328
THE LOVE-TALKERI met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen,He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men,His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter farThan the crooning of old Kevin's pipes beyond in Coolnagar.I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free—My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me;I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold,And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold.I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind,But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind,The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about,We two clung together—with the world shut out.Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low,The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow,The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer,Oh, pitiful their calling—and his whispers in my ear!His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare;I cried my mother's name, but no help was there;I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan,A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone.Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune—"Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon."My mother's face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall,But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all.I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still,The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill,I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay—Pray for the soul of Mairė Og at dawning of the day!Ethna Carbery
I met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen,He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men,His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter farThan the crooning of old Kevin's pipes beyond in Coolnagar.I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free—My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me;I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold,And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold.I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind,But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind,The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about,We two clung together—with the world shut out.Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low,The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow,The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer,Oh, pitiful their calling—and his whispers in my ear!His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare;I cried my mother's name, but no help was there;I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan,A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone.Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune—"Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon."My mother's face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall,But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all.I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still,The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill,I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay—Pray for the soul of Mairė Og at dawning of the day!Ethna Carbery
I met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen,He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men,His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter farThan the crooning of old Kevin's pipes beyond in Coolnagar.
I met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen,
He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men,
His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter far
Than the crooning of old Kevin's pipes beyond in Coolnagar.
I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free—My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me;I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold,And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold.
I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free—
My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me;
I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold,
And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold.
I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind,But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind,The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about,We two clung together—with the world shut out.
I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind,
But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind,
The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about,
We two clung together—with the world shut out.
Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low,The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow,The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer,Oh, pitiful their calling—and his whispers in my ear!
Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low,
The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow,
The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer,
Oh, pitiful their calling—and his whispers in my ear!
His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare;I cried my mother's name, but no help was there;I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan,A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone.
His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare;
I cried my mother's name, but no help was there;
I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan,
A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone.
Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune—"Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon."My mother's face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall,But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all.
Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune—
"Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon."
My mother's face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall,
But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all.
I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still,The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill,I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay—Pray for the soul of Mairė Og at dawning of the day!Ethna Carbery
I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still,
The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill,
I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay—
Pray for the soul of Mairė Og at dawning of the day!
Ethna Carbery
329
MARIANAWith blackest moss the flower-plotsWere thickly crusted, one and all:The rusted nails fell from the knotsThat held the pear to the garden-wall.The broken sheds looked sad and strange:Unlifted was the clinking latch;Weeded and worn the ancient thatchUpon the lonely moated grange.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"Her tears fell with the dews at even;Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;She could not look on the sweet heaven,Either at morn or eventide.After the flitting of the bats,When thickest dark did trance the sky,She drew her casement-curtain by,And glanced athwart the glooming flats.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"Upon the middle of the night,Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:The cock sung out an hour ere light:From the dark fen the oxen's lowCame to her: without hope of change,In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed mornAbout the lonely moated grange.She only said, "The day is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"About a stone-cast from the wallA sluice with blackened waters slept,And o'er it many, round and small,The clustered marish-mosses crept.Hard by a poplar shook alway,All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:For leagues no other tree did markThe level waste, the rounding grey.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"And ever when the moon was low,And the shrill winds were up and away,In the white curtain, to and fro,She saw the gusty shadow sway.But when the moon was very low,And wild winds bound within their cell,The shadow of the poplar fellUpon her bed, across her brow.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"All day within the dreamy house,The doors upon their hinges creaked;The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouseBehind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,Or from the crevice peered about.Old faces glimmered thro' the doors,Old footsteps trod the upper floors,Old voices called her from without.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,The slow clock ticking, and the soundWhich to the wooing wind aloofThe poplar made, did all confoundHer sense; but most she loathed the hourWhen the thick-moted sunbeam layAthwart the chambers, and the dayWas sloping toward his western bower.Then, said she, "I am very dreary,He will not come," she said;She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,Oh God, that I were dead!"Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With blackest moss the flower-plotsWere thickly crusted, one and all:The rusted nails fell from the knotsThat held the pear to the garden-wall.The broken sheds looked sad and strange:Unlifted was the clinking latch;Weeded and worn the ancient thatchUpon the lonely moated grange.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"Her tears fell with the dews at even;Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;She could not look on the sweet heaven,Either at morn or eventide.After the flitting of the bats,When thickest dark did trance the sky,She drew her casement-curtain by,And glanced athwart the glooming flats.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"Upon the middle of the night,Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:The cock sung out an hour ere light:From the dark fen the oxen's lowCame to her: without hope of change,In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed mornAbout the lonely moated grange.She only said, "The day is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"About a stone-cast from the wallA sluice with blackened waters slept,And o'er it many, round and small,The clustered marish-mosses crept.Hard by a poplar shook alway,All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:For leagues no other tree did markThe level waste, the rounding grey.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"And ever when the moon was low,And the shrill winds were up and away,In the white curtain, to and fro,She saw the gusty shadow sway.But when the moon was very low,And wild winds bound within their cell,The shadow of the poplar fellUpon her bed, across her brow.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"All day within the dreamy house,The doors upon their hinges creaked;The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouseBehind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,Or from the crevice peered about.Old faces glimmered thro' the doors,Old footsteps trod the upper floors,Old voices called her from without.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,The slow clock ticking, and the soundWhich to the wooing wind aloofThe poplar made, did all confoundHer sense; but most she loathed the hourWhen the thick-moted sunbeam layAthwart the chambers, and the dayWas sloping toward his western bower.Then, said she, "I am very dreary,He will not come," she said;She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,Oh God, that I were dead!"Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With blackest moss the flower-plotsWere thickly crusted, one and all:The rusted nails fell from the knotsThat held the pear to the garden-wall.The broken sheds looked sad and strange:Unlifted was the clinking latch;Weeded and worn the ancient thatchUpon the lonely moated grange.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the garden-wall.
The broken sheds looked sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even;Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;She could not look on the sweet heaven,Either at morn or eventide.After the flitting of the bats,When thickest dark did trance the sky,She drew her casement-curtain by,And glanced athwart the glooming flats.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:The cock sung out an hour ere light:From the dark fen the oxen's lowCame to her: without hope of change,In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed mornAbout the lonely moated grange.She only said, "The day is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wallA sluice with blackened waters slept,And o'er it many, round and small,The clustered marish-mosses crept.Hard by a poplar shook alway,All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:For leagues no other tree did markThe level waste, the rounding grey.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blackened waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The clustered marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding grey.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
And ever when the moon was low,And the shrill winds were up and away,In the white curtain, to and fro,She saw the gusty shadow sway.But when the moon was very low,And wild winds bound within their cell,The shadow of the poplar fellUpon her bed, across her brow.She only said, "The night is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
All day within the dreamy house,The doors upon their hinges creaked;The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouseBehind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,Or from the crevice peered about.Old faces glimmered thro' the doors,Old footsteps trod the upper floors,Old voices called her from without.She only said, "My life is dreary,He cometh not," she said;She said, "I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!"
