When God was making the world,(Swift was the wind and white was the fire)The feet of His people danced the stars;There was laughter and swinging bells,And clanging iron and breaking breath,The hammers of heaven making the hills,The vales, on the anvils of God.(Wild is the fire and low is the wind)When God had finished the world,(Bright was the fire and sweet was the wind)Up from the valleys came song,To answer the morning stars;And the hand of man on the anvil rang,His breath was big in his breast, his lifeBeat strong ‘gainst the walls of the world.(Glad is the wind and tall is the fire)
None shall stand in the way of the lord,The Lord of the Earth—of the rivers and trees,Of the cattle and fields and vines:Hew!Here shall I build me my cedar home,A city with gates, a road to the sea—For I am the lord of the Earth:Hew! Hew!Hew and hew, and the sap of the treeShall be yours, and your bones shall be strong,Shall be yours, and your heart shall rejoice,Shall be yours, and the city be yours,And the key of its gates be the keyOf the home where your little ones dwell.Hew and be strong! Hew and rejoice!For man is the lord of the Earth,And God is the Lord over all.
“Son of man, stand upon thy feetand I will speak to thee.”O son of man, beholdIf thou shouldst stumble on the nameless trail,The trail that no man rides,Lift up thy heart,Behold, O son of man, thou hast a helper near!O son of man, take heedIf thou shouldst fall upon the vacant plain,The plain that no man loves,Reach out thy hand,Take heed, O son of man, strength shall be given thee!O son of man, rejoice:If thou art blinded even at the door,The door of the Safe Tent,Sing in thy heart,Rejoice, O son of man, thy pilot leads thee home!
In the lodge of the Mother of Men,In the land of Desire,Are the embers of fire,Are the ashes of those who return.Who return to the world;Who flame at the breathOf the Mockers of Death.O Sweet, we will voyage againTo the camp of Love’s fire,Nevermore to return!O love, by the light of thine eyesWe will fare over-sea;We will beAs the silver-winged herons that restBy the shallows,The shallows of sapphire stone;No more shall we wander alone.As the foam to the shoreIs my spirit to thine,And God’s serfs as they fly,—The Mockers of Death—They will breathe on the embers of fireWe shall live by that breath.Sweet, thy heart to my heart,As we journey afar,No more, nevermore, to return!
War does the fire no longer burn?(I am so lonely)Why does the tent-door swing outward?(I have no home)Oh, let me breathe hard in your face!(I am so lonely)Oh, why do you shut your eyes to me?(I have no home)Let us make friends with the stars;(I am so lonely)Give me your hand, I will hold it;(I have no home)Let us go hunting together:(I am so lonely)We will sleep at God’s camp to-night.(I have no home)
He stands in the porch of the World—(Why should the door be shut?)The grey wolf waits at his heel,(Why is the window barred?)Wild is the trail from the Kimash Hills,The blight has fallen on bush and tree,The choking earth has swallowed the streams,Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol—(Why should the door be shut?)The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide—(Why is the window barred?)He waits at the threshold stone—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The eagle broods at his side,(Why should the blind be drawn?)Long has he watched and far has he called—The lonely sentinel of the North—“Who goes there?” to the wandering soulHeavy of heart is the Red Patrol—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home,(Why should the blind be drawn?)Heavy of heart is the Red Patrol—(Why should the key-hole rust?)The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home,(Why should the blind be drawn?)Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol—(Why should the door be shut?)The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide,(Why is the window barred?)
In the flash of the singing dawn,At the door of the Great One,The joy of his lodge knelt down,Knelt down, and her hair in the sunShone like showering dust,And her eyes were as eyes of the fawn.And she cried to her lord,“O my lord, O my life,From the desert I come;From the hills of the Dawn.”And he lifted the curtain and said,“Hast thou seen It, the Yellow Swan?”And she lifted her head, and her eyesWere as lights in the dark,And her hands folded slow on her breast,And her face was as one who has seenThe gods and the place where they dwell;And she said, “Is it meet that I kneel,That I kneel as I speak to my lord?”And he answered her, “Nay, but to stand,And to sit by my side;But speak: thou has followed the trail,Hast thou found It, the Yellow Swan?”And she stood as a queen, and her voiceWas as one who hath seen the Hills,The Hills of the Mighty Men,And hath heard them cry in the night,Hath heard them call in the dawn,Hath seen It, the Yellow Swan.And she said, “It is not for my lord”;And she murmured, “I cannot tell;But my lord must go as I went,And my lord must come as I came,And my lord shall be wise.”And he cried in his wrath,“What is thine, it is mine,And thine eyes are my eyes,Thou shalt speak of the Yellow Swan.”But she answered him, “Nay, though I die.I have lain in the nest of the Swan,I have heard, I have known;When thine eyes too have seen,When thine ears too have heard,Thou shalt do with me then as thou wilt.”And he lifted his hand to strike,And he straightened his spear to slay;But a great light struck on his eyes,And he heard the rushing of wings,And his long spear fell from his hand,And a terrible stillness came:And when the spell passed from his eyesHe stood in his doorway alone,And gone was the queen of his soulAnd gone was the Yellow Swan.
