
THE NIGHTINGALE
s it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
A


## p. 16493 (#193) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16493
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Leaned her breast up till a thorn,
And there sung the doleful'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Teru, teru, by-and-by:
That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own. -
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain;
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapped in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Even so, poor bird, like thee
None alive will pity me.
RICHARD BARNFIELD.
CRITIC AND POET
N°
TO MAN had ever heard a nightingale,
When once a keen-eyed naturalist was stirred
To study and define - what is a bird;
To classify by rote and book, nor fail
To mark its structure, and to note the scale
Whereon its song might possibly be heard.
Thus far, no farther; so he spake the word.
When of a sudden, - hark, the nightingale!
Oh, deeper, higher than he could divine,
That all-unearthly, untaught strain! He saw
The plain brown warbler, unabashed. “Not mine »
(He cried) “the error of this fatal flaw.
No bird is this,- it soars beyond my line:
Were it a bird, 'twould answer to my law. ”
EMMA LAZARUS.


## p. 16494 (#194) ##########################################

16494
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ELLEN TERRY'S BEATRICE
A
WIND of spring, that whirls the feignèd snows
Of blossom petals in the face, and flees;
Elusive, made of mirthful mockeries,
Yet tender with the prescience of the rose;
A strain desired, that through the memory goes,
Too subtle-slender for the voice to seize;
A flame dissembled, only lit to tease,
Whose touch were half a kiss, if one but knows. -
She shows by Leonato's dove-like daughter
A falcon by a prince to be possessed,
Gay-graced with bells that ever chiming are;
In azure of the bright Sicilian water,
A billow that has rapt into its breast
The swayed reflection of a dancing star!
HELEN GRAY CONE.
A VOLUME OF DANTE
I
LIE unread alone; none heedeth me:
Day after day the cobwebs are unswept
From my dim covers. I have lain and slept
In dust and darkness for a century.
An old forgotten volume I. Yet see!
Such mighty words within my heart are kept
That, reading once, great Ariosto wept
In vain despair so impotent to be.
And once with pensive eyes and drooping head,
Musing, Vittoria Colonna came,
And touched my leaves with dreamy finger-tips,
Lifted me up half absently, and read;
Then kissed the page with sudden tender lips,
And sighed, and murmured one beloved
CAROLINE WILDER FELLOWES.
ame.
THE LADY POVERTY
HE Lady Poverty was fair,
But she has lost her looks of late,
With change of times and change of air
Ah, slattern! she neglects her hair,
T"


## p. 16495 (#195) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16495
Her gown, her shoes; she keeps no state,
As once when her pure feet were bare.
Or - almost worse, if worse can be-
She scolds in parlors, dusts, and trims,
Watches and counts. Oh, is this she
Whom Francis met, whose step was free,
Who with Obedience caroled hymns,
In Umbria walked with Chastity ?
Where is her ladyhood ? Not here,
Not among modern kinds of men;
But in the stony fields, where clear
Through the thin trees the skies appear,
In delicate spare soil and fen,
And slender landscape and austere.
Author Unknown.
THE MAIDEN AND THE LILY
A
Lily in my garden grew,
Amid the thyme and clover;
No fairer lily ever blew,
Search all the wide world over.
Its beauty passed into my heart:
I knew 'twas very silly,
But I was then a foolish maid,
And it - a perfect lily.
One day a learnèd man came by,
With years of knowledge laden,
And him I questioned with a sigh,
Like any foolish maiden:-
«Wise sir, please tell me wherein lies-
I know the question's silly –
The something that my art defies,
And makes a perfect lily. ”
He smiled, then bending plucked the flower,
Then tore it, leaf and petal,
And talked to me for full an hour,
And thought the point to settle:-
« Therein it lies," at length he cries;
And I-I know 'twas silly —
Could only weep and say, “But where -
O doctor, where's my lily ? »
JOHN FRASER