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creaked;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,
Or from the crevice peered about.
Old faces glimmered thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,The slow clock ticking, and the soundWhich to the wooing wind aloofThe poplar made, did all confoundHer sense; but most she loathed the hourWhen the thick-moted sunbeam layAthwart the chambers, and the dayWas sloping toward his western bower.Then, said she, "I am very dreary,He will not come," she said;She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,Oh God, that I were dead!"Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then, said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!"
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
330
KEITH OF RAVELSTONThe murmur of the mourning ghostThat keeps the shadowy kine,"Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!"Ravelston, Ravelston,The merry path that leadsDown the golden morning hill,And thro' the silver meads;Ravelston, Ravelston,The stile beneath the tree,The maid that kept her mother's kine,The song that sang she!She sang her song, she kept her kine,She sat beneath the thornWhen Andrew Keith of RavelstonRode thro' the Monday morn.His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,His belted jewels shine!Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Year after year, where Andrew came,Comes evening down the glade,And still there sits a moonshine ghostWhere sat the sunshine maid.Her misty hair is faint and fair,She keeps the shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!I lay my hand upon the stile,The stile is lone and cold,The burnie that goes babbling bySays naught that can be told.Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Step out three steps, where Andrew stood—Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?The ancient stile is not alone,'Tis not the burn I hear!She makes her immemorial moan,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Sydney Dobell
The murmur of the mourning ghostThat keeps the shadowy kine,"Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!"Ravelston, Ravelston,The merry path that leadsDown the golden morning hill,And thro' the silver meads;Ravelston, Ravelston,The stile beneath the tree,The maid that kept her mother's kine,The song that sang she!She sang her song, she kept her kine,She sat beneath the thornWhen Andrew Keith of RavelstonRode thro' the Monday morn.His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,His belted jewels shine!Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Year after year, where Andrew came,Comes evening down the glade,And still there sits a moonshine ghostWhere sat the sunshine maid.Her misty hair is faint and fair,She keeps the shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!I lay my hand upon the stile,The stile is lone and cold,The burnie that goes babbling bySays naught that can be told.Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Step out three steps, where Andrew stood—Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?The ancient stile is not alone,'Tis not the burn I hear!She makes her immemorial moan,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Sydney Dobell
The murmur of the mourning ghostThat keeps the shadowy kine,"Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!"
The murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine,
"Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!"
Ravelston, Ravelston,The merry path that leadsDown the golden morning hill,And thro' the silver meads;
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The merry path that leads
Down the golden morning hill,
And thro' the silver meads;
Ravelston, Ravelston,The stile beneath the tree,The maid that kept her mother's kine,The song that sang she!
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The stile beneath the tree,
The maid that kept her mother's kine,
The song that sang she!
She sang her song, she kept her kine,She sat beneath the thornWhen Andrew Keith of RavelstonRode thro' the Monday morn.
She sang her song, she kept her kine,
She sat beneath the thorn
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode thro' the Monday morn.
His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,His belted jewels shine!Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!
His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,
His belted jewels shine!
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Year after year, where Andrew came,Comes evening down the glade,And still there sits a moonshine ghostWhere sat the sunshine maid.
Year after year, where Andrew came,
Comes evening down the glade,
And still there sits a moonshine ghost
Where sat the sunshine maid.
Her misty hair is faint and fair,She keeps the shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!
Her misty hair is faint and fair,
She keeps the shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
I lay my hand upon the stile,The stile is lone and cold,The burnie that goes babbling bySays naught that can be told.
I lay my hand upon the stile,
The stile is lone and cold,
The burnie that goes babbling by
Says naught that can be told.
Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!
Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Step out three steps, where Andrew stood—Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?The ancient stile is not alone,'Tis not the burn I hear!
Step out three steps, where Andrew stood—
Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?
The ancient stile is not alone,
'Tis not the burn I hear!
She makes her immemorial moan,She keeps her shadowy kine;Oh, Keith of Ravelston,The sorrows of thy line!Sydney Dobell
She makes her immemorial moan,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Sydney Dobell
331
UNWELCOMEWe were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,And the door stood open at our feast,When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,The loudest voice was still.The jest died away on our lips as they passed,And the rays of July struck chill.The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,The white bread black as soot.The hound forgot the hand of her lord,She fell down at his foot.Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,Ere I sit me down again at a feast,When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.Mary Coleridge
We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,And the door stood open at our feast,When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,The loudest voice was still.The jest died away on our lips as they passed,And the rays of July struck chill.The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,The white bread black as soot.The hound forgot the hand of her lord,She fell down at his foot.Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,Ere I sit me down again at a feast,When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.Mary Coleridge
We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,And the door stood open at our feast,When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.
We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,
And the door stood open at our feast,
When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,
And a man with his back to the East.
O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,The loudest voice was still.The jest died away on our lips as they passed,And the rays of July struck chill.
O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,
The loudest voice was still.
The jest died away on our lips as they passed,
And the rays of July struck chill.
The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,The white bread black as soot.The hound forgot the hand of her lord,She fell down at his foot.
The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,
The white bread black as soot.
The hound forgot the hand of her lord,
She fell down at his foot.
Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,Ere I sit me down again at a feast,When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,And a man with his back to the East.Mary Coleridge
Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,
Ere I sit me down again at a feast,
When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,
And a man with his back to the East.
Mary Coleridge
332
ON YES TORBeneath our feet, the shuddering bogsMade earthquakes of their own,For greenish-grizzled furtive frogsAnd lizards lithe and brown;And high to east and south and west,Girt round the feet with gorse,Lay, summering, breast by giant breast,The titan brood of tors;Golden and phantom-pale they lay,Calm in the cloudless light,Like gods that, slumbering, still surveyThe obsequious infinite.Plod, plod, through herbage thin or dense;Past chattering rills of quartz;Across brown bramble-coverts, whenceThe shy black ouzel darts;Through empty leagues of broad, bare lands,Beneath the empty skies,Clutched in the grip of those vast hands,Cowed by those golden eyes,We fled beneath their scornful stare,Like terror-hunted dogs,More timid than the lizards were,And shyer than the frogs.Edmund Gosse
Beneath our feet, the shuddering bogsMade earthquakes of their own,For greenish-grizzled furtive frogsAnd lizards lithe and brown;And high to east and south and west,Girt round the feet with gorse,Lay, summering, breast by giant breast,The titan brood of tors;Golden and phantom-pale they lay,Calm in the cloudless light,Like gods that, slumbering, still surveyThe obsequious infinite.Plod, plod, through herbage thin or dense;Past chattering rills of quartz;Across brown bramble-coverts, whenceThe shy black ouzel darts;Through empty leagues of broad, bare lands,Beneath the empty skies,Clutched in the grip of those vast hands,Cowed by those golden eyes,We fled beneath their scornful stare,Like terror-hunted dogs,More timid than the lizards were,And shyer than the frogs.Edmund Gosse
Beneath our feet, the shuddering bogsMade earthquakes of their own,For greenish-grizzled furtive frogsAnd lizards lithe and brown;
Beneath our feet, the shuddering bogs
Made earthquakes of their own,
For greenish-grizzled furtive frogs
And lizards lithe and brown;
And high to east and south and west,Girt round the feet with gorse,Lay, summering, breast by giant breast,The titan brood of tors;
And high to east and south and west,
Girt round the feet with gorse,
Lay, summering, breast by giant breast,
The titan brood of tors;
Golden and phantom-pale they lay,Calm in the cloudless light,Like gods that, slumbering, still surveyThe obsequious infinite.