My dear love, she waits for me,None other my world is adorning;My true love I come to thee,My dear, the white star of the morning.Eagles, spread out your wings,—Behold where the red dawn is breaking!Hark, ‘tis my darling sings,The flowers, the song-birds, awaking—See, where she comes to me,My love, ah, my dear love!
“Oh, where did you get them, the bonny, bonny rosesThat blossom in your cheeks, and the morning in your eyes?”“I got them on the North Trail, the road that never closes,That widens to the seven gold gates of Paradise.”“O come, let us camp in the North Trail together,With the night-fires lit and the tent-pegs down.”
O, O, the winter wind, the North wind—My snow-bird, where art thou gone?O, O the wailing wind, the night wind—The cold nest; I am alone.O, O my snow-bird!O, O, the waving sky, the white sky—My snow-bird, thou fliest far;O, O the eagle’s cry, the wild cry—My lost love, my lonely star.O, O my snow-bird!
Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills—(Little gold sun, come out of the dawn.)There we will meet in the cedar groves—(Shining white dew, come down.)There is a bed where you sleep so sound,The little good folk of the Hills will guard,Till the morning wakes and your love comes home—(Fly away, heart, to the Scarlet Hills.)
High in a nest of the tam’rac tree,Swing under, so free, and swing over;Swing under the sun and swing over the world,My snow-bird, my gay little lover—My gay little lover, don, don! . . . don, don!When the winter is done I will come back home,To the nest swinging under and over,Swinging under and over and waiting for me,Your rover, my snow-bird, your lover—My lover and rover, don, don! . . . don, don!
Qui vive!Who is it cries in the dawn,Cries when the stars go down?Who is it comes through the mist,The mist that is fine like lawn,The mist like an angel’s gown?Who is it comes in the dawn?Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.Qui vive!Who is it passeth us by,Still in the dawn and the mist—Tall seigneur of the dawn,A two-edged sword at his thigh,A shield of gold at his wrist?Who is it hurrieth by?Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.Qui vive!Who saileth into the morn,Out of the wind of the dawn?“Follow, oh, follow me on!”Calleth a distant horn.He is here—he is there—he is gone,Tall seigneur of the dawn!Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.
IChildren, the house is empty,The house behind the tall hill;Lonely and still is the empty house.There is no face in the doorway,There is no fire in the chimney—Come and gather beside the gate,Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.Where has the wild dog vanished?Where has the swift foot gone?Where is the hand that found the good fruit,That made a garret of wholesome herbs?Where is the voice that awoke the morn,The tongue that defied the terrible beasts?Come and listen beside the door,Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.
II
Sorrowful is the little house,The little house by the winding stream;All the laughter has died awayOut of the little house.But down there come from the lofty hillsFootsteps and eyes agleam,Bringing the laughter of yesterdayInto the little house,By the winding stream and the hills.Di ron, di ron, di ron-don!
III
What is there like to the cry of the birdThat sings in its nest in the lilac tree?A voice the sweetest you ever have heard;It is there, it is here, ci, ci!It is there, it is here, it must roam and roam,And wander from shore to shore,Till I travel the hills and bring it home,And enter and close my door—Row along, row along home, ci, ci!What is there like to the laughing star,Far up from the lilac tree?A face that’s brighter and finer far;It laughs and it shines, ci, ci!It laughs and it shines, it must roam and roam,And travel from shore to shore,Till I get me forth and bring it home,And house it within my door—Row along, row along home, ci, ci!
Spin, spin, belle Mergaton!The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high,And your wedding-gown you must put it onEre the night hath no moon in the skyGigoton, Mergaton, spin!Spin, spin, belle Mergaton!Your gown shall be stitched ere the old moon fade:The age of a moon shall your hands spin on,Or a wife in her shroud shall be laid—Gigoton, Mergaton, spin!Spin, spin, belle Mergaton!The Little Good Folk the spell they have cast;By your work well done while the moon hath shone,Ye shall cleave unto joy at last—Gigoton, Mergaton, spin!
