Chapter 33

310

TOM O' BEDLAMThe moon's my constant mistress,And the lovely owl my marrow;The flaming drake,And the night-crow, makeMe music to my sorrow.I know more than Apollo;For oft, when he lies sleeping,I behold the starsAt mortal wars,And the rounded welkin weeping.The moon embraces her shepherd,And the Queen of Love her warrior;While the first does hornThe stars of the morn,And the next the heavenly farrier.With a heart of furious fancies,Whereof I am commander:With a burning spear,And a horse of air,To the wilderness I wander;With a Knight of ghosts and shadows,I summoned am to Tourney:Ten leagues beyondThe wide world's end;Methinks it is no journey.

The moon's my constant mistress,And the lovely owl my marrow;The flaming drake,And the night-crow, makeMe music to my sorrow.I know more than Apollo;For oft, when he lies sleeping,I behold the starsAt mortal wars,And the rounded welkin weeping.The moon embraces her shepherd,And the Queen of Love her warrior;While the first does hornThe stars of the morn,And the next the heavenly farrier.With a heart of furious fancies,Whereof I am commander:With a burning spear,And a horse of air,To the wilderness I wander;With a Knight of ghosts and shadows,I summoned am to Tourney:Ten leagues beyondThe wide world's end;Methinks it is no journey.

The moon's my constant mistress,And the lovely owl my marrow;The flaming drake,And the night-crow, makeMe music to my sorrow.

The moon's my constant mistress,

And the lovely owl my marrow;

The flaming drake,

And the night-crow, make

Me music to my sorrow.

I know more than Apollo;For oft, when he lies sleeping,I behold the starsAt mortal wars,And the rounded welkin weeping.

I know more than Apollo;

For oft, when he lies sleeping,

I behold the stars

At mortal wars,

And the rounded welkin weeping.

The moon embraces her shepherd,And the Queen of Love her warrior;While the first does hornThe stars of the morn,And the next the heavenly farrier.

The moon embraces her shepherd,

And the Queen of Love her warrior;

While the first does horn

The stars of the morn,

And the next the heavenly farrier.

With a heart of furious fancies,Whereof I am commander:With a burning spear,And a horse of air,To the wilderness I wander;

With a heart of furious fancies,

Whereof I am commander:

With a burning spear,

And a horse of air,

To the wilderness I wander;

With a Knight of ghosts and shadows,I summoned am to Tourney:Ten leagues beyondThe wide world's end;Methinks it is no journey.

With a Knight of ghosts and shadows,

I summoned am to Tourney:

Ten leagues beyond

The wide world's end;

Methinks it is no journey.

311

THE NIGHT-PIECEHer Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee,The Shooting Starres attend thee;And the Elves also,Whose little eyes glow,Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.NoWill-o' th'-Wispemis-light thee;Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee:But on, on thy wayNot making a stay,Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.Let not the darke thee cumber;What though the Moon does slumber?The Starres of the nightWill lend thee their light,Like Tapers cleare without number....Robert Herrick

Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee,The Shooting Starres attend thee;And the Elves also,Whose little eyes glow,Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.NoWill-o' th'-Wispemis-light thee;Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee:But on, on thy wayNot making a stay,Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.Let not the darke thee cumber;What though the Moon does slumber?The Starres of the nightWill lend thee their light,Like Tapers cleare without number....Robert Herrick

Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee,The Shooting Starres attend thee;And the Elves also,Whose little eyes glow,Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee,

The Shooting Starres attend thee;

And the Elves also,

Whose little eyes glow,

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

NoWill-o' th'-Wispemis-light thee;Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee:But on, on thy wayNot making a stay,Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.

NoWill-o' th'-Wispemis-light thee;

Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee:

But on, on thy way

Not making a stay,

Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.

Let not the darke thee cumber;What though the Moon does slumber?The Starres of the nightWill lend thee their light,Like Tapers cleare without number....Robert Herrick

Let not the darke thee cumber;

What though the Moon does slumber?

The Starres of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like Tapers cleare without number....

Robert Herrick

312

MY PLAID AWA'"My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa',And far awa' to Norrowa,My plaid shall not be blown awa'."The elphin knight sits on yon hill,Ba, ba, lilli ba,He blowes it east, he blowes it west,He blowes it where he lyketh best ..."My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa'."

"My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa',And far awa' to Norrowa,My plaid shall not be blown awa'."The elphin knight sits on yon hill,Ba, ba, lilli ba,He blowes it east, he blowes it west,He blowes it where he lyketh best ..."My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa'."

"My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa',And far awa' to Norrowa,My plaid shall not be blown awa'."

"My plaid awa', my plaid awa',

And ore the hill and far awa',

And far awa' to Norrowa,

My plaid shall not be blown awa'."

The elphin knight sits on yon hill,Ba, ba, lilli ba,He blowes it east, he blowes it west,He blowes it where he lyketh best ..."My plaid awa', my plaid awa',And ore the hill and far awa'."

The elphin knight sits on yon hill,

Ba, ba, lilli ba,

He blowes it east, he blowes it west,

He blowes it where he lyketh best ...

"My plaid awa', my plaid awa',

And ore the hill and far awa'."

313

BUCKEE BENEBuckee, Buckee, biddy Bene,Is the way now fair and clean?Is the goose ygone to nest,And the fox ygone to rest?Shall I come away?

Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene,Is the way now fair and clean?Is the goose ygone to nest,And the fox ygone to rest?Shall I come away?

Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene,

Is the way now fair and clean?

Is the goose ygone to nest,

And the fox ygone to rest?

Shall I come away?

314

WHAT'S IN THERE?Faht's in there?Gold and money.Fahr's[124]my share o't?The moosie ran awa' wi't.Fahr's the moosie?In her hoosie.Fahr's her hoosie?In the wood.Fahr's the wood?The fire brunt it.Fahr's the fire?The water quencht it.Fahr's the water?The broon bull drank it.Fahr's the broon bull?Back a Burnie's hill.Fahr's Burnie's hill?A' claid wi' snaw.Fahr's the snaw?The sun meltit it.Fahr's the sun?Heigh, heigh up i' the air!"

Faht's in there?Gold and money.Fahr's[124]my share o't?The moosie ran awa' wi't.Fahr's the moosie?In her hoosie.Fahr's her hoosie?In the wood.Fahr's the wood?The fire brunt it.Fahr's the fire?The water quencht it.Fahr's the water?The broon bull drank it.Fahr's the broon bull?Back a Burnie's hill.Fahr's Burnie's hill?A' claid wi' snaw.Fahr's the snaw?The sun meltit it.Fahr's the sun?Heigh, heigh up i' the air!"

Faht's in there?

Gold and money.

Fahr's[124]my share o't?

The moosie ran awa' wi't.

Fahr's the moosie?

In her hoosie.

Fahr's her hoosie?

In the wood.

Fahr's the wood?

The fire brunt it.

Fahr's the fire?

The water quencht it.

Fahr's the water?

The broon bull drank it.

Fahr's the broon bull?

Back a Burnie's hill.

Fahr's Burnie's hill?

A' claid wi' snaw.

Fahr's the snaw?

The sun meltit it.

Fahr's the sun?

Heigh, heigh up i' the air!"

315

THE WEE WEE MANAs I was wa'king all alone,Between a water and a wa',And there I spy'd a Wee Wee Man,And he was the least that ere I saw.His legs were scarce a shathmont's lengthAnd thick and thimber was his thigh;Between his brows there was a span,And between his shoulders there was three.He took up a meikle stane,And he flang't as far as I could see;Though I had been a Wallace wight,I couldna' liften't to my knee."O Wee Wee Man, but thou be strang!O tell me where thy dwelling be?""My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;O will you go with me and see?"On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny green;We lighted down for to bait our horse,And out there came a lady fine.Four and twenty at her back,And they were a' clad out in green;Though the King of Scotland had been there,The warst o' them might hae been his queen.On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny ha',Whare the roof was o' the beaten gould,And the floor was o' the cristal a'.When we came to the stair-foot,Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma',But in the twinkling of an eye,My Wee Wee Man was clean awa'.

As I was wa'king all alone,Between a water and a wa',And there I spy'd a Wee Wee Man,And he was the least that ere I saw.His legs were scarce a shathmont's lengthAnd thick and thimber was his thigh;Between his brows there was a span,And between his shoulders there was three.He took up a meikle stane,And he flang't as far as I could see;Though I had been a Wallace wight,I couldna' liften't to my knee."O Wee Wee Man, but thou be strang!O tell me where thy dwelling be?""My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;O will you go with me and see?"On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny green;We lighted down for to bait our horse,And out there came a lady fine.Four and twenty at her back,And they were a' clad out in green;Though the King of Scotland had been there,The warst o' them might hae been his queen.On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny ha',Whare the roof was o' the beaten gould,And the floor was o' the cristal a'.When we came to the stair-foot,Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma',But in the twinkling of an eye,My Wee Wee Man was clean awa'.

As I was wa'king all alone,Between a water and a wa',And there I spy'd a Wee Wee Man,And he was the least that ere I saw.