Golden and phantom-pale they lay,
Calm in the cloudless light,
Like gods that, slumbering, still survey
The obsequious infinite.
Plod, plod, through herbage thin or dense;Past chattering rills of quartz;Across brown bramble-coverts, whenceThe shy black ouzel darts;
Plod, plod, through herbage thin or dense;
Past chattering rills of quartz;
Across brown bramble-coverts, whence
The shy black ouzel darts;
Through empty leagues of broad, bare lands,Beneath the empty skies,Clutched in the grip of those vast hands,Cowed by those golden eyes,
Through empty leagues of broad, bare lands,
Beneath the empty skies,
Clutched in the grip of those vast hands,
Cowed by those golden eyes,
We fled beneath their scornful stare,Like terror-hunted dogs,More timid than the lizards were,And shyer than the frogs.Edmund Gosse
We fled beneath their scornful stare,
Like terror-hunted dogs,
More timid than the lizards were,
And shyer than the frogs.
Edmund Gosse
333
THE WITCHES' SONG"I have beene all day looking afterA raven feeding upon a quarter;And, soone as she turned her back to the south,I snatched this morsell out of her mouth."..."I last night lay all aloneO' the ground, to heare the madrake grone;And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:And, as I had done, the cocke did crow."..."And I ha' been plucking (plants among)Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;And twise by the dogges was like to be tane."..."Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,Hornèd poppie, cypresse boughes,The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,And juice that from the larch-tree comes,The basiliske's bloud, and the viper's skin;And now our orgies let's begin."Ben Jonson
"I have beene all day looking afterA raven feeding upon a quarter;And, soone as she turned her back to the south,I snatched this morsell out of her mouth."..."I last night lay all aloneO' the ground, to heare the madrake grone;And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:And, as I had done, the cocke did crow."..."And I ha' been plucking (plants among)Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;And twise by the dogges was like to be tane."..."Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,Hornèd poppie, cypresse boughes,The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,And juice that from the larch-tree comes,The basiliske's bloud, and the viper's skin;And now our orgies let's begin."Ben Jonson
"I have beene all day looking afterA raven feeding upon a quarter;And, soone as she turned her back to the south,I snatched this morsell out of her mouth."...
"I have beene all day looking after
A raven feeding upon a quarter;
And, soone as she turned her back to the south,
I snatched this morsell out of her mouth."...
"I last night lay all aloneO' the ground, to heare the madrake grone;And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:And, as I had done, the cocke did crow."...
"I last night lay all alone
O' the ground, to heare the madrake grone;
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow."...
"And I ha' been plucking (plants among)Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;And twise by the dogges was like to be tane."...
"And I ha' been plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;
And twise by the dogges was like to be tane."...
"Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,Hornèd poppie, cypresse boughes,The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,And juice that from the larch-tree comes,The basiliske's bloud, and the viper's skin;And now our orgies let's begin."Ben Jonson
"Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,
Hornèd poppie, cypresse boughes,
The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,
And juice that from the larch-tree comes,
The basiliske's bloud, and the viper's skin;
And now our orgies let's begin."
Ben Jonson
334
THE RAVENOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;Only this and nothing more."Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Nameless here for evermore.And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;This it is and nothing more."Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"Merely this and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore:Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;'Tis the wind and nothing more."Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:Perched, and sat, and nothing more.Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smilingBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,—"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,Till I scarcely more than muttered,—"Other friends have flown before;On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."Then the bird said, "Nevermore."Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf 'Never—nevermore.'"But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking "Nevermore."This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'erShe shall press, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;Only this and nothing more."Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Nameless here for evermore.And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;This it is and nothing more."Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"Merely this and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore:Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;'Tis the wind and nothing more."Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:Perched, and sat, and nothing more.Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smilingBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,—"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,Till I scarcely more than muttered,—"Other friends have flown before;On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."Then the bird said, "Nevermore."Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf 'Never—nevermore.'"But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking "Nevermore."This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'erShe shall press, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;Only this and nothing more."
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Nameless here for evermore.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;This it is and nothing more."
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—Darkness there and nothing more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"Merely this and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore:Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore:
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smilingBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,—"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,—
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,Till I scarcely more than muttered,—"Other friends have flown before;On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered,—"Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf 'Never—nevermore.'"
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking "Nevermore."
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'erShe shall press, ah, nevermore!
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!Edgar Allan Poe
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Edgar Allan Poe
335
THE WITCH'S BALLADO, I hae come from far away,From a warm land far away,A southern land across the sea,With sailor-lads about the mast,Merry and canny, and kind to me.And I hae been to yon townTo try my luck in yon town;Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too.Right braw we were to pass the gate,Wi' gowden-clasps on girdles blue.Mysie smiled wi' miminy mouth,Innocent mouth, miminy mouth;Elspie wore a scarlet gown.Nort's grey eyes were unco' gleg.[131]My Castile comb was like a crown.We walk'd abreast all up the street,Into the market up the street;Our hair with marigolds was wound,Our bodices with love-knots laced,Our merchandise with tansy bound.Nort had chickens, I had cocks;Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks;Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,—For a wee groat or a poundWe lost nae time wi' gives and takes.