FLY AWAY, MY HEART“O traveller, see where the red sparks rise,”(Fly away, my heart, fly away)But dark is the mist in the traveller’s eyes.(Fly away, my heart, fly away)“O traveller, see far down the gorge,The crimson light from my father’s forge-”(Fly away, my heart, fly away)“O traveller, hear how the anvils ring”;(Fly away, my heart, fly away)But the traveller heard, ah, never a thing:(Fly away, my heart, fly away)“O traveller, loud do the bellows roar,And my father waits by the smithy door-”(Fly away, my heart, fly away)“O traveller, see you thy true love’s grace,”(Fly away, my heart, fly away)And now there is joy in the traveller’s face:(Fly away, my heart, fly away)Oh, wild does he ride through the rain and mire,To greet his love by the smithy fire—(Fly away, my heart, fly away)
O mealman white, give me your daughter,Oh, give her to me, your sweet Suzon!O mealman dear, you can do no better,For I have a chateau at Malmaison.Black charcoalman, you shall not have herShe shall not marry you, my Suzon—A bag of meal, and a sack of carbon!Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, nonGo look at your face, my fanfaron,For my daughter and you would be night and day.Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non,Not for your chateau at Malmaison;Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non,You shall not marry her, my Suzon.
My little tender heart,O gai, vive le roi!My little tender heart,O gai, vive le roi!‘Tis for a grand baron,Vive le roi, la reine!‘Tis for a grand baron,Vive Napoleon!My mother promised it,O gai, vive le roi!My mother promised it,O gai, vive le roi!To a gentleman of the king,Vive le roi, la reine!To a gentleman of the king,Vive Napoleon!Oh, say, where goes your love?O gai, vive le roi!Oh, say, where goes your love?O gai, vive le roi!He rides on a white horse,Vive le roi, la reine!He wears a silver sword,Vive Napoleon!Oh, grand to the war he goes,O gai, vive le roi!Oh, grand to the war he goes,O gai, vive le roi!Gold and silver he will bring,Vive le roi, la reine!And eke the daughter of a king—Vive Napoleon!
They have wrestled their thews with the Arctic bear,With tireless moose they’ve trod;They have drained heel-deep of a fighting air,And breasted the winds of God.They have stretched their beds in the hummocked snow,They have set their teeth to the Pole;With Death they have gamed it, throw for throw,And drunk with him bowl for bowl—They are all for thee, O England!In their birch canoes they have run cloud-high,On the crest of a nor’land storm;They have soaked the sea, and have braved the sky,And laughed at the Conqueror Worm.They reck not beast and they fear no man,They have trailed where the panther glides;On the edge of a mountain barbican,They have tracked where the reindeer hides—And these are for thee, O England!They have freed your flag where the white Pole-StarHangs out its auroral flame;Where the bones of your Franklin’s heroes areThey have honoured your ancient name.And, iron in blood and giant in girth,They have stood for your title-deedOf the infinite North, and your lordly worth,And your pride and your ancient greed—And for love of thee, O England!
A thousand years of power,A thousand marches done,Lands beyond lands our dower,Flag with no setting sun—Now to the new King’s sealing,Come from the farthest seas,Sons of the croft and sheiling,Sons of the moor and leas—Those that went from us, daringThe wastes and the wilds and the wood:Hither they come to us, sharingOur glory, the call of the blood;Hither they come to the sealing—They or the seed of them come,Bring the new King the revealingOf continents yesterday dumb.Out on the veldt, in the pineland,Camped by the spring or the hill,Pressing the grapes of the vineland,Grinding the wheat at the mill,Oracles whispered the messageMeant for the ear of the King—Joyous and splendid the presage,Lofty the vision they bring!Each for his new land—he made it;Each for the Old Land which gaveTreasure, that none should invade it,Blood its high altars to lave;Each for the brotherhood nations,All of the nations for each:Here giving thanks and oblations,One in our blood and our speech,Pledging our love and alliance,Faith upon faith for the King,Making no oath in defiance,Crying, “No challenge we fling,”Yet for the peace of all people,Yet for the good of our own,Here, with our prayers and oblations,Pledge we our lives to the throne!
You heard the bugles calling, comrades, brothers,—“Close up! Close up!” You mounted to go forth,You answered “We are coming,” and you gathered,And paraded with your Captains in the North.From here you came, from there you came, your voicesAll flashing with your joy as flash the stars,You waited, watched, until, the last one ridingOut of the night, came roll-call after wars.Unsling your swords, off with your knapsacks, brothers!We’ll mess here at headquarters once again;Drink and forget the scars; drink and rememberThe joy of fighting and the pride of pain.We will forget: the great game rustles by us,The furtive world may whistle at the door,We’ll not go forth; we’ll furlough here together—Close up! Close up! ‘Tis comrades evermore!And Captains, our dear Captains, standing steady,Aged with battle, but ever young with love,Tramping the zones round, high have we hung your virtues,Like shields along the wall of life, like armaments above:Like shields your love, our Captains, like armaments yourvirtues,No rebel lives among us, we are yours;The old command still holds us, the old flag is our one flag,We answer to a watchword that endures!Close up, close up, my brothers! Lift your glasses,Drink to our Captains, pledging ere we roam,Far