As I was wa'king all alone,

Between a water and a wa',

And there I spy'd a Wee Wee Man,

And he was the least that ere I saw.

His legs were scarce a shathmont's lengthAnd thick and thimber was his thigh;Between his brows there was a span,And between his shoulders there was three.

His legs were scarce a shathmont's length

And thick and thimber was his thigh;

Between his brows there was a span,

And between his shoulders there was three.

He took up a meikle stane,And he flang't as far as I could see;Though I had been a Wallace wight,I couldna' liften't to my knee.

He took up a meikle stane,

And he flang't as far as I could see;

Though I had been a Wallace wight,

I couldna' liften't to my knee.

"O Wee Wee Man, but thou be strang!O tell me where thy dwelling be?""My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;O will you go with me and see?"

"O Wee Wee Man, but thou be strang!

O tell me where thy dwelling be?"

"My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;

O will you go with me and see?"

On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny green;We lighted down for to bait our horse,And out there came a lady fine.

On we lap, and awa' we rade,

Till we came to yon bonny green;

We lighted down for to bait our horse,

And out there came a lady fine.

Four and twenty at her back,And they were a' clad out in green;Though the King of Scotland had been there,The warst o' them might hae been his queen.

Four and twenty at her back,

And they were a' clad out in green;

Though the King of Scotland had been there,

The warst o' them might hae been his queen.

On we lap, and awa' we rade,Till we came to yon bonny ha',Whare the roof was o' the beaten gould,And the floor was o' the cristal a'.

On we lap, and awa' we rade,

Till we came to yon bonny ha',

Whare the roof was o' the beaten gould,

And the floor was o' the cristal a'.

When we came to the stair-foot,Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma',But in the twinkling of an eye,My Wee Wee Man was clean awa'.

When we came to the stair-foot,

Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma',

But in the twinkling of an eye,

My Wee Wee Man was clean awa'.

316

I SAW A PEACOCKI saw a peacock with a fiery tailI saw a blazing comet drop down hailI saw a cloud wrappèd with ivy roundI saw an oak creep on along the groundI saw a pismire swallow up a whaleI saw the sea brim full of aleI saw a Venice glass five fathom deepI saw a well full of men's tears that weepI saw red eyes all of a flaming fireI saw a house bigger than the moon and higherI saw the sun at twelve o'clock at nightI saw the Man that saw this wondrous sight.

I saw a peacock with a fiery tailI saw a blazing comet drop down hailI saw a cloud wrappèd with ivy roundI saw an oak creep on along the groundI saw a pismire swallow up a whaleI saw the sea brim full of aleI saw a Venice glass five fathom deepI saw a well full of men's tears that weepI saw red eyes all of a flaming fireI saw a house bigger than the moon and higherI saw the sun at twelve o'clock at nightI saw the Man that saw this wondrous sight.

I saw a peacock with a fiery tail

I saw a blazing comet drop down hail

I saw a cloud wrappèd with ivy round

I saw an oak creep on along the ground

I saw a pismire swallow up a whale

I saw the sea brim full of ale

I saw a Venice glass five fathom deep

I saw a well full of men's tears that weep

I saw red eyes all of a flaming fire

I saw a house bigger than the moon and higher

I saw the sun at twelve o'clock at night

I saw the Man that saw this wondrous sight.

317

GIRAFFE AND TREEUpon a dark ball spun in TimeStands a Giraffe beside a Tree:Of what immortal stuff can thatThe fading picture be?So, thought I, standing by my loveWhose hair, a small black flag,Broke on the universal airWith proud and lovely brag:It waved among the silent hills,A wind of shining ebonyIn Time's bright glass, where mirrored clearStood the Giraffe beside a Tree.Walter J. Turner

Upon a dark ball spun in TimeStands a Giraffe beside a Tree:Of what immortal stuff can thatThe fading picture be?So, thought I, standing by my loveWhose hair, a small black flag,Broke on the universal airWith proud and lovely brag:It waved among the silent hills,A wind of shining ebonyIn Time's bright glass, where mirrored clearStood the Giraffe beside a Tree.Walter J. Turner

Upon a dark ball spun in TimeStands a Giraffe beside a Tree:Of what immortal stuff can thatThe fading picture be?

Upon a dark ball spun in Time

Stands a Giraffe beside a Tree:

Of what immortal stuff can that

The fading picture be?

So, thought I, standing by my loveWhose hair, a small black flag,Broke on the universal airWith proud and lovely brag:

So, thought I, standing by my love

Whose hair, a small black flag,

Broke on the universal air

With proud and lovely brag:

It waved among the silent hills,A wind of shining ebonyIn Time's bright glass, where mirrored clearStood the Giraffe beside a Tree.Walter J. Turner

It waved among the silent hills,

A wind of shining ebony

In Time's bright glass, where mirrored clear

Stood the Giraffe beside a Tree.

Walter J. Turner

318

THE WATER LADYAlas, the moon should ever beamTo show what man should never see!I saw a maiden on a stream,And fair was she!I stayed awhile, to see her throwHer tresses back, that all besetThe fair horizon of her browWith clouds of jet.I stayed a little while to viewHer cheek, that wore in place of redThe bloom of water, tender blue,Daintily spread.I stayed to watch, a little space,Her parted lips if she would sing;The waters closed above her faceWith many a ring.And still I stayed a little more,Alas! she never comes again;I throw my flowers from the shore,And watch in vain.I know my life will fade away,I know that I must vainly pine,For I am made of mortal clay,But she's divine!Thomas Hood

Alas, the moon should ever beamTo show what man should never see!I saw a maiden on a stream,And fair was she!I stayed awhile, to see her throwHer tresses back, that all besetThe fair horizon of her browWith clouds of jet.I stayed a little while to viewHer cheek, that wore in place of redThe bloom of water, tender blue,Daintily spread.I stayed to watch, a little space,Her parted lips if she would sing;The waters closed above her faceWith many a ring.And still I stayed a little more,Alas! she never comes again;I throw my flowers from the shore,And watch in vain.I know my life will fade away,I know that I must vainly pine,For I am made of mortal clay,But she's divine!Thomas Hood

Alas, the moon should ever beamTo show what man should never see!I saw a maiden on a stream,And fair was she!

Alas, the moon should ever beam

To show what man should never see!

I saw a maiden on a stream,

And fair was she!

I stayed awhile, to see her throwHer tresses back, that all besetThe fair horizon of her browWith clouds of jet.

I stayed awhile, to see her throw

Her tresses back, that all beset

The fair horizon of her brow

With clouds of jet.

I stayed a little while to viewHer cheek, that wore in place of redThe bloom of water, tender blue,Daintily spread.

I stayed a little while to view

Her cheek, that wore in place of red

The bloom of water, tender blue,

Daintily spread.

I stayed to watch, a little space,Her parted lips if she would sing;The waters closed above her faceWith many a ring.

I stayed to watch, a little space,

Her parted lips if she would sing;

The waters closed above her face

With many a ring.

And still I stayed a little more,Alas! she never comes again;I throw my flowers from the shore,And watch in vain.

And still I stayed a little more,

Alas! she never comes again;

I throw my flowers from the shore,

And watch in vain.

I know my life will fade away,I know that I must vainly pine,For I am made of mortal clay,But she's divine!Thomas Hood

I know my life will fade away,

I know that I must vainly pine,

For I am made of mortal clay,

But she's divine!

Thomas Hood

319

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUSI went out to the hazel wood,Because a fire was in my head,And cut and peeled a hazel wand,And hooked a berry to a thread;And when white moths were on the wing,And moth-like stars were flickering out,I dropped the berry in a streamAnd caught a little silver trout.When I had laid it on the floorI went to blow the fire a-flame,But something rustled on the floor,And someone called me by my name:It had become a glimmering girlWith apple blossom in her hairWho called me by my name and ranAnd faded through the brightening air.Though I am old with wanderingThrough hollow lands and hilly lands,I will find out where she has gone,And kiss her lips and take her hands;And walk among long dappled grass,And pluck till time and times are doneThe silver apples of the moon,The golden apples of the sun.W. B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,Because a fire was in my head,And cut and peeled a hazel wand,And hooked a berry to a thread;And when white moths were on the wing,And moth-like stars were flickering out,I dropped the berry in a streamAnd caught a little silver trout.When I had laid it on the floorI went to blow the fire a-flame,But something rustled on the floor,And someone called me by my name:It had become a glimmering girlWith apple blossom in her hairWho called me by my name and ranAnd faded through the brightening air.Though I am old with wanderingThrough hollow lands and hilly lands,I will find out where she has gone,And kiss her lips and take her hands;And walk among long dappled grass,And pluck till time and times are doneThe silver apples of the moon,The golden apples of the sun.W. B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floorI went to blow the fire a-flame,But something rustled on the floor,And someone called me by my name:It had become a glimmering girlWith apple blossom in her hairWho called me by my name and ranAnd faded through the brightening air.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wanderingThrough hollow lands and hilly lands,I will find out where she has gone,And kiss her lips and take her hands;And walk among long dappled grass,And pluck till time and times are doneThe silver apples of the moon,The golden apples of the sun.W. B. Yeats