—Lost nae time for well we knew,In our sleeves full well we knew,When the gloaming came that night,Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cockWould be found by candle-light.And when our chaffering all was done,All was paid for, sold and done,We drew a glove on ilka hand,We sweetly curtsied, each to each.And deftly danced a saraband.The market-lassies looked and laughed,Left their gear, and looked and laughed;They made as they would join the game,But soon their mithers, wild and wud,[132]With whack and screech they stopped the same.Sae loud the tongues o' randies[133]grew,The flytin'[134]and the skirlin' grew,At all the windows in the place,Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl,Was thrust out every hand and face.And down each stair they thronged anon,Gentle, semple, thronged anon;Souter[135]and tailor, frowsy Nan,The ancient widow young again,Simpering behind her fan.Without a choice, against their will,Doited,[136]dazed, against their will,The market lassie and her mither,The farmer and his husbandman,Hand in hand dance a' thegither.Slow at first, but faster soon,Still increasing, wild and fast,Hoods and mantles, hats and hose,Blindly doffed and cast away,Left them naked, heads and toes.They would have torn us limb from limb,Dainty limb from dainty limb;But never one of them could winAcross the line that I had drawnWith bleeding thumb a-widdershin.But there was Jeff the provost's son,Jeff the provost's only son;There was Father Auld himsel',The Lombard frae the hostelry,And the lawyer Peter Fell.All goodly men we singled out,Waled[137]them well, and singled out,And drew them by the left hand in;Mysie the priest, and Elspie wonThe Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle,I mysel' the provost's son.Then, with cantrip[138]kisses seven,Three times round with kisses seven,Warped and woven there spun weArms and legs and flaming hair,Like a whirlwind on the sea.Like a wind that sucks the sea,Over and in and on the sea,Good sooth it was a mad delight;And every man of all the fourShut his eyes and laughed outright.Laughed as long as they had breath,Laughed while they had sense or breath;And close about us coiled a mistOf gnats and midges, wasps and flies,Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.Drawn up I was right off my feet,Into the mist and off my feet;And, dancing on each chimney-top,I saw a thousand darling impsKeeping time with skip and hop.And on the provost's brave ridge-tile,On the provost's grand ridge-tile,The Blackamoor first to master meI saw, I saw that winsome smile,The mouth that did my heart beguile,And spoke the great Word over me,In the land beyond the sea.I called his name, I called aloud,Alas! I called on him aloud;And then he filled his hand with stour,[139]And threw it towards me in the air;My mouse flew out, I lost my pow'r!My lusty strength, my power were gone;Power was gone, and all was gone.He will not let me love him more!Of bell and whip and horse's tailHe cares not if I find a store.But I am proud if he is fierce!I am as proud as he is fierce;I'll turn about and backward go,If I meet again that Blackamoor,And he'll help us then, for he shall knowI seek another paramour.And we'll gang once more to yon town,Wi' better luck to yon town;We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,And I shall wed the provost's sonMy lady of the town I'll be!For I was born a crowned king's child,Born and nursed a king's child,King o' a land ayont the sea,Where the Blackamoor kissed me first,And taught me art and glamourie.Each one in her wame shall hideHer hairy mouse, her wary mouse,Fed on madwort and agramie,—Wear amber beads between her breasts,And blind-worm's skin about her knee.The Lombard shall be Elspie's man,Elspie's gowden husband-man;Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;The priest shall swear another vow;We'll dance again the saraband!William Bell Scott
O, I hae come from far away,From a warm land far away,A southern land across the sea,With sailor-lads about the mast,Merry and canny, and kind to me.And I hae been to yon townTo try my luck in yon town;Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too.Right braw we were to pass the gate,Wi' gowden-clasps on girdles blue.Mysie smiled wi' miminy mouth,Innocent mouth, miminy mouth;Elspie wore a scarlet gown.Nort's grey eyes were unco' gleg.[131]My Castile comb was like a crown.We walk'd abreast all up the street,Into the market up the street;Our hair with marigolds was wound,Our bodices with love-knots laced,Our merchandise with tansy bound.Nort had chickens, I had cocks;Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks;Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,—For a wee groat or a poundWe lost nae time wi' gives and takes.—Lost nae time for well we knew,In our sleeves full well we knew,When the gloaming came that night,Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cockWould be found by candle-light.And when our chaffering all was done,All was paid for, sold and done,We drew a glove on ilka hand,We sweetly curtsied, each to each.And deftly danced a saraband.The market-lassies looked and laughed,Left their gear, and looked and laughed;They made as they would join the game,But soon their mithers, wild and wud,[132]With whack and screech they stopped the same.Sae loud the tongues o' randies[133]grew,The flytin'[134]and the skirlin' grew,At all the windows in the place,Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl,Was thrust out every hand and face.And down each stair they thronged anon,Gentle, semple, thronged anon;Souter[135]and tailor, frowsy Nan,The ancient widow young again,Simpering behind her fan.Without a choice, against their will,Doited,[136]dazed, against their will,The market lassie and her mither,The farmer and his husbandman,Hand in hand dance a' thegither.Slow at first, but faster soon,Still increasing, wild and fast,Hoods and mantles, hats and hose,Blindly doffed and cast away,Left them naked, heads and toes.They would have torn us limb from limb,Dainty limb from dainty limb;But never one of them could winAcross the line that I had drawnWith bleeding thumb a-widdershin.But there was Jeff the provost's son,Jeff the provost's only son;There was Father Auld himsel',The Lombard frae the hostelry,And the lawyer Peter Fell.All goodly men we singled out,Waled[137]them well, and singled out,And drew them by the left hand in;Mysie the priest, and Elspie wonThe Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle,I mysel' the provost's son.Then, with cantrip[138]kisses seven,Three times round with kisses seven,Warped and woven there spun weArms and legs and flaming hair,Like a whirlwind on the sea.Like a wind that sucks the sea,Over and in and on the sea,Good sooth it was a mad delight;And every man of all the fourShut his eyes and laughed outright.Laughed as long as they had breath,Laughed while they had sense or breath;And close about us coiled a mistOf gnats and midges, wasps and flies,Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.Drawn up I was right off my feet,Into the mist and off my feet;And, dancing on each chimney-top,I saw a thousand darling impsKeeping time with skip and hop.And on the provost's brave ridge-tile,On the provost's grand ridge-tile,The Blackamoor first to master meI saw, I saw that winsome smile,The mouth that did my heart beguile,And spoke the great Word over me,In the land beyond the sea.I called his name, I called aloud,Alas! I called on him aloud;And then he filled his hand with stour,[139]And threw it towards me in the air;My mouse flew out, I lost my pow'r!My lusty strength, my power were gone;Power was gone, and all was gone.He will not let me love him more!Of bell and whip and horse's tailHe cares not if I find a store.But I am proud if he is fierce!I am as proud as he is fierce;I'll turn about and backward go,If I meet again that Blackamoor,And he'll help us then, for he shall knowI seek another paramour.And we'll gang once more to yon town,Wi' better luck to yon town;We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,And I shall wed the provost's sonMy lady of the town I'll be!For I was born a crowned king's child,Born and nursed a king's child,King o' a land ayont the sea,Where the Blackamoor kissed me first,And taught me art and glamourie.Each one in her wame shall hideHer hairy mouse, her wary mouse,Fed on madwort and agramie,—Wear amber beads between her breasts,And blind-worm's skin about her knee.The Lombard shall be Elspie's man,Elspie's gowden husband-man;Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;The priest shall swear another vow;We'll dance again the saraband!William Bell Scott
O, I hae come from far away,From a warm land far away,A southern land across the sea,With sailor-lads about the mast,Merry and canny, and kind to me.
O, I hae come from far away,
From a warm land far away,
A southern land across the sea,
With sailor-lads about the mast,
Merry and canny, and kind to me.
And I hae been to yon townTo try my luck in yon town;Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too.Right braw we were to pass the gate,Wi' gowden-clasps on girdles blue.
And I hae been to yon town
To try my luck in yon town;
Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too.
Right braw we were to pass the gate,
Wi' gowden-clasps on girdles blue.
Mysie smiled wi' miminy mouth,Innocent mouth, miminy mouth;Elspie wore a scarlet gown.Nort's grey eyes were unco' gleg.[131]My Castile comb was like a crown.