## p. 16496 (#196) ##########################################

16496
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE BLACKBIRD'S SONG
M
AGDALEN at Michael's gate
Tirled at the pin;
On Joseph's thorn sang the blackbird,
“Let her in! let her in ! »
«Hast thou seen the wounds ? ” said Michael;
“Know'st thou thy sin ? ”
“It is evening, evening,” sang the blackbird,
« Let her in! let her in! »
« Yes, I have seen the wounds,
And I know my sin. ”
«She knows it well, well, well,” sang the blackbird :
“Let her in! let her in ! »
»
« Thou bringest no offerings,” said Michael,
“Naught save sin.
”
And the blackbird sang, “She is sorry, sorry, sorry,
Let her in! let her in ! »
When he had sung himself to sleep,
And night did begin,
One came and opened Michael's gate,
And Magdalen went in.
HENRY KINGSLEY.
IN SPRINGTIDE
THIS
his is the hour, the day,
The time, the season sweet.
Quick! listen, laggard feet,
Brook not delay:
Love Alies, youth pauses, Maytide will not last;
Forth, forth while yet 'tis time, before the Spring is past.
The Summer's glories shine
From all her garden ground,
With lilies prankt around,
And roses fine;
But the pink blooms or white upon the bursting trees,
Primrose and violet sweet, what charm has June like these?


## p. 16497 (#197) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16497
This is the time of song.
From many a joyous throat,
Mute all the dull year long,
Soars love's clear note:
Summer is dumb, and faint with dust and heat;
This is the mirthful time when every sound is sweet.
Fair day of larger light,
Life's own appointed hour,
Young souls bud forth in white -
The world's a-flower.
Thrill, youthful heart; soar upward, limpid voice:
Blossoming time is come — rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!
Lewis MORRIS.
A SPRING TROUBLE
LL the meadow-lands were gay
Once upon a morn of May;
All the tree of life was dight
With the blossoms of delight.
A
And my whole heart was a-tune
With the songs of long ere noon,-
Dew-bedecked and fresh and free
As the unsunned meadows be.
(
»
«Lo! ) I said unto my spirit,
«Earth and sky thou dost inherit. ”
Forth I wandered, void of care,
In the largesse of the air.
By there came a damosel;
At a look I loved her well:
But she passed and would not stay –
And all the rest has gone away.
And now no fields are fair to see,
Nor any bud on any tree;
Nor have I share in earth or sky -
All for a maiden passing by!
WILLIAM MACDONALD.
XXVIII-1032


## p. 16498 (#198) ##########################################

16498
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE SONG OF SPRING
14
’LL away to the garden,
For winter is over;
The Rose is awake
To the song of her lover!
I will go and discover
The passionate Nightingale singing above her.
From the boughs green and golden
That slope to the river,
A nymph gathers lemons
To give to her lover:
I will go and discover
The shy little Nightingale singing above her.
Near the vineyard, where often
I've spied out a rover,
Sits a damsel who sings
To be heard by her lover:
I will go and discover
The bold little Nightingale singing above her.
GIL VICENTE (Portuguese).
APRIL WEATHER
O
H HUSH, my heart, and take thine ease,
For here is April weather!
The daffodils beneath the trees
Are all a-row together.
The thrush is back with his old note;
The scarlet tulip blowing:
And white — ay, white as my love's throat
The dogwood boughs are growing.
The lilac bush is sweet again;
Down every wind that passes,
Fly Aakes from hedgerow and from lane;
The bees are in the grasses.
And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in,
And Care is but a feather;
And every lad his love can win:
For here is April weather.
LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE.


## p. 16499 (#199) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16499
ASIAN BIRDS
IN
N this May-month, by grace
of Heaven, things shoot apace.
The waiting multitude
of fair boughs in the wood, -
How few days have arrayed
their beauty in green shade!
What have I seen or heard ?
It was the yellow-bird
Sang in the tree: he few
a flame against the blue;
Upward he flashed. Again,
hark! 'tis his heavenly strain.
Another! Hush! Behold,
many, like boats of gold,
From waving branch to branch
their airy bodies launch.
What music is like this,
where each note is a kiss ?
The golden willows lift
their boughs the sun to sift:
Their silken streamers screen
the sky with veils of green,
To make a cage of song,
where feathered lovers throng.
How the delicious notes
come bubbling from their throats!
Full and sweet, how they are shed
like round pearls from a thread!
The motions of their Aight
are wishes of delight.
Hearing their song, I trace
the secret of their grace.
Ah, could I this fair time
so fashion into rhyme,
The poem that I sing
would be the voice of spring.
ROBERT BRIDGES.