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

W. B. Yeats

320

THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODSThey shut the road through the woodsSeventy years ago.Weather and rain have undone it again,And now you would never knowThere was once a road through the woodsBefore they planted the trees.It is underneath the coppice and heath,And the thin anemones.Only the keeper seesThat, where the ring-dove broods,And the badgers roll at ease,There was once a road through the woods.Yet, if you enter the woodsOf a summer evening late,When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed poolsWhere the otter whistles his mate.(They fear not men in the woods,Because they see so few)You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,And the swish of a skirt in the dew,Steadily cantering throughThe misty solitudes,As though they perfectly knewThe old lost road through the woods ...But there is no road through the woods!Rudyard Kipling

They shut the road through the woodsSeventy years ago.Weather and rain have undone it again,And now you would never knowThere was once a road through the woodsBefore they planted the trees.It is underneath the coppice and heath,And the thin anemones.Only the keeper seesThat, where the ring-dove broods,And the badgers roll at ease,There was once a road through the woods.Yet, if you enter the woodsOf a summer evening late,When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed poolsWhere the otter whistles his mate.(They fear not men in the woods,Because they see so few)You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,And the swish of a skirt in the dew,Steadily cantering throughThe misty solitudes,As though they perfectly knewThe old lost road through the woods ...But there is no road through the woods!Rudyard Kipling

They shut the road through the woods

Seventy years ago.

Weather and rain have undone it again,

And now you would never know

There was once a road through the woods

Before they planted the trees.

It is underneath the coppice and heath,

And the thin anemones.

Only the keeper sees

That, where the ring-dove broods,

And the badgers roll at ease,

There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woodsOf a summer evening late,When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed poolsWhere the otter whistles his mate.(They fear not men in the woods,Because they see so few)You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,And the swish of a skirt in the dew,Steadily cantering throughThe misty solitudes,As though they perfectly knewThe old lost road through the woods ...But there is no road through the woods!Rudyard Kipling

Yet, if you enter the woods

Of a summer evening late,

When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools

Where the otter whistles his mate.

(They fear not men in the woods,

Because they see so few)

You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,

And the swish of a skirt in the dew,

Steadily cantering through

The misty solitudes,

As though they perfectly knew

The old lost road through the woods ...

But there is no road through the woods!

Rudyard Kipling

321

THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSEOne without looks in to-nightThrough the curtain-chinkFrom the sheet of glistening white;One without looks in to-nightAs we sit and thinkBy the fender-brink.We do not discern those eyesWatching in the snow;Lit by lamps of rosy dyesWe do not discern those eyesWondering, aglow,Fourfooted, tiptoe.Thomas Hardy

One without looks in to-nightThrough the curtain-chinkFrom the sheet of glistening white;One without looks in to-nightAs we sit and thinkBy the fender-brink.We do not discern those eyesWatching in the snow;Lit by lamps of rosy dyesWe do not discern those eyesWondering, aglow,Fourfooted, tiptoe.Thomas Hardy

One without looks in to-nightThrough the curtain-chinkFrom the sheet of glistening white;One without looks in to-nightAs we sit and thinkBy the fender-brink.

One without looks in to-night

Through the curtain-chink

From the sheet of glistening white;

One without looks in to-night

As we sit and think

By the fender-brink.

We do not discern those eyesWatching in the snow;Lit by lamps of rosy dyesWe do not discern those eyesWondering, aglow,Fourfooted, tiptoe.Thomas Hardy

We do not discern those eyes

Watching in the snow;

Lit by lamps of rosy dyes

We do not discern those eyes

Wondering, aglow,

Fourfooted, tiptoe.

Thomas Hardy

322

DEERShy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody nearComes upon their pastures. There a life they live,Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,Treading as in jungles free leopards do,Printless as evelight, instant as dew.The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheepKnow our bidding. The fallow deer keepDelicate and far their counsels wild,Never to be folded reconciledTo the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar,These you may not hinder, unconfinedBeautiful flocks of the mind.John Drinkwater

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody nearComes upon their pastures. There a life they live,Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,Treading as in jungles free leopards do,Printless as evelight, instant as dew.The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheepKnow our bidding. The fallow deer keepDelicate and far their counsels wild,Never to be folded reconciledTo the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar,These you may not hinder, unconfinedBeautiful flocks of the mind.John Drinkwater

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.

They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near

Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live,

Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,

Treading as in jungles free leopards do,

Printless as evelight, instant as dew.

The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep

Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep

Delicate and far their counsels wild,

Never to be folded reconciled

To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;

Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar,

These you may not hinder, unconfined

Beautiful flocks of the mind.

John Drinkwater

323

THE TWO SWANS(A Fairy Tale)Immortal Imogen, crowned queen aboveThe lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hearA fairy dream in honour of true love—True above ills, and frailty, and all fear—Perchance a shadow of his own careerWhose youth was darkly prisoned and long twinedBy serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,And sweetly sang him free, and round his mindA bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.I saw a tower builded on a lake,Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep—That seemed a still intenser night to make,Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,—And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep,A monstrous Snake was warden:—round and roundIn sable ringlets I beheld him creep,Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground,Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned:From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,Making the pale moon paler with affright;And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars—That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright—Nor slept, nor winked, but with a steadfast spiteWatched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;And that he might not slumber in the night,The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes,So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate,Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,Watching the lonely waters soon and late,And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,Or company their grief with heavy tears:—Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gateFor sweet escapement, but in darksome fearsThey weep and pine away as if immortal years.No gentle bird with gold upon its wingWill perch upon the grate—the gentle birdIs safe in leafy dell, and will not bringFreedom's sweet keynote and commission-wordLearned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred—Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,He leave a widow on her lonely nest,To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,To rouse with dipping oar the waters darkThat bear that serpent-image on their face.And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,Nerved to his loyal death, he may not winHis captive lady from the strict embraceOf that foul Serpent, clasping her withinHis sable folds—like Eve enthralled by the old Sin.But there is none—no knight in panoply,Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat:No little speck—no sail—no helper nigh,No sign—no whispering—no plash of boat:—The distant shores show dimly and remote,Made of a deeper mist,—serene and grey,—And slow and mute the cloudy shadows floatOver the gloomy wave, and pass away,Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.And bright and silvery the willows sleepOver the shady verge—no mad winds teaseTheir hoary heads; but quietly they weepTheir sprinkling leaves—half fountains and half trees:There lilies be—and fairer than all these,A solitary Swan her breast of snowLaunches against the wave that seems to freezeInto a chaste reflection, still below,Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.And forth she paddles in the very noonOf solemn midnight, like an elfin thingCharmed into being by the argent moon—Whose silver light for love of her fair wingGoes with her in the shade, still worshippingHer dainty plumage:—all around her grewA radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;And all behind, a tiny little clueOf light, to guide her back across the waters blue.And sure she is no meaner than a fayRedeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,By old ordainment:—silent as she lay,Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,And cut her leafy slough and so forsakeThe verdant prison of her lily peers,That slept amidst the stars upon the lake—A breathing shape—restored to human fears,And new-born love and grief—self-conscious of her tears.And now she clasps her wings around her heart,And near that lonely isle begins to glide,Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a startTurns her impatient head from side to sideIn universal terrors—all too wideTo watch; and often to that marble keepUpturns her pearly eyes, as if she spiedSome foe, and crouches in the shadows steepThat in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.And well she may, to spy that fearful thingAll down the dusky walls in circlets wound;Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ringGirding the marble casket round and round?His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;But on the top his monstrous head is crownedWith prickly spears, and on his doubtful faceGleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,So he may never see beneath the wallThat timid little creature, all too bright,That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,Invoking the pale moon, and vainly triesHer throbbing throat, as if to charm the nightWith song—but, hush—it perishes in sighs,And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!She droops—she sinks—she leans upon the lake,Fainting again into a lifeless flower;But soon the chilly springs anoint and wakeHer spirit from its death, and with new powerShe sheds her stifled sorrows in a showerOf tender song, timed to her falling tears—That wins the shady summit of that tower,And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,Subdued like Argus by the might of sound—What time Apollo his sweet lute addrestTo magic converse with the air, and boundThe many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned:—So on the turret-top that watchful SnakePillows his giant head, and lists profound,As if his wrathful spite would never wake,Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,To drink that dainty flood of music down—His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs—And whilst his hollow ear entrancèd lies,His looks for envy of the charmèd senseAre fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,Stung into pain by their own impotence,Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no wordTo tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong—Hinting a piteous tale—perchance how longThy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,What time disguised thy leafy mates among—And no eye knew what human love and acheDwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.Therefore no poet will ungently touchThe water-lily, on whose eyelids dewTrembles like tears; but ever hold it suchAs human pain may wander through and through,Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue—Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed,By magic spells. Alas! who ever knewSorrow in all its shades, leafy and plumed,Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?And now the wingèd song has scaled the heightOf that dark dwelling, builded for despair,And soon a little casement flashing brightWidens self-opened into the cool air—That music like a bird may enter thereAnd soothe the captive in his stony cage;For there is nought of grief, or painful care,But plaintive song may happily engageFrom sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.And forth into the light, small and remote,A creature, like the fair son of a king,Draws to the lattice in his jewelled coatAgainst the silver moonlight glistening,And leans upon his white hand listeningTo that sweet music that with tenderer toneSalutes him, wondering what kindly thingIs come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!And while he listens, the mysterious song,Woven with timid particles of speech,Twines into passionate words that grieve alongThe melancholy notes, and softly teachThe secrets of true love,—that trembling reachHis earnest ear, and through the shadows dunHe missions like replies, and each to eachTheir silver voices mingle into one,Like blended streams that make one music as they run."Ah, Love! my hope is swooning in my heart,—""Ay, sweet! my cage is strong and hung full high—""Alas! our lips are held so far apart,Thy words come faint,—they have so far to fly!—""If I may only shun that serpent-eye!—""Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;—""Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!—""Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!""My marble keep! it is my marble tomb—""Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath—""Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;—""But I will come to thee and sing beneath,And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;—""Nay, I will find a path from these despairs.""Ah! needs then thou must tread the back of death,Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.—Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"Full sudden at these words, the princely youthLeaps on the scaly back that slumbers, stillUnconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,But numbed to dulness by the fairy skillOf that sweet music (all more wild and shrillFor intense fear) that charmed him as he lay—Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,Held some short throbs by natural dismay,Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.Now dimly seen—now toiling out of sight,Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall;Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall:Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pallOf dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;Slowly he winds adown—dimly and small,Watched by the gentle Swan that sings below,Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.But nine times nine the Serpent folds embraceThe marble walls about—which he must treadBefore his anxious foot may touch the base:Long is the dreary path, and must be sped!But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,Braces his spirit, and with constant toilHe wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,Impatient plunges from the last long coil:So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!The song is hushed, the charm is all complete,And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake—His steely scales a fearful rustling make,Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretellThe sable storm;—the plumy lovers quake—And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,His horrible pursuit—his red eyes glareThe waters into blood—his eager breathGrows hot upon their plumes:—now, minstrel fair!She drops her ring into the waves, and thereIt widens all around, a fairy ringWrought of the silver light—the fearful pairSwim in the very midst, and pant and clingThe closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.Bending their course over the pale grey lake,Against the pallid East, wherein light playedIn tender flushes, still the baffled SnakeCircled them round continually, and bayedHoarsely and loud, forbidden to invadeThe sanctuary ring: his sable mailRolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and madeA shining track over the waters pale,Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail.And so they sailed into the distance dim,Into the very distance—small and white,Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swimOver the brooklets—followed by the spiteOf that huge Serpent, that with wild affrightWorried them on their course, and sore annoy,Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showersWept on them, like a mother, in whose eyesTears are no grief; and from his rosy bowersThe Oriental sun began to rise,Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;Wherewith that sable Serpent far awayFled, like a part of night—delicious sighsFrom waking blossoms purified the day,And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.Thomas Hood