Mysie smiled wi' miminy mouth,
Innocent mouth, miminy mouth;
Elspie wore a scarlet gown.
Nort's grey eyes were unco' gleg.[131]
My Castile comb was like a crown.
We walk'd abreast all up the street,Into the market up the street;Our hair with marigolds was wound,Our bodices with love-knots laced,Our merchandise with tansy bound.
We walk'd abreast all up the street,
Into the market up the street;
Our hair with marigolds was wound,
Our bodices with love-knots laced,
Our merchandise with tansy bound.
Nort had chickens, I had cocks;Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks;Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,—For a wee groat or a poundWe lost nae time wi' gives and takes.
Nort had chickens, I had cocks;
Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks;
Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,—
For a wee groat or a pound
We lost nae time wi' gives and takes.
—Lost nae time for well we knew,In our sleeves full well we knew,When the gloaming came that night,Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cockWould be found by candle-light.
—Lost nae time for well we knew,
In our sleeves full well we knew,
When the gloaming came that night,
Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cock
Would be found by candle-light.
And when our chaffering all was done,All was paid for, sold and done,We drew a glove on ilka hand,We sweetly curtsied, each to each.And deftly danced a saraband.
And when our chaffering all was done,
All was paid for, sold and done,
We drew a glove on ilka hand,
We sweetly curtsied, each to each.
And deftly danced a saraband.
The market-lassies looked and laughed,Left their gear, and looked and laughed;They made as they would join the game,But soon their mithers, wild and wud,[132]With whack and screech they stopped the same.
The market-lassies looked and laughed,
Left their gear, and looked and laughed;
They made as they would join the game,
But soon their mithers, wild and wud,[132]
With whack and screech they stopped the same.
Sae loud the tongues o' randies[133]grew,The flytin'[134]and the skirlin' grew,At all the windows in the place,Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl,Was thrust out every hand and face.
Sae loud the tongues o' randies[133]grew,
The flytin'[134]and the skirlin' grew,
At all the windows in the place,
Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl,
Was thrust out every hand and face.
And down each stair they thronged anon,Gentle, semple, thronged anon;Souter[135]and tailor, frowsy Nan,The ancient widow young again,Simpering behind her fan.
And down each stair they thronged anon,
Gentle, semple, thronged anon;
Souter[135]and tailor, frowsy Nan,
The ancient widow young again,
Simpering behind her fan.
Without a choice, against their will,Doited,[136]dazed, against their will,The market lassie and her mither,The farmer and his husbandman,Hand in hand dance a' thegither.
Without a choice, against their will,
Doited,[136]dazed, against their will,
The market lassie and her mither,
The farmer and his husbandman,
Hand in hand dance a' thegither.
Slow at first, but faster soon,Still increasing, wild and fast,Hoods and mantles, hats and hose,Blindly doffed and cast away,Left them naked, heads and toes.
Slow at first, but faster soon,
Still increasing, wild and fast,
Hoods and mantles, hats and hose,
Blindly doffed and cast away,
Left them naked, heads and toes.
They would have torn us limb from limb,Dainty limb from dainty limb;But never one of them could winAcross the line that I had drawnWith bleeding thumb a-widdershin.
They would have torn us limb from limb,
Dainty limb from dainty limb;
But never one of them could win
Across the line that I had drawn
With bleeding thumb a-widdershin.
But there was Jeff the provost's son,Jeff the provost's only son;There was Father Auld himsel',The Lombard frae the hostelry,And the lawyer Peter Fell.
But there was Jeff the provost's son,
Jeff the provost's only son;
There was Father Auld himsel',
The Lombard frae the hostelry,
And the lawyer Peter Fell.
All goodly men we singled out,Waled[137]them well, and singled out,And drew them by the left hand in;Mysie the priest, and Elspie wonThe Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle,I mysel' the provost's son.
All goodly men we singled out,
Waled[137]them well, and singled out,
And drew them by the left hand in;
Mysie the priest, and Elspie won
The Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle,
I mysel' the provost's son.
Then, with cantrip[138]kisses seven,Three times round with kisses seven,Warped and woven there spun weArms and legs and flaming hair,Like a whirlwind on the sea.
Then, with cantrip[138]kisses seven,
Three times round with kisses seven,
Warped and woven there spun we
Arms and legs and flaming hair,
Like a whirlwind on the sea.
Like a wind that sucks the sea,Over and in and on the sea,Good sooth it was a mad delight;And every man of all the fourShut his eyes and laughed outright.
Like a wind that sucks the sea,
Over and in and on the sea,
Good sooth it was a mad delight;
And every man of all the four
Shut his eyes and laughed outright.
Laughed as long as they had breath,Laughed while they had sense or breath;And close about us coiled a mistOf gnats and midges, wasps and flies,Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.
Laughed as long as they had breath,
Laughed while they had sense or breath;
And close about us coiled a mist
Of gnats and midges, wasps and flies,
Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.
Drawn up I was right off my feet,Into the mist and off my feet;And, dancing on each chimney-top,I saw a thousand darling impsKeeping time with skip and hop.
Drawn up I was right off my feet,
Into the mist and off my feet;
And, dancing on each chimney-top,
I saw a thousand darling imps
Keeping time with skip and hop.
And on the provost's brave ridge-tile,On the provost's grand ridge-tile,The Blackamoor first to master meI saw, I saw that winsome smile,The mouth that did my heart beguile,And spoke the great Word over me,In the land beyond the sea.
And on the provost's brave ridge-tile,
On the provost's grand ridge-tile,
The Blackamoor first to master me
I saw, I saw that winsome smile,
The mouth that did my heart beguile,
And spoke the great Word over me,
In the land beyond the sea.
I called his name, I called aloud,Alas! I called on him aloud;And then he filled his hand with stour,[139]And threw it towards me in the air;My mouse flew out, I lost my pow'r!
I called his name, I called aloud,
Alas! I called on him aloud;
And then he filled his hand with stour,[139]
And threw it towards me in the air;
My mouse flew out, I lost my pow'r!
My lusty strength, my power were gone;Power was gone, and all was gone.He will not let me love him more!Of bell and whip and horse's tailHe cares not if I find a store.
My lusty strength, my power were gone;
Power was gone, and all was gone.
He will not let me love him more!
Of bell and whip and horse's tail
He cares not if I find a store.
But I am proud if he is fierce!I am as proud as he is fierce;I'll turn about and backward go,If I meet again that Blackamoor,And he'll help us then, for he shall knowI seek another paramour.
But I am proud if he is fierce!
I am as proud as he is fierce;
I'll turn about and backward go,
If I meet again that Blackamoor,
And he'll help us then, for he shall know
I seek another paramour.
And we'll gang once more to yon town,Wi' better luck to yon town;We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,And I shall wed the provost's sonMy lady of the town I'll be!
And we'll gang once more to yon town,
Wi' better luck to yon town;
We'll walk in silk and cramoisie,
And I shall wed the provost's son
My lady of the town I'll be!
For I was born a crowned king's child,Born and nursed a king's child,King o' a land ayont the sea,Where the Blackamoor kissed me first,And taught me art and glamourie.