## p. 16500 (#200) ##########################################

16500
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOWER-BIRTH
Before
FIRST VIOLET
LO
O HERE! how warm and dark and still it is:
Sister, lean close to me, that we may kiss.
Here we go rising, rising — but to where ?
SECOND VIOLET
Indeed I cannot tell, nor do I care:
It is so warm and pleasant here. But hark!
What strangest sound was that above the dark ?
FIRST VIOLET
As if our sisters all together sang-
Seemed it not so ?
SECOND VIOLET
More loud than that it rang:
And louder still it rings, and seems more near.
Oh! I am shaken through and through with fear
Now in some deadly grip I seem confined!
Farewell, my sister! Rise, and follow, and find.
FIRST VIOLET
From how far off those last words seemed to fall!
Gone where she will not answer when I call!
How lost ? how gone? Alas! this sound above me-
« Poor little violet, left with none to love thee! ”
And now, it seems, I break against that sound!
What bitter pain is this that binds me round,
This pain I press into! Where have I come ?
After
A CROCUS
Welcome, dear sisters, to our fairy home!
They call this — Garden, and the time is Spring.
Like you I have felt the pain of flowering:
But oh! the wonder and the deep delight
It was to stand here, in the broad sunlight,
And feel the wind flow round me cool and kind;
To hear the singing of the leaves the wind


## p. 16501 (#201) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16501
Goes hurrying through; to see the mighty trees,
Where every day the blossoming buds increase.
At evening, when the shining sun goes in,
The gentler lights we see, and dews begin,
And all is still beneath the quiet sky,
Save sometimes for the wind's low lullaby.
FIRST TREE
Poor little flowers!
SECOND TREE
What would you prate of now?
FIRST TREE
They have not heard: I will keep still. Speak low.
FIRST VIOLET
The trees bend to each other lovingly.
CROCUS
Daily they talk of fairer things to be.
Great talk they make about the coming Rose, –
The very fairest flower, they say, that blows,
Such scent she hath; her leaves are red, they say,
And fold her round in some divine, sweet way.
FIRST VIOLET
Would she were come, that for ourselves we might
Have pleasure in this wonder of delight!
CROCUS
Here comes the laughing, dancing, hurrying rain;
How all the trees laugh at the wind's light strain!
FIRST VIOLET
We are so near the earth, the wind goes by
And hurts us not; but if we stood up high,
Like trees, then should we soon be blown away.
SECOND VIOLET
Nay; were it so, we should be strong as they.
CROCUS
I often think how nice to be a tree:
Why, sometimes in their boughs the stars I see.


## p. 16502 (#202) ##########################################

16502
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
FIRST VIOLET
Have you seen that?
CROCUS
I have, and so shall you;
But hush! I feel the coming of the dew.
[Night. ]
SECOND VIOLET
How bright it is! the trees, how still they are!
CROCUS
I never saw so bright a star,
As that which stands and shines just over us.
FIRST VIOLET (after a pause)
My leaves feel strange and very tremulous.
CROCUS AND SECOND VIOLET TOGETHER
And mine, and mine!
FIRST VIOLET
O warm, kind sun, appear!
CROCUS
I would the stars were gone, and day were here!
[Just Before Dawn. )
FIRST VIOLET
Sisters! No answer, sisters? Why so still?
ONE TREE TO ANOTHER
Poor little violet, calling through the chill
Of this new frost which did her sister slay,
In which she must herself, too, pass away!
Nay, pretty violet, be not so dismayed:
Sleep only, on your sisters sweet, is laid.
FIRST VIOLET
No pleasant wind about the garden goes:
Perchance the wind has gone to bring the Rose.