(A Fairy Tale)

Immortal Imogen, crowned queen aboveThe lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hearA fairy dream in honour of true love—True above ills, and frailty, and all fear—Perchance a shadow of his own careerWhose youth was darkly prisoned and long twinedBy serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,And sweetly sang him free, and round his mindA bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.I saw a tower builded on a lake,Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep—That seemed a still intenser night to make,Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,—And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep,A monstrous Snake was warden:—round and roundIn sable ringlets I beheld him creep,Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground,Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned:From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,Making the pale moon paler with affright;And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars—That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright—Nor slept, nor winked, but with a steadfast spiteWatched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;And that he might not slumber in the night,The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes,So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate,Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,Watching the lonely waters soon and late,And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,Or company their grief with heavy tears:—Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gateFor sweet escapement, but in darksome fearsThey weep and pine away as if immortal years.No gentle bird with gold upon its wingWill perch upon the grate—the gentle birdIs safe in leafy dell, and will not bringFreedom's sweet keynote and commission-wordLearned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred—Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,He leave a widow on her lonely nest,To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,To rouse with dipping oar the waters darkThat bear that serpent-image on their face.And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,Nerved to his loyal death, he may not winHis captive lady from the strict embraceOf that foul Serpent, clasping her withinHis sable folds—like Eve enthralled by the old Sin.But there is none—no knight in panoply,Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat:No little speck—no sail—no helper nigh,No sign—no whispering—no plash of boat:—The distant shores show dimly and remote,Made of a deeper mist,—serene and grey,—And slow and mute the cloudy shadows floatOver the gloomy wave, and pass away,Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.And bright and silvery the willows sleepOver the shady verge—no mad winds teaseTheir hoary heads; but quietly they weepTheir sprinkling leaves—half fountains and half trees:There lilies be—and fairer than all these,A solitary Swan her breast of snowLaunches against the wave that seems to freezeInto a chaste reflection, still below,Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.And forth she paddles in the very noonOf solemn midnight, like an elfin thingCharmed into being by the argent moon—Whose silver light for love of her fair wingGoes with her in the shade, still worshippingHer dainty plumage:—all around her grewA radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;And all behind, a tiny little clueOf light, to guide her back across the waters blue.And sure she is no meaner than a fayRedeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,By old ordainment:—silent as she lay,Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,And cut her leafy slough and so forsakeThe verdant prison of her lily peers,That slept amidst the stars upon the lake—A breathing shape—restored to human fears,And new-born love and grief—self-conscious of her tears.And now she clasps her wings around her heart,And near that lonely isle begins to glide,Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a startTurns her impatient head from side to sideIn universal terrors—all too wideTo watch; and often to that marble keepUpturns her pearly eyes, as if she spiedSome foe, and crouches in the shadows steepThat in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.And well she may, to spy that fearful thingAll down the dusky walls in circlets wound;Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ringGirding the marble casket round and round?His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;But on the top his monstrous head is crownedWith prickly spears, and on his doubtful faceGleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,So he may never see beneath the wallThat timid little creature, all too bright,That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,Invoking the pale moon, and vainly triesHer throbbing throat, as if to charm the nightWith song—but, hush—it perishes in sighs,And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!She droops—she sinks—she leans upon the lake,Fainting again into a lifeless flower;But soon the chilly springs anoint and wakeHer spirit from its death, and with new powerShe sheds her stifled sorrows in a showerOf tender song, timed to her falling tears—That wins the shady summit of that tower,And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,Subdued like Argus by the might of sound—What time Apollo his sweet lute addrestTo magic converse with the air, and boundThe many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned:—So on the turret-top that watchful SnakePillows his giant head, and lists profound,As if his wrathful spite would never wake,Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,To drink that dainty flood of music down—His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs—And whilst his hollow ear entrancèd lies,His looks for envy of the charmèd senseAre fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,Stung into pain by their own impotence,Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no wordTo tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong—Hinting a piteous tale—perchance how longThy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,What time disguised thy leafy mates among—And no eye knew what human love and acheDwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.Therefore no poet will ungently touchThe water-lily, on whose eyelids dewTrembles like tears; but ever hold it suchAs human pain may wander through and through,Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue—Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed,By magic spells. Alas! who ever knewSorrow in all its shades, leafy and plumed,Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?And now the wingèd song has scaled the heightOf that dark dwelling, builded for despair,And soon a little casement flashing brightWidens self-opened into the cool air—That music like a bird may enter thereAnd soothe the captive in his stony cage;For there is nought of grief, or painful care,But plaintive song may happily engageFrom sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.And forth into the light, small and remote,A creature, like the fair son of a king,Draws to the lattice in his jewelled coatAgainst the silver moonlight glistening,And leans upon his white hand listeningTo that sweet music that with tenderer toneSalutes him, wondering what kindly thingIs come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!And while he listens, the mysterious song,Woven with timid particles of speech,Twines into passionate words that grieve alongThe melancholy notes, and softly teachThe secrets of true love,—that trembling reachHis earnest ear, and through the shadows dunHe missions like replies, and each to eachTheir silver voices mingle into one,Like blended streams that make one music as they run."Ah, Love! my hope is swooning in my heart,—""Ay, sweet! my cage is strong and hung full high—""Alas! our lips are held so far apart,Thy words come faint,—they have so far to fly!—""If I may only shun that serpent-eye!—""Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;—""Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!—""Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!""My marble keep! it is my marble tomb—""Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath—""Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;—""But I will come to thee and sing beneath,And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;—""Nay, I will find a path from these despairs.""Ah! needs then thou must tread the back of death,Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.—Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"Full sudden at these words, the princely youthLeaps on the scaly back that slumbers, stillUnconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,But numbed to dulness by the fairy skillOf that sweet music (all more wild and shrillFor intense fear) that charmed him as he lay—Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,Held some short throbs by natural dismay,Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.Now dimly seen—now toiling out of sight,Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall;Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall:Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pallOf dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;Slowly he winds adown—dimly and small,Watched by the gentle Swan that sings below,Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.But nine times nine the Serpent folds embraceThe marble walls about—which he must treadBefore his anxious foot may touch the base:Long is the dreary path, and must be sped!But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,Braces his spirit, and with constant toilHe wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,Impatient plunges from the last long coil:So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!The song is hushed, the charm is all complete,And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake—His steely scales a fearful rustling make,Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretellThe sable storm;—the plumy lovers quake—And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,His horrible pursuit—his red eyes glareThe waters into blood—his eager breathGrows hot upon their plumes:—now, minstrel fair!She drops her ring into the waves, and thereIt widens all around, a fairy ringWrought of the silver light—the fearful pairSwim in the very midst, and pant and clingThe closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.Bending their course over the pale grey lake,Against the pallid East, wherein light playedIn tender flushes, still the baffled SnakeCircled them round continually, and bayedHoarsely and loud, forbidden to invadeThe sanctuary ring: his sable mailRolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and madeA shining track over the waters pale,Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail.And so they sailed into the distance dim,Into the very distance—small and white,Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swimOver the brooklets—followed by the spiteOf that huge Serpent, that with wild affrightWorried them on their course, and sore annoy,Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showersWept on them, like a mother, in whose eyesTears are no grief; and from his rosy bowersThe Oriental sun began to rise,Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;Wherewith that sable Serpent far awayFled, like a part of night—delicious sighsFrom waking blossoms purified the day,And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.Thomas Hood

Immortal Imogen, crowned queen above

The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear

A fairy dream in honour of true love—

True above ills, and frailty, and all fear—

Perchance a shadow of his own career

Whose youth was darkly prisoned and long twined

By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,

And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind

A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.