For I was born a crowned king's child,
Born and nursed a king's child,
King o' a land ayont the sea,
Where the Blackamoor kissed me first,
And taught me art and glamourie.
Each one in her wame shall hideHer hairy mouse, her wary mouse,Fed on madwort and agramie,—Wear amber beads between her breasts,And blind-worm's skin about her knee.
Each one in her wame shall hide
Her hairy mouse, her wary mouse,
Fed on madwort and agramie,—
Wear amber beads between her breasts,
And blind-worm's skin about her knee.
The Lombard shall be Elspie's man,Elspie's gowden husband-man;Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;The priest shall swear another vow;We'll dance again the saraband!William Bell Scott
The Lombard shall be Elspie's man,
Elspie's gowden husband-man;
Nort shall take the lawyer's hand;
The priest shall swear another vow;
We'll dance again the saraband!
William Bell Scott
336
ANNAN WATERAnnan Water's wading deep,"And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny;And I am loath she should wet her feet,Because I love her best of ony."He's loupen on his bonny gray,He rode the right gate[140]and the ready;[141]For all the storm he wadna stay,For seeking of his bonny lady.And he has ridden o'er field and fell,Through moor, and moss, and many a mire;His spurs of steel were sair to bide,And from her four feet flew the fire."My bonny gray, now play your part!If ye be the steed that wins my dearie,With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye,And never spur shall make you wearie."The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare;But when she wan the Annan Water,She should not have ridden the ford that nightHad a thousand marks been wadded at her."O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,Put off your boat for golden money!"But for all the gold in fair Scotland,He dared not take him through to Annie."O I was sworn so late yestreen,Not by a single oath, but mony!I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,Or never could I face my honey."The side was steep, and the bottom deep,From bank to brae the water pouring;The bonny gray mare she swat for fear,For she heard the Water-Kelpy roaring.He spurred her forth into the flood,I wot she swam both strong and steady;But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail,And he never saw his bonny lady!
Annan Water's wading deep,"And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny;And I am loath she should wet her feet,Because I love her best of ony."He's loupen on his bonny gray,He rode the right gate[140]and the ready;[141]For all the storm he wadna stay,For seeking of his bonny lady.And he has ridden o'er field and fell,Through moor, and moss, and many a mire;His spurs of steel were sair to bide,And from her four feet flew the fire."My bonny gray, now play your part!If ye be the steed that wins my dearie,With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye,And never spur shall make you wearie."The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare;But when she wan the Annan Water,She should not have ridden the ford that nightHad a thousand marks been wadded at her."O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,Put off your boat for golden money!"But for all the gold in fair Scotland,He dared not take him through to Annie."O I was sworn so late yestreen,Not by a single oath, but mony!I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,Or never could I face my honey."The side was steep, and the bottom deep,From bank to brae the water pouring;The bonny gray mare she swat for fear,For she heard the Water-Kelpy roaring.He spurred her forth into the flood,I wot she swam both strong and steady;But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail,And he never saw his bonny lady!
Annan Water's wading deep,"And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny;And I am loath she should wet her feet,Because I love her best of ony."
Annan Water's wading deep,
"And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am loath she should wet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony."
He's loupen on his bonny gray,He rode the right gate[140]and the ready;[141]For all the storm he wadna stay,For seeking of his bonny lady.
He's loupen on his bonny gray,
He rode the right gate[140]and the ready;[141]
For all the storm he wadna stay,
For seeking of his bonny lady.
And he has ridden o'er field and fell,Through moor, and moss, and many a mire;His spurs of steel were sair to bide,And from her four feet flew the fire.
And he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through moor, and moss, and many a mire;
His spurs of steel were sair to bide,
And from her four feet flew the fire.
"My bonny gray, now play your part!If ye be the steed that wins my dearie,With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye,And never spur shall make you wearie."
"My bonny gray, now play your part!
If ye be the steed that wins my dearie,
With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye,
And never spur shall make you wearie."
The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare;But when she wan the Annan Water,She should not have ridden the ford that nightHad a thousand marks been wadded at her.
The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare;
But when she wan the Annan Water,
She should not have ridden the ford that night
Had a thousand marks been wadded at her.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,Put off your boat for golden money!"But for all the gold in fair Scotland,He dared not take him through to Annie.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,
Put off your boat for golden money!"
But for all the gold in fair Scotland,
He dared not take him through to Annie.
"O I was sworn so late yestreen,Not by a single oath, but mony!I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,Or never could I face my honey."
"O I was sworn so late yestreen,
Not by a single oath, but mony!
I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,
Or never could I face my honey."
The side was steep, and the bottom deep,From bank to brae the water pouring;The bonny gray mare she swat for fear,For she heard the Water-Kelpy roaring.
The side was steep, and the bottom deep,
From bank to brae the water pouring;
The bonny gray mare she swat for fear,
For she heard the Water-Kelpy roaring.
He spurred her forth into the flood,I wot she swam both strong and steady;But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail,And he never saw his bonny lady!
He spurred her forth into the flood,
I wot she swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny lady!
337
SONGAh! County Guy, the hour is nigh:The sun has left the lea,The orange flower perfumes the bower,The breeze is on the sea,The lark, his lay who thrilled all day,Sits hushed his partner nigh:Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,But where is County Guy?—The village maid steals through the shade,Her shepherd's suit to hear;To beauty shy, by lattice high,Sings high-born Cavalier;The star of Love, all stars above,Now reigns o'er earth and sky,And high and low the influence know—But where is County Guy?Sir Walter Scott
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh:The sun has left the lea,The orange flower perfumes the bower,The breeze is on the sea,The lark, his lay who thrilled all day,Sits hushed his partner nigh:Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,But where is County Guy?—The village maid steals through the shade,Her shepherd's suit to hear;To beauty shy, by lattice high,Sings high-born Cavalier;The star of Love, all stars above,Now reigns o'er earth and sky,And high and low the influence know—But where is County Guy?Sir Walter Scott
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh:The sun has left the lea,The orange flower perfumes the bower,The breeze is on the sea,The lark, his lay who thrilled all day,Sits hushed his partner nigh:Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,But where is County Guy?—
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh:
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea,
The lark, his lay who thrilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh:
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?—
The village maid steals through the shade,Her shepherd's suit to hear;To beauty shy, by lattice high,Sings high-born Cavalier;The star of Love, all stars above,Now reigns o'er earth and sky,And high and low the influence know—But where is County Guy?Sir Walter Scott
The village maid steals through the shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier;
The star of Love, all stars above,
Now reigns o'er earth and sky,
And high and low the influence know—
But where is County Guy?