## p. 16503 (#203) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16503
O sisters! surely now your sleep is done.
I would we had not looked upon the sun.
My leaves are stiff with pain, O cruel night!
And through my root some sharp thing seems to bite.
Ah me! what pain, what coming change is this?
[She dies.
FIRST TREE
So endeth many a violet's dream of bliss.
PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.
EVENING SONG
T*
He birds have hid, the winds are low,
The brake is awake, the grass aglow:
The bat is the rover,
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,
And evening come.
The heavy beetle spreads her wings,
The toad has the road, the cricket sings:
The bat is the rover,
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,
And evening come.
JOHN VANCE CHENEY.
BENEDICITE
AL
LL Green Things on the earth, bless ye the Lord! )
So sang the choir while ice-cased branches beat
The frosty window-panes, and at our feet
The frozen, tortured sod but mocked the word,
And seemed to cry like some poor soul in pain,
“Lord, suffering and endurance fill my days;
The growing green things will their Maker praise -
The happy green things, growing in warm rain! )
“So God lacks praise while all the fields are white!
I said; then smiled, remembering southward far,
How pampas grass swayed green in summer light.
Nay, God hears always from this swinging star,
Decani and Cantoris, South and North,
Each answering other, praises pouring forth.
ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT.


## p. 16504 (#204) ##########################################

16504
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
'TWEEN EARTH AND SKY
SEEDS
EEDS with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, fying;
Seeds of a lily with blood-red core
Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:
Where winds drop them, there must they lie
Living or dying.
1
Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling;
Some to the river, some to earth:
Those that reach the right soil get birth;
None of the rest have lived at all.
Whose voice is calling ? -
“Here is soil for winged seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing,
Where they shall root and bourgeon and spread.
Lacking the heart-room the song lies dead:
Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing. ”
AUGUSTA WEBSTER.
SONG OF SUMMER
From (Summer's Last Will and Testament)
F
AIR Summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore;
So fair a summer look for never more:
All good things vanish less than in a day,-
Peace, plenty, pleasure suddenly decay.
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,-
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
What! shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst,
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed ?
O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source!
Streams, turn to tears your tributary course!
Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year, -
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
THOMAS NASH.


## p. 16505 (#205) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16505
A SUMMER SONG
SUM
(THIRTEENTH CENTURY)
UMMER-HUED
Is the wood,
Heath and field; debonair
Now is seen
White, brown, green,
Blue, red, yellow, everywhere.
Everything
You see spring
Joyously, in full delight;
He whose pains
Dear love deigns
With her favor to requite-
Ah, happy wight!
Whosoe'er
Knows love's care,
Free from care well may be;
Year by year
Brightness clear
Of the May shall he see.
Blithe and gay
All the play
Of glad love shall he fulfill;
Joyous living
Is in the giving
Of high love to whom she will,
Rich in joys still.
He's a churl
Whom a girl
Lovingly shall embrace,
Who'll not cry
“Blest am I » -
Let none such show his face.
This will cure you
(I assure you)
Of all sorrows, all alarms;
What alloy
In his joy
On whom white and pretty arms
Bestow their charms?
ULRICH VON LIECHTENSTEIN.
Translation of Edward T. McLaughlin.