I saw a tower builded on a lake,Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep—That seemed a still intenser night to make,Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,—And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep,A monstrous Snake was warden:—round and roundIn sable ringlets I beheld him creep,Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground,Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned:

I saw a tower builded on a lake,

Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep—

That seemed a still intenser night to make,

Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,—

And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep,

A monstrous Snake was warden:—round and round

In sable ringlets I beheld him creep,

Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground,

Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned:

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,Making the pale moon paler with affright;And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars—That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright—Nor slept, nor winked, but with a steadfast spiteWatched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;And that he might not slumber in the night,The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes,So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,

Making the pale moon paler with affright;

And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars—

That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright—

Nor slept, nor winked, but with a steadfast spite

Watched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;

And that he might not slumber in the night,

The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes,

So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate,Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,Watching the lonely waters soon and late,And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,Or company their grief with heavy tears:—Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gateFor sweet escapement, but in darksome fearsThey weep and pine away as if immortal years.

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,

Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate,

Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,

Watching the lonely waters soon and late,

And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,

Or company their grief with heavy tears:—

Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate

For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears

They weep and pine away as if immortal years.

No gentle bird with gold upon its wingWill perch upon the grate—the gentle birdIs safe in leafy dell, and will not bringFreedom's sweet keynote and commission-wordLearned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred—Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,He leave a widow on her lonely nest,To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.

No gentle bird with gold upon its wing

Will perch upon the grate—the gentle bird

Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring

Freedom's sweet keynote and commission-word

Learned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred—

Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!

Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,

He leave a widow on her lonely nest,

To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,To rouse with dipping oar the waters darkThat bear that serpent-image on their face.And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,Nerved to his loyal death, he may not winHis captive lady from the strict embraceOf that foul Serpent, clasping her withinHis sable folds—like Eve enthralled by the old Sin.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,

Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,

To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark

That bear that serpent-image on their face.

And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,

Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win

His captive lady from the strict embrace

Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within

His sable folds—like Eve enthralled by the old Sin.

But there is none—no knight in panoply,Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat:No little speck—no sail—no helper nigh,No sign—no whispering—no plash of boat:—The distant shores show dimly and remote,Made of a deeper mist,—serene and grey,—And slow and mute the cloudy shadows floatOver the gloomy wave, and pass away,Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.

But there is none—no knight in panoply,

Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat:

No little speck—no sail—no helper nigh,

No sign—no whispering—no plash of boat:—

The distant shores show dimly and remote,

Made of a deeper mist,—serene and grey,—

And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float

Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,

Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.

And bright and silvery the willows sleepOver the shady verge—no mad winds teaseTheir hoary heads; but quietly they weepTheir sprinkling leaves—half fountains and half trees:There lilies be—and fairer than all these,A solitary Swan her breast of snowLaunches against the wave that seems to freezeInto a chaste reflection, still below,Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.

And bright and silvery the willows sleep

Over the shady verge—no mad winds tease

Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep

Their sprinkling leaves—half fountains and half trees:

There lilies be—and fairer than all these,

A solitary Swan her breast of snow

Launches against the wave that seems to freeze

Into a chaste reflection, still below,

Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.

And forth she paddles in the very noonOf solemn midnight, like an elfin thingCharmed into being by the argent moon—Whose silver light for love of her fair wingGoes with her in the shade, still worshippingHer dainty plumage:—all around her grewA radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;And all behind, a tiny little clueOf light, to guide her back across the waters blue.

And forth she paddles in the very noon

Of solemn midnight, like an elfin thing

Charmed into being by the argent moon—

Whose silver light for love of her fair wing

Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping

Her dainty plumage:—all around her grew

A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;

And all behind, a tiny little clue

Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.

And sure she is no meaner than a fayRedeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,By old ordainment:—silent as she lay,Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,And cut her leafy slough and so forsakeThe verdant prison of her lily peers,That slept amidst the stars upon the lake—A breathing shape—restored to human fears,And new-born love and grief—self-conscious of her tears.

And sure she is no meaner than a fay

Redeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake,

By old ordainment:—silent as she lay,

Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,

And cut her leafy slough and so forsake

The verdant prison of her lily peers,

That slept amidst the stars upon the lake—

A breathing shape—restored to human fears,

And new-born love and grief—self-conscious of her tears.

And now she clasps her wings around her heart,And near that lonely isle begins to glide,Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a startTurns her impatient head from side to sideIn universal terrors—all too wideTo watch; and often to that marble keepUpturns her pearly eyes, as if she spiedSome foe, and crouches in the shadows steepThat in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.

And now she clasps her wings around her heart,

And near that lonely isle begins to glide,

Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start

Turns her impatient head from side to side

In universal terrors—all too wide

To watch; and often to that marble keep

Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied

Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep

That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.

And well she may, to spy that fearful thingAll down the dusky walls in circlets wound;Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ringGirding the marble casket round and round?His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;But on the top his monstrous head is crownedWith prickly spears, and on his doubtful faceGleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.

And well she may, to spy that fearful thing

All down the dusky walls in circlets wound;

Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring

Girding the marble casket round and round?

His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,

Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;

But on the top his monstrous head is crowned

With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face

Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.

Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,So he may never see beneath the wallThat timid little creature, all too bright,That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,Invoking the pale moon, and vainly triesHer throbbing throat, as if to charm the nightWith song—but, hush—it perishes in sighs,And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!

Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,

No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,

So he may never see beneath the wall

That timid little creature, all too bright,

That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,

Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries

Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night

With song—but, hush—it perishes in sighs,

And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!

She droops—she sinks—she leans upon the lake,Fainting again into a lifeless flower;But soon the chilly springs anoint and wakeHer spirit from its death, and with new powerShe sheds her stifled sorrows in a showerOf tender song, timed to her falling tears—That wins the shady summit of that tower,And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.

She droops—she sinks—she leans upon the lake,

Fainting again into a lifeless flower;

But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake

Her spirit from its death, and with new power

She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower

Of tender song, timed to her falling tears—

That wins the shady summit of that tower,

And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,

Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.

And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,Subdued like Argus by the might of sound—What time Apollo his sweet lute addrestTo magic converse with the air, and boundThe many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned:—So on the turret-top that watchful SnakePillows his giant head, and lists profound,As if his wrathful spite would never wake,Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!

And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,

Subdued like Argus by the might of sound—

What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest

To magic converse with the air, and bound

The many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned:—

So on the turret-top that watchful Snake

Pillows his giant head, and lists profound,

As if his wrathful spite would never wake,

Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,To drink that dainty flood of music down—His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs—And whilst his hollow ear entrancèd lies,His looks for envy of the charmèd senseAre fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,Stung into pain by their own impotence,Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,

And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,

To drink that dainty flood of music down—

His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs—

And whilst his hollow ear entrancèd lies,

His looks for envy of the charmèd sense

Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,

Stung into pain by their own impotence,

Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.

Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no wordTo tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong—Hinting a piteous tale—perchance how longThy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,What time disguised thy leafy mates among—And no eye knew what human love and acheDwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.

Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!

Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,

Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word

To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong—

Hinting a piteous tale—perchance how long

Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,

What time disguised thy leafy mates among—

And no eye knew what human love and ache

Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.

Therefore no poet will ungently touchThe water-lily, on whose eyelids dewTrembles like tears; but ever hold it suchAs human pain may wander through and through,Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue—Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed,By magic spells. Alas! who ever knewSorrow in all its shades, leafy and plumed,Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?

Therefore no poet will ungently touch

The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew

Trembles like tears; but ever hold it such

As human pain may wander through and through,

Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue—

Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed,

By magic spells. Alas! who ever knew

Sorrow in all its shades, leafy and plumed,

Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?

And now the wingèd song has scaled the heightOf that dark dwelling, builded for despair,And soon a little casement flashing brightWidens self-opened into the cool air—That music like a bird may enter thereAnd soothe the captive in his stony cage;For there is nought of grief, or painful care,But plaintive song may happily engageFrom sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.