Sir Walter Scott
338
DEADMAN'S DIRGEPrayer unsaid, and Mass unsung,Deadman's dirge must still be rung:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound!Mermen chant his dirge around!Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair,Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go!Mermen swing them to and fro!In the wormless sand shall heFeast for no foul glutton be:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime!Mermen keep the tone and time!We must with a tombstone braveShut the shark out from his grave:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll!Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!Such a slab will we lay o'er him,All the dead shall rise before him:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom!Mermen lay him in his tomb!George Darley
Prayer unsaid, and Mass unsung,Deadman's dirge must still be rung:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound!Mermen chant his dirge around!Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair,Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go!Mermen swing them to and fro!In the wormless sand shall heFeast for no foul glutton be:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime!Mermen keep the tone and time!We must with a tombstone braveShut the shark out from his grave:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll!Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!Such a slab will we lay o'er him,All the dead shall rise before him:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom!Mermen lay him in his tomb!George Darley
Prayer unsaid, and Mass unsung,Deadman's dirge must still be rung:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound!Mermen chant his dirge around!
Prayer unsaid, and Mass unsung,
Deadman's dirge must still be rung:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound!
Mermen chant his dirge around!
Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair,Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go!Mermen swing them to and fro!
Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair,
Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go!
Mermen swing them to and fro!
In the wormless sand shall heFeast for no foul glutton be:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime!Mermen keep the tone and time!
In the wormless sand shall he
Feast for no foul glutton be:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime!
Mermen keep the tone and time!
We must with a tombstone braveShut the shark out from his grave:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll!Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!
We must with a tombstone brave
Shut the shark out from his grave:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll!
Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!
Such a slab will we lay o'er him,All the dead shall rise before him:Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom!Mermen lay him in his tomb!George Darley
Such a slab will we lay o'er him,
All the dead shall rise before him:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom!
Mermen lay him in his tomb!
George Darley
339
BOATS AT NIGHTHow lovely is the sound of oars at nightAnd unknown voices, borne through windless air,From shadowy vessels floating out of sightBeyond the harbour lantern's broken glareTo those piled rocks that make on the dark waveOnly a darker stain. The splashing oarsSlide softly on as in an echoing caveAnd with the whisper of the unseen shoresMingle their music, till the bell of nightMurmurs reverberations low and deepThat droop towards the land in swooning flightLike whispers from the lazy lips of sleep.The oars grow faint. Below the cloud-dim hillThe shadows fade and now the bay is still.Edward Shanks
How lovely is the sound of oars at nightAnd unknown voices, borne through windless air,From shadowy vessels floating out of sightBeyond the harbour lantern's broken glareTo those piled rocks that make on the dark waveOnly a darker stain. The splashing oarsSlide softly on as in an echoing caveAnd with the whisper of the unseen shoresMingle their music, till the bell of nightMurmurs reverberations low and deepThat droop towards the land in swooning flightLike whispers from the lazy lips of sleep.The oars grow faint. Below the cloud-dim hillThe shadows fade and now the bay is still.Edward Shanks
How lovely is the sound of oars at nightAnd unknown voices, borne through windless air,From shadowy vessels floating out of sightBeyond the harbour lantern's broken glareTo those piled rocks that make on the dark waveOnly a darker stain. The splashing oarsSlide softly on as in an echoing caveAnd with the whisper of the unseen shoresMingle their music, till the bell of nightMurmurs reverberations low and deepThat droop towards the land in swooning flightLike whispers from the lazy lips of sleep.The oars grow faint. Below the cloud-dim hillThe shadows fade and now the bay is still.Edward Shanks
How lovely is the sound of oars at night
And unknown voices, borne through windless air,
From shadowy vessels floating out of sight
Beyond the harbour lantern's broken glare
To those piled rocks that make on the dark wave
Only a darker stain. The splashing oars
Slide softly on as in an echoing cave
And with the whisper of the unseen shores
Mingle their music, till the bell of night
Murmurs reverberations low and deep
That droop towards the land in swooning flight
Like whispers from the lazy lips of sleep.
The oars grow faint. Below the cloud-dim hill
The shadows fade and now the bay is still.
Edward Shanks
340
A VOICE SINGSHear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,Lest a blacker charm compel!So shall the midnight breezes swellWith thy deep long-lingering knell.And at evening evermore,In a chapel on the shore,Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly,Yellow tapers burning faintly,Doleful masses chaunt for thee,Miserere Domine!Hark, the cadence dies awayOn the quiet moonlight sea:The boatmen rest their oars; and say,Miserere Domine!Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,Lest a blacker charm compel!So shall the midnight breezes swellWith thy deep long-lingering knell.And at evening evermore,In a chapel on the shore,Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly,Yellow tapers burning faintly,Doleful masses chaunt for thee,Miserere Domine!Hark, the cadence dies awayOn the quiet moonlight sea:The boatmen rest their oars; and say,Miserere Domine!Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,Lest a blacker charm compel!So shall the midnight breezes swellWith thy deep long-lingering knell.
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.
And at evening evermore,In a chapel on the shore,Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly,Yellow tapers burning faintly,Doleful masses chaunt for thee,Miserere Domine!
And at evening evermore,
In a chapel on the shore,
Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful masses chaunt for thee,
Miserere Domine!
Hark, the cadence dies awayOn the quiet moonlight sea:The boatmen rest their oars; and say,Miserere Domine!Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Hark, the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea:
The boatmen rest their oars; and say,
Miserere Domine!
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
341
THE WANDERING SPECTREWae's me, wae's me,The acorn's not yetFallen from the treeThat's to grow the wood,That's to make the cradle,That's to rock the bairn,That's to grow a man,That's to lay me.
Wae's me, wae's me,The acorn's not yetFallen from the treeThat's to grow the wood,That's to make the cradle,That's to rock the bairn,That's to grow a man,That's to lay me.
Wae's me, wae's me,The acorn's not yetFallen from the treeThat's to grow the wood,That's to make the cradle,That's to rock the bairn,That's to grow a man,That's to lay me.
Wae's me, wae's me,
The acorn's not yet
Fallen from the tree
That's to grow the wood,
That's to make the cradle,
That's to rock the bairn,
That's to grow a man,
That's to lay me.
342
LUCIFER IN STARLIGHTOn a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiendAbove the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.And now upon his western wing he leaned,Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scarsWith memory of the old revolt from Awe,He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.Around the ancient track marched rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.George Meredith
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiendAbove the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.And now upon his western wing he leaned,Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scarsWith memory of the old revolt from Awe,He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.Around the ancient track marched rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.George Meredith
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiendAbove the rolling ball in cloud part screened,Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.And now upon his western wing he leaned,Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scarsWith memory of the old revolt from Awe,He reached a middle height, and at the stars,Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.Around the ancient track marched rank on rank,The army of unalterable law.George Meredith
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.
Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend
Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened,
Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.
Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.
And now upon his western wing he leaned,
Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened,
Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.
Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars
With memory of the old revolt from Awe,
He reached a middle height, and at the stars,
Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.
Around the ancient track marched rank on rank,
The army of unalterable law.