## p. 16506 (#206) ##########################################

16506
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE BATHER
WRX
ARM from her waist her girdle she unwound,
And cast it down on the insensate turf;
Then copse and cove and deep-secluded vale
She scrutinized with keen though timid eyes,
And stood with ear intent to catch each stir
Of leaf or twig or bird-wing rustling there.
Her startled heart beat quicker even to hear
The wild bee woo the blossom with a hymn,
Or hidden insect break its lance of sound
Against the obdurate silence. Then she smiled,
At her own fears amused, and knew herself
God's only image by that hidden shore;
Out from its bonds her wondrous hair she loosed, -
Hair glittering like spun glass, and bright as though
Shot full of golden arrows. Down below
Her supple waist the soft and shimmering coils
Rolled in their bright abundance, goldener
Than was the golden wonder Jason sought.
Her fair hands then, like white doves in a net,
A moment fluttered 'mid the shining threads,
As with a dexterous touch she higher laid
The gleaming tresses on her shapely head,
Beyond the reach of rudely amorous waves.
Then from her throat her light robe she unclasped,
And dropped it downward with a blush that rose
The higher as the garment lower fell.
Then cast she off the sandals from her feet,
And paused upon the brink of that blue lake:
A sight too fair for either gods or men;
An Eve untempted in her Paradise.
The waters into which her young eyes looked
Gave back her image with so true a truth,
She blushed to look; but blushing looked again,
As maidens to their mirrors oft return
With bashful boldness, once again to gaze
Upon the crystal page that renders back
Themselves unto themselves, until their eyes
Confess their love for their own loveliness.
Her rounded cheeks, in each of which had grown,
With sudden blossoming, a fresh red rose,


## p. 16507 (#207) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16507
She hid an instant in her dimpled hands;
Then met her pink palms up above her head,
And whelmed her white shape in the welcoming wave.
Around each lithesome limb the waters twined,
And with their lucent raiment robed her form;
And as her hesitating bosom sunk
To the caresses of bewildered waves,
The foamy pearls from their own foreheads gave
For her fair brow, and showered in her hair
The evanescent diamonds of the deep.
Thus dallying with the circumfluent tide,
Her loveliness half hidden, half revealed,
An Undine with a soul, she plunged and rose,
Whilst the white graces of her rounded arms
She braided with the blue of wandering waves,
And saw the shoulders of the billows yield
Before the even strokes of her small hands,
And laughed to see, and held her crimson mouth
Above the crest of each advancing surge
Like a red blossom pendent o'er a pool;
Till, done with the invigorating play,
Once more she gained the bank, and once again
Saw her twin image in the waters born.
1
2
.
From the translucent wave each beauty grew
To strange perfection. Never statue wrought
By cunning art to fullness of all grace,
And kissed to life by love, could fairer seem
Than she who stood upon that grassy slope
So fresh, so human, so immaculate!
Out from the dusky cloisters of the wood
The nun-like winds stole with a saintly step,
And dried the bright drops from her panting form,
As she with hurried hands once more let down
The golden drapery of her glorious hair,
That fell about her like some royal cloak
Dropped from the sunset's rare and radiant loom.
MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND.


## p. 16508 (#208) ##########################################

16508
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE HAYMAKERS' SONG
HER
ERE's to him that grows it,
Drink, lads, drink!
That lays it in and mows it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
To him that mows and makes it,
That scatters it and shakes it,
That turns and teds and rakes it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
Now here's to him that stacks it,
Drink, lads, drink!
That thrashes and that tacks it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
That cuts it out for eating,
When March-dropped lambs are bleating,
And the slate-blue clouds are sleeting,
Drink, lads, drink!
And here's to thane and yeoman,
Drink, lads, drink!
To horseman and to bowman,
Clink, jugs, clink!
To lofty and to low man,
Who bears a grudge to no man,
But finches from no foeman,
Drink, lads, drink!
ALFRED AUSTIN.
SEPTEMBER
B.
IRDS that were gray in the green are black in the yellow.
Here where the green remains, rocks one little fellow.
Quaker in gray, do you know that the green is going ?
More than that — do you know that the yellow is showing ?
Singer of songs, do you know that your youth is flying ?
That age will soon at the lock of your life be prying?
Lover of life, do you know that the brown is going ?
More than that — do you know that the gray is showing ?
S. FRANCES HARRISON (“Seranus”).


## p. 16509 (#209) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16509
INDIAN SUMMER
LLC
INGER, O day!
Let not thy purple haze
Fade utterly away.
The Indian summer lays
Her tender touch upon the emerald hills.
Exquisite thrills
Of delicate gladness fill the blue-veined air.