And now the wingèd song has scaled the height

Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair,

And soon a little casement flashing bright

Widens self-opened into the cool air—

That music like a bird may enter there

And soothe the captive in his stony cage;

For there is nought of grief, or painful care,

But plaintive song may happily engage

From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.

And forth into the light, small and remote,A creature, like the fair son of a king,Draws to the lattice in his jewelled coatAgainst the silver moonlight glistening,And leans upon his white hand listeningTo that sweet music that with tenderer toneSalutes him, wondering what kindly thingIs come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!

And forth into the light, small and remote,

A creature, like the fair son of a king,

Draws to the lattice in his jewelled coat

Against the silver moonlight glistening,

And leans upon his white hand listening

To that sweet music that with tenderer tone

Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing

Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,

Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!

And while he listens, the mysterious song,Woven with timid particles of speech,Twines into passionate words that grieve alongThe melancholy notes, and softly teachThe secrets of true love,—that trembling reachHis earnest ear, and through the shadows dunHe missions like replies, and each to eachTheir silver voices mingle into one,Like blended streams that make one music as they run.

And while he listens, the mysterious song,

Woven with timid particles of speech,

Twines into passionate words that grieve along

The melancholy notes, and softly teach

The secrets of true love,—that trembling reach

His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun

He missions like replies, and each to each

Their silver voices mingle into one,

Like blended streams that make one music as they run.

"Ah, Love! my hope is swooning in my heart,—""Ay, sweet! my cage is strong and hung full high—""Alas! our lips are held so far apart,Thy words come faint,—they have so far to fly!—""If I may only shun that serpent-eye!—""Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;—""Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!—""Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!"

"Ah, Love! my hope is swooning in my heart,—"

"Ay, sweet! my cage is strong and hung full high—"

"Alas! our lips are held so far apart,

Thy words come faint,—they have so far to fly!—"

"If I may only shun that serpent-eye!—"

"Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;—"

"Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!—"

"Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!

For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!"

"My marble keep! it is my marble tomb—""Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath—""Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;—""But I will come to thee and sing beneath,And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;—""Nay, I will find a path from these despairs.""Ah! needs then thou must tread the back of death,Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.—Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"

"My marble keep! it is my marble tomb—"

"Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath—"

"Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;—"

"But I will come to thee and sing beneath,

And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;—"

"Nay, I will find a path from these despairs."

"Ah! needs then thou must tread the back of death,

Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.—

Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"

Full sudden at these words, the princely youthLeaps on the scaly back that slumbers, stillUnconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,But numbed to dulness by the fairy skillOf that sweet music (all more wild and shrillFor intense fear) that charmed him as he lay—Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,Held some short throbs by natural dismay,Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.

Full sudden at these words, the princely youth

Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still

Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,

But numbed to dulness by the fairy skill

Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill

For intense fear) that charmed him as he lay—

Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,

Held some short throbs by natural dismay,

Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.

Now dimly seen—now toiling out of sight,Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall;Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall:Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pallOf dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;Slowly he winds adown—dimly and small,Watched by the gentle Swan that sings below,Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.

Now dimly seen—now toiling out of sight,

Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall;

Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,

And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall:

Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pall

Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;

Slowly he winds adown—dimly and small,

Watched by the gentle Swan that sings below,

Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.

But nine times nine the Serpent folds embraceThe marble walls about—which he must treadBefore his anxious foot may touch the base:Long is the dreary path, and must be sped!But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,Braces his spirit, and with constant toilHe wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,Impatient plunges from the last long coil:So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!

But nine times nine the Serpent folds embrace

The marble walls about—which he must tread

Before his anxious foot may touch the base:

Long is the dreary path, and must be sped!

But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,

Braces his spirit, and with constant toil

He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,

Impatient plunges from the last long coil:

So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!

The song is hushed, the charm is all complete,And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake—His steely scales a fearful rustling make,Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretellThe sable storm;—the plumy lovers quake—And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.

The song is hushed, the charm is all complete,

And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:

But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,

When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake—

His steely scales a fearful rustling make,

Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell

The sable storm;—the plumy lovers quake—

And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,

Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.

His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,His horrible pursuit—his red eyes glareThe waters into blood—his eager breathGrows hot upon their plumes:—now, minstrel fair!She drops her ring into the waves, and thereIt widens all around, a fairy ringWrought of the silver light—the fearful pairSwim in the very midst, and pant and clingThe closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.

His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,

His horrible pursuit—his red eyes glare

The waters into blood—his eager breath

Grows hot upon their plumes:—now, minstrel fair!

She drops her ring into the waves, and there

It widens all around, a fairy ring

Wrought of the silver light—the fearful pair

Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling

The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.

Bending their course over the pale grey lake,Against the pallid East, wherein light playedIn tender flushes, still the baffled SnakeCircled them round continually, and bayedHoarsely and loud, forbidden to invadeThe sanctuary ring: his sable mailRolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and madeA shining track over the waters pale,Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail.

Bending their course over the pale grey lake,

Against the pallid East, wherein light played

In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake

Circled them round continually, and bayed

Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade

The sanctuary ring: his sable mail

Rolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and made

A shining track over the waters pale,

Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail.

And so they sailed into the distance dim,Into the very distance—small and white,Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swimOver the brooklets—followed by the spiteOf that huge Serpent, that with wild affrightWorried them on their course, and sore annoy,Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!

And so they sailed into the distance dim,

Into the very distance—small and white,

Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim

Over the brooklets—followed by the spite

Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright

Worried them on their course, and sore annoy,

Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,

And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,

Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!

Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showersWept on them, like a mother, in whose eyesTears are no grief; and from his rosy bowersThe Oriental sun began to rise,Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;Wherewith that sable Serpent far awayFled, like a part of night—delicious sighsFrom waking blossoms purified the day,And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.Thomas Hood

Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers

Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes

Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers

The Oriental sun began to rise,

Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;

Wherewith that sable Serpent far away

Fled, like a part of night—delicious sighs

From waking blossoms purified the day,

And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

Thomas Hood

324

THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTERIt was intill a pleasant time,Upon a simmer's day,The noble Earl of Mar's daughterWent forth to sport and play.As thus she did amuse hersell,Below a green aik tree,There she saw a sprightly doo[125]Set on a tower sae hie."O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,If ye'll come down to me,Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowdInstead o' simple tree:"I'll put gowd hingers[126]roun' your cage,And siller roun' your wa';I'll gar[127]ye shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'."But she hadnae these words well spoke,Nor yet these words well said,Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the towerAnd lighted on her head.Then she has brought this pretty birdHame to her bowers and ha',And made him shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'.When day was gane, and night was come,About the evening tideThis lady spied a sprightly youthStand straight up by her side."From whence came ye, young man?" she said;"That does surprise me sair;My door was bolted right secure,What way hae ye come here?""O had[128]your tongue, ye lady fair,Lat a' your folly be;Mind ye not on your turtle-dooLast day ye brought wi' thee?""O tell me mair, young man," she said,"This does surprise me now;What country hae ye come frae?What pedigree are you?""My mither lives on foreign isles,She has nae mair but me;She is a queen o' wealth and state,And birth and high degree."Likewise well skilled in magic spells,As ye may plainly see,And she transformed me to yon shape,To charm such maids as thee."I am a doo the live-lang day,A sprightly youth at night;This aye gars me appear mair fairIn a fair maiden's sight."And it was but this verra dayThat I came ower the sea;Your lovely face did me enchant;I'll live and dee wi' thee.""O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,Nae mair frae me ye'se gae";"That's never my intent, my luve,As ye said, it shall be sae...."

It was intill a pleasant time,Upon a simmer's day,The noble Earl of Mar's daughterWent forth to sport and play.As thus she did amuse hersell,Below a green aik tree,There she saw a sprightly doo[125]Set on a tower sae hie."O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,If ye'll come down to me,Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowdInstead o' simple tree:"I'll put gowd hingers[126]roun' your cage,And siller roun' your wa';I'll gar[127]ye shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'."But she hadnae these words well spoke,Nor yet these words well said,Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the towerAnd lighted on her head.Then she has brought this pretty birdHame to her bowers and ha',And made him shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'.When day was gane, and night was come,About the evening tideThis lady spied a sprightly youthStand straight up by her side."From whence came ye, young man?" she said;"That does surprise me sair;My door was bolted right secure,What way hae ye come here?""O had[128]your tongue, ye lady fair,Lat a' your folly be;Mind ye not on your turtle-dooLast day ye brought wi' thee?""O tell me mair, young man," she said,"This does surprise me now;What country hae ye come frae?What pedigree are you?""My mither lives on foreign isles,She has nae mair but me;She is a queen o' wealth and state,And birth and high degree."Likewise well skilled in magic spells,As ye may plainly see,And she transformed me to yon shape,To charm such maids as thee."I am a doo the live-lang day,A sprightly youth at night;This aye gars me appear mair fairIn a fair maiden's sight."And it was but this verra dayThat I came ower the sea;Your lovely face did me enchant;I'll live and dee wi' thee.""O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,Nae mair frae me ye'se gae";"That's never my intent, my luve,As ye said, it shall be sae...."