George Meredith
343
THERE WAS A KNIGHTThere was a knicht riding frae the east,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree.Who had been wooing at monie a place,As the doo[142]flies owre the mulberry tree.He cam' unto a widow's door,And speird[143]whare her three dochters were."The auldest ane's to a washing gane,The second's to a baking gane.""The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,And it will be nicht or[144]she be hame."He sat him doun upon a stane,Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.The auldest ane she let him in,And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.The second ane she made his bed,And laid saft pillows unto his head.The youngest ane was bauld[145]and bricht,And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.—"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,The morn ye sall me made my ain:—"O what is higher nor[146]the tree?And what is deeper nor the sea?"Or what is heavier nor the lead?And what is better nor the bread?"Or what is whiter nor the milk?Or what is safter nor the silk?"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?Or what is louder nor a horn?"Or what is greener nor the grass?Or what is waur[147]nor a woman was?""O heaven is higher nor the tree,And hell is deeper nor the sea."O sin is heavier nor the lead,The blessing's better nor the bread."The snaw is whiter nor the milk,And the down is safter nor the silk."Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,And shame is louder nor a horn."The pies are greener nor the grass,And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."As sune as she the fiend did name,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree,He flew awa' in a blazing flame,As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.
There was a knicht riding frae the east,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree.Who had been wooing at monie a place,As the doo[142]flies owre the mulberry tree.He cam' unto a widow's door,And speird[143]whare her three dochters were."The auldest ane's to a washing gane,The second's to a baking gane.""The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,And it will be nicht or[144]she be hame."He sat him doun upon a stane,Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.The auldest ane she let him in,And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.The second ane she made his bed,And laid saft pillows unto his head.The youngest ane was bauld[145]and bricht,And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.—"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,The morn ye sall me made my ain:—"O what is higher nor[146]the tree?And what is deeper nor the sea?"Or what is heavier nor the lead?And what is better nor the bread?"Or what is whiter nor the milk?Or what is safter nor the silk?"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?Or what is louder nor a horn?"Or what is greener nor the grass?Or what is waur[147]nor a woman was?""O heaven is higher nor the tree,And hell is deeper nor the sea."O sin is heavier nor the lead,The blessing's better nor the bread."The snaw is whiter nor the milk,And the down is safter nor the silk."Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,And shame is louder nor a horn."The pies are greener nor the grass,And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."As sune as she the fiend did name,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree,He flew awa' in a blazing flame,As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.
There was a knicht riding frae the east,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree.Who had been wooing at monie a place,As the doo[142]flies owre the mulberry tree.
There was a knicht riding frae the east,
Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree.
Who had been wooing at monie a place,
As the doo[142]flies owre the mulberry tree.
He cam' unto a widow's door,And speird[143]whare her three dochters were.
He cam' unto a widow's door,
And speird[143]whare her three dochters were.
"The auldest ane's to a washing gane,The second's to a baking gane."
"The auldest ane's to a washing gane,
The second's to a baking gane."
"The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,And it will be nicht or[144]she be hame."
"The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,
And it will be nicht or[144]she be hame."
He sat him doun upon a stane,Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.
He sat him doun upon a stane,
Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.
The auldest ane she let him in,And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.
The auldest ane she let him in,
And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.
The second ane she made his bed,And laid saft pillows unto his head.
The second ane she made his bed,
And laid saft pillows unto his head.
The youngest ane was bauld[145]and bricht,And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.—
The youngest ane was bauld[145]and bricht,
And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.—
"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,The morn ye sall me made my ain:—
"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,
The morn ye sall me made my ain:—
"O what is higher nor[146]the tree?And what is deeper nor the sea?
"O what is higher nor[146]the tree?
And what is deeper nor the sea?
"Or what is heavier nor the lead?And what is better nor the bread?
"Or what is heavier nor the lead?
And what is better nor the bread?
"Or what is whiter nor the milk?Or what is safter nor the silk?
"Or what is whiter nor the milk?
Or what is safter nor the silk?
"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?Or what is louder nor a horn?
"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?
Or what is louder nor a horn?
"Or what is greener nor the grass?Or what is waur[147]nor a woman was?"
"Or what is greener nor the grass?
Or what is waur[147]nor a woman was?"
"O heaven is higher nor the tree,And hell is deeper nor the sea.
"O heaven is higher nor the tree,
And hell is deeper nor the sea.
"O sin is heavier nor the lead,The blessing's better nor the bread.
"O sin is heavier nor the lead,
The blessing's better nor the bread.
"The snaw is whiter nor the milk,And the down is safter nor the silk.
"The snaw is whiter nor the milk,
And the down is safter nor the silk.
"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,And shame is louder nor a horn.
"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,
And shame is louder nor a horn.
"The pies are greener nor the grass,And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."
"The pies are greener nor the grass,
And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."
As sune as she the fiend did name,Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree,He flew awa' in a blazing flame,As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.
As sune as she the fiend did name,
Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree,
He flew awa' in a blazing flame,
As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.
344
THE FALSE KNIGHT UPON THE ROAD"O whare are ye gaun?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"I'm gaun to the scule."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."What is that upon your back?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel[148]it is my bukes."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."What's that ye've got in your arm?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel it is my peit."[149]Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."Wha's aucht[150]they sheep?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"They're mine and my mither's."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."How monie o' them are mine?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"A' they that hae blue tails."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."I wiss ye were on yon tree:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude ladder under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."And the ladder for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And you for to fa' down."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."I wiss ye were in yon sie:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude bottom[151]under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."And the bottom for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And ye to be drowned."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"O whare are ye gaun?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"I'm gaun to the scule."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."What is that upon your back?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel[148]it is my bukes."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."What's that ye've got in your arm?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel it is my peit."[149]Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."Wha's aucht[150]they sheep?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"They're mine and my mither's."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."How monie o' them are mine?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"A' they that hae blue tails."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."I wiss ye were on yon tree:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude ladder under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."And the ladder for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And you for to fa' down."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."I wiss ye were in yon sie:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude bottom[151]under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude."And the bottom for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And ye to be drowned."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"O whare are ye gaun?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"I'm gaun to the scule."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"O whare are ye gaun?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"I'm gaun to the scule."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"What is that upon your back?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel[148]it is my bukes."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"What is that upon your back?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"Atweel[148]it is my bukes."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"What's that ye've got in your arm?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"Atweel it is my peit."[149]Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"What's that ye've got in your arm?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"Atweel it is my peit."[149]
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"Wha's aucht[150]they sheep?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"They're mine and my mither's."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"Wha's aucht[150]they sheep?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"They're mine and my mither's."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"How monie o' them are mine?"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"A' they that hae blue tails."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"How monie o' them are mine?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"A' they that hae blue tails."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"I wiss ye were on yon tree:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude ladder under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"I wiss ye were on yon tree:"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"And a gude ladder under me."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"And the ladder for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And you for to fa' down."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"And the ladder for to break:"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"And you for to fa' down."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"I wiss ye were in yon sie:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And a gude bottom[151]under me."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"I wiss ye were in yon sie:"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"And a gude bottom[151]under me."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"And the bottom for to break:"Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:"And ye to be drowned."Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"And the bottom for to break:"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"And ye to be drowned."
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.