It was intill a pleasant time,Upon a simmer's day,The noble Earl of Mar's daughterWent forth to sport and play.

It was intill a pleasant time,

Upon a simmer's day,

The noble Earl of Mar's daughter

Went forth to sport and play.

As thus she did amuse hersell,Below a green aik tree,There she saw a sprightly doo[125]Set on a tower sae hie.

As thus she did amuse hersell,

Below a green aik tree,

There she saw a sprightly doo[125]

Set on a tower sae hie.

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,If ye'll come down to me,Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowdInstead o' simple tree:

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

If ye'll come down to me,

Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd

Instead o' simple tree:

"I'll put gowd hingers[126]roun' your cage,And siller roun' your wa';I'll gar[127]ye shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'."

"I'll put gowd hingers[126]roun' your cage,

And siller roun' your wa';

I'll gar[127]ye shine as fair a bird

As ony o' them a'."

But she hadnae these words well spoke,Nor yet these words well said,Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the towerAnd lighted on her head.

But she hadnae these words well spoke,

Nor yet these words well said,

Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower

And lighted on her head.

Then she has brought this pretty birdHame to her bowers and ha',And made him shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'.

Then she has brought this pretty bird

Hame to her bowers and ha',

And made him shine as fair a bird

As ony o' them a'.

When day was gane, and night was come,About the evening tideThis lady spied a sprightly youthStand straight up by her side.

When day was gane, and night was come,

About the evening tide

This lady spied a sprightly youth

Stand straight up by her side.

"From whence came ye, young man?" she said;"That does surprise me sair;My door was bolted right secure,What way hae ye come here?"

"From whence came ye, young man?" she said;

"That does surprise me sair;

My door was bolted right secure,

What way hae ye come here?"

"O had[128]your tongue, ye lady fair,Lat a' your folly be;Mind ye not on your turtle-dooLast day ye brought wi' thee?"

"O had[128]your tongue, ye lady fair,

Lat a' your folly be;

Mind ye not on your turtle-doo

Last day ye brought wi' thee?"

"O tell me mair, young man," she said,"This does surprise me now;What country hae ye come frae?What pedigree are you?"

"O tell me mair, young man," she said,

"This does surprise me now;

What country hae ye come frae?

What pedigree are you?"

"My mither lives on foreign isles,She has nae mair but me;She is a queen o' wealth and state,And birth and high degree.

"My mither lives on foreign isles,

She has nae mair but me;

She is a queen o' wealth and state,

And birth and high degree.

"Likewise well skilled in magic spells,As ye may plainly see,And she transformed me to yon shape,To charm such maids as thee.

"Likewise well skilled in magic spells,

As ye may plainly see,

And she transformed me to yon shape,

To charm such maids as thee.

"I am a doo the live-lang day,A sprightly youth at night;This aye gars me appear mair fairIn a fair maiden's sight.

"I am a doo the live-lang day,

A sprightly youth at night;

This aye gars me appear mair fair

In a fair maiden's sight.

"And it was but this verra dayThat I came ower the sea;Your lovely face did me enchant;I'll live and dee wi' thee."

"And it was but this verra day

That I came ower the sea;

Your lovely face did me enchant;

I'll live and dee wi' thee."

"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,Nae mair frae me ye'se gae";"That's never my intent, my luve,As ye said, it shall be sae...."

"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,

Nae mair frae me ye'se gae";

"That's never my intent, my luve,

As ye said, it shall be sae...."

325

THE BROOMFIELD HILLBrome, brome on hill,The gentle brome on hill, hill,Brome, brome on Hive hill,The gentle brome on Hive hill,The brome stands on Hive hill-a...."O where were ye, my milk-white steed,That I hae coft[129]sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here?""I stampèd wi' my foot, master,And gard my bridle ring,But na kin thing wald waken ye,Till she was past and gane.""And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk,That I did love sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here.""I clappèd wi' my wings, master,And aye my bells I rang,And aye cryed, Waken, waken, master,Before the ladye gang.""But haste and haste, my guide white steed,To come the maiden till,Or a' the birds of gude green woodOf your flesh shall have their fill.""Ye need no burst your gude white steedWi' racing o'er the howm;[130]Nae bird flies faster through the wood,Than she fled through the broom."

Brome, brome on hill,The gentle brome on hill, hill,Brome, brome on Hive hill,The gentle brome on Hive hill,The brome stands on Hive hill-a...."O where were ye, my milk-white steed,That I hae coft[129]sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here?""I stampèd wi' my foot, master,And gard my bridle ring,But na kin thing wald waken ye,Till she was past and gane.""And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk,That I did love sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here.""I clappèd wi' my wings, master,And aye my bells I rang,And aye cryed, Waken, waken, master,Before the ladye gang.""But haste and haste, my guide white steed,To come the maiden till,Or a' the birds of gude green woodOf your flesh shall have their fill.""Ye need no burst your gude white steedWi' racing o'er the howm;[130]Nae bird flies faster through the wood,Than she fled through the broom."

Brome, brome on hill,The gentle brome on hill, hill,Brome, brome on Hive hill,The gentle brome on Hive hill,The brome stands on Hive hill-a....

Brome, brome on hill,

The gentle brome on hill, hill,

Brome, brome on Hive hill,

The gentle brome on Hive hill,

The brome stands on Hive hill-a....

"O where were ye, my milk-white steed,That I hae coft[129]sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here?"

"O where were ye, my milk-white steed,

That I hae coft[129]sae dear,

That wadna' watch and waken me

When there was maiden here?"

"I stampèd wi' my foot, master,And gard my bridle ring,But na kin thing wald waken ye,Till she was past and gane."

"I stampèd wi' my foot, master,

And gard my bridle ring,

But na kin thing wald waken ye,

Till she was past and gane."

"And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk,That I did love sae dear,That wadna' watch and waken meWhen there was maiden here."

"And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk,

That I did love sae dear,

That wadna' watch and waken me

When there was maiden here."

"I clappèd wi' my wings, master,And aye my bells I rang,And aye cryed, Waken, waken, master,Before the ladye gang."

"I clappèd wi' my wings, master,

And aye my bells I rang,

And aye cryed, Waken, waken, master,

Before the ladye gang."

"But haste and haste, my guide white steed,To come the maiden till,Or a' the birds of gude green woodOf your flesh shall have their fill."

"But haste and haste, my guide white steed,

To come the maiden till,

Or a' the birds of gude green wood

Of your flesh shall have their fill."

"Ye need no burst your gude white steedWi' racing o'er the howm;[130]Nae bird flies faster through the wood,Than she fled through the broom."

"Ye need no burst your gude white steed

Wi' racing o'er the howm;[130]

Nae bird flies faster through the wood,

Than she fled through the broom."

326

THE CHANGELINGToll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother,Waste no sighs;There are my sisters, there is my little brotherWho plays in the place called Paradise,Your children all, your children for ever;But I, so wild,Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,Never, I know, but half your child!In the garden at play, all day, last summer,Far and away I heardThe sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,The dearest, clearest call of a bird.It lived down there in the deep green hollow,My own old home, and the fairies sayThe word of a bird is a thing to follow,So I was away a night and a day.One evening, too, by the nursery fire,We snuggled close and sat round so still,When suddenly as the wind blew higher,Something scratched on the window-sill,A pinched brown face peered in—I shivered;No one listened or seemed to see;The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,Whoo—I knew it had come for me!Some are as bad as bad can be!All night long they danced in the rain,Round and round in a dripping chain,Threw their caps at the window-pane,Tried to make me scream and shoutAnd fling the bedclothes all about:I meant to stay in bed that night,And if only you had left a lightThey would never have got me out!Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,Or answer when you spoke to me,Because in the long, still dusks of SpringYou can hear the whole world whispering;The shy green grasses making love,The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,The tiny heart of the redstart beat,The patter of the squirrel's feet,The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,The rushes talking in their dreams,The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,Humming and hammering at your ear,Everything there is to hearIn the heart of hidden things.But not in the midst of the nursery riot,That's why I wanted to be quiet,Couldn't do my sums, or sing,Or settle down to anything.And when, for that, I was sent upstairsIdidkneel down to say my prayers;But the King who sits on your high church steepleHas nothing to do with us fairy people!'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,Learned all my lessons and liked to play,And dearly I loved the little pale brotherWhom some other bird must have called away.Why did they bring me here to make meNot quite bad and not quite good,Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take meBack to Their wet, wild wood?Now, every night I shall see the windows shining,The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whiningIn the hollow by the stream.Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;And They live so long and They feel no pain:I shall grow up, but never grow old,I shall always, always be very cold,I shall never come back again!Charlotte Mew

Toll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother,Waste no sighs;There are my sisters, there is my little brotherWho plays in the place called Paradise,Your children all, your children for ever;But I, so wild,Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,Never, I know, but half your child!In the garden at play, all day, last summer,Far and away I heardThe sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,The dearest, clearest call of a bird.It lived down there in the deep green hollow,My own old home, and the fairies sayThe word of a bird is a thing to follow,So I was away a night and a day.One evening, too, by the nursery fire,We snuggled close and sat round so still,When suddenly as the wind blew higher,Something scratched on the window-sill,A pinched brown face peered in—I shivered;No one listened or seemed to see;The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,Whoo—I knew it had come for me!Some are as bad as bad can be!All night long they danced in the rain,Round and round in a dripping chain,Threw their caps at the window-pane,Tried to make me scream and shoutAnd fling the bedclothes all about:I meant to stay in bed that night,And if only you had left a lightThey would never have got me out!Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,Or answer when you spoke to me,Because in the long, still dusks of SpringYou can hear the whole world whispering;The shy green grasses making love,The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,The tiny heart of the redstart beat,The patter of the squirrel's feet,The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,The rushes talking in their dreams,The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,Humming and hammering at your ear,Everything there is to hearIn the heart of hidden things.But not in the midst of the nursery riot,That's why I wanted to be quiet,Couldn't do my sums, or sing,Or settle down to anything.And when, for that, I was sent upstairsIdidkneel down to say my prayers;But the King who sits on your high church steepleHas nothing to do with us fairy people!'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,Learned all my lessons and liked to play,And dearly I loved the little pale brotherWhom some other bird must have called away.Why did they bring me here to make meNot quite bad and not quite good,Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take meBack to Their wet, wild wood?Now, every night I shall see the windows shining,The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whiningIn the hollow by the stream.Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;And They live so long and They feel no pain:I shall grow up, but never grow old,I shall always, always be very cold,I shall never come back again!Charlotte Mew

Toll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother,

Waste no sighs;

There are my sisters, there is my little brother

Who plays in the place called Paradise,

Your children all, your children for ever;

But I, so wild,

Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,

Never, I know, but half your child!

In the garden at play, all day, last summer,Far and away I heardThe sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,The dearest, clearest call of a bird.It lived down there in the deep green hollow,My own old home, and the fairies sayThe word of a bird is a thing to follow,So I was away a night and a day.

In the garden at play, all day, last summer,

Far and away I heard

The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,

The dearest, clearest call of a bird.

It lived down there in the deep green hollow,

My own old home, and the fairies say

The word of a bird is a thing to follow,

So I was away a night and a day.

One evening, too, by the nursery fire,We snuggled close and sat round so still,When suddenly as the wind blew higher,Something scratched on the window-sill,A pinched brown face peered in—I shivered;No one listened or seemed to see;The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,Whoo—I knew it had come for me!Some are as bad as bad can be!All night long they danced in the rain,Round and round in a dripping chain,Threw their caps at the window-pane,Tried to make me scream and shoutAnd fling the bedclothes all about:I meant to stay in bed that night,And if only you had left a lightThey would never have got me out!

One evening, too, by the nursery fire,

We snuggled close and sat round so still,

When suddenly as the wind blew higher,

Something scratched on the window-sill,

A pinched brown face peered in—I shivered;

No one listened or seemed to see;

The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,

Whoo—I knew it had come for me!

Some are as bad as bad can be!

All night long they danced in the rain,

Round and round in a dripping chain,

Threw their caps at the window-pane,

Tried to make me scream and shout

And fling the bedclothes all about:

I meant to stay in bed that night,

And if only you had left a light

They would never have got me out!

Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,Or answer when you spoke to me,Because in the long, still dusks of SpringYou can hear the whole world whispering;The shy green grasses making love,The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,The tiny heart of the redstart beat,The patter of the squirrel's feet,The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,The rushes talking in their dreams,The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,Humming and hammering at your ear,Everything there is to hearIn the heart of hidden things.But not in the midst of the nursery riot,That's why I wanted to be quiet,Couldn't do my sums, or sing,Or settle down to anything.And when, for that, I was sent upstairsIdidkneel down to say my prayers;But the King who sits on your high church steepleHas nothing to do with us fairy people!

Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,

Or answer when you spoke to me,

Because in the long, still dusks of Spring

You can hear the whole world whispering;

The shy green grasses making love,

The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,

The tiny heart of the redstart beat,

The patter of the squirrel's feet,

The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,

The rushes talking in their dreams,

The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,

The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,

Humming and hammering at your ear,

Everything there is to hear

In the heart of hidden things.

But not in the midst of the nursery riot,

That's why I wanted to be quiet,

Couldn't do my sums, or sing,

Or settle down to anything.

And when, for that, I was sent upstairs

Ididkneel down to say my prayers;

But the King who sits on your high church steeple

Has nothing to do with us fairy people!

'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,Learned all my lessons and liked to play,And dearly I loved the little pale brotherWhom some other bird must have called away.Why did they bring me here to make meNot quite bad and not quite good,Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take meBack to Their wet, wild wood?Now, every night I shall see the windows shining,The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whiningIn the hollow by the stream.Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;And They live so long and They feel no pain:I shall grow up, but never grow old,I shall always, always be very cold,I shall never come back again!Charlotte Mew

'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,

Learned all my lessons and liked to play,

And dearly I loved the little pale brother

Whom some other bird must have called away.

Why did they bring me here to make me

Not quite bad and not quite good,

Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take me

Back to Their wet, wild wood?

Now, every night I shall see the windows shining,

The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,

While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whining

In the hollow by the stream.

Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;

And They live so long and They feel no pain:

I shall grow up, but never grow old,

I shall always, always be very cold,

I shall never come back again!

Charlotte Mew

327

THE HOST OF THE AIRO'Driscoll drove with a songThe wild duck and the drakeFrom the tall and the tufted reedsOf the drear Hart Lake.And he saw how the reeds grew darkAt the coming of night tide,And dreamed of the long dim hairOf Bridget his bride.He heard while he sang and dreamedA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.And he saw young men and young girlsWho danced on a level placeAnd Bridget his bride among them,With a sad and a gay face.The dancers crowded about him,And many a sweet thing said,And a young man brought him red wineAnd a young girl white bread.But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,Away from the merry bands,To old men playing at cardsWith a twinkling of ancient hands.The bread and the wine had a doom,For these were the host of the air;He sat and played in a dreamOf her long dim hair.He played with the merry old menAnd thought not of evil chance,Until one bore Bridget his brideAway from the merry dance.He bore her away in his arms,The handsomest young man there,And his neck and his breast and his armsWere drowned in her long dim hair.O'Driscoll scattered the cardsAnd out of his dream awoke:Old men and young men and young girlsWere gone like a drifting smoke;But he heard high up in the airA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.W. B. Yeats

O'Driscoll drove with a songThe wild duck and the drakeFrom the tall and the tufted reedsOf the drear Hart Lake.And he saw how the reeds grew darkAt the coming of night tide,And dreamed of the long dim hairOf Bridget his bride.He heard while he sang and dreamedA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.And he saw young men and young girlsWho danced on a level placeAnd Bridget his bride among them,With a sad and a gay face.The dancers crowded about him,And many a sweet thing said,And a young man brought him red wineAnd a young girl white bread.But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,Away from the merry bands,To old men playing at cardsWith a twinkling of ancient hands.The bread and the wine had a doom,For these were the host of the air;He sat and played in a dreamOf her long dim hair.He played with the merry old menAnd thought not of evil chance,Until one bore Bridget his brideAway from the merry dance.He bore her away in his arms,The handsomest young man there,And his neck and his breast and his armsWere drowned in her long dim hair.O'Driscoll scattered the cardsAnd out of his dream awoke:Old men and young men and young girlsWere gone like a drifting smoke;But he heard high up in the airA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.W. B. Yeats

O'Driscoll drove with a songThe wild duck and the drakeFrom the tall and the tufted reedsOf the drear Hart Lake.

O'Driscoll drove with a song

The wild duck and the drake

From the tall and the tufted reeds

Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew darkAt the coming of night tide,And dreamed of the long dim hairOf Bridget his bride.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark

At the coming of night tide,

And dreamed of the long dim hair

Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamedA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.

He heard while he sang and dreamed

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girlsWho danced on a level placeAnd Bridget his bride among them,With a sad and a gay face.

And he saw young men and young girls

Who danced on a level place

And Bridget his bride among them,

With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him,And many a sweet thing said,And a young man brought him red wineAnd a young girl white bread.

The dancers crowded about him,

And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine

And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,Away from the merry bands,To old men playing at cardsWith a twinkling of ancient hands.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,

Away from the merry bands,

To old men playing at cards

With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom,For these were the host of the air;He sat and played in a dreamOf her long dim hair.

The bread and the wine had a doom,

For these were the host of the air;

He sat and played in a dream

Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old menAnd thought not of evil chance,Until one bore Bridget his brideAway from the merry dance.

He played with the merry old men

And thought not of evil chance,

Until one bore Bridget his bride

Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms,The handsomest young man there,And his neck and his breast and his armsWere drowned in her long dim hair.

He bore her away in his arms,

The handsomest young man there,

And his neck and his breast and his arms

Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll scattered the cardsAnd out of his dream awoke:Old men and young men and young girlsWere gone like a drifting smoke;

O'Driscoll scattered the cards

And out of his dream awoke:

Old men and young men and young girls

Were gone like a drifting smoke;

But he heard high up in the airA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.W. B. Yeats

But he heard high up in the air

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

W. B. Yeats

Back to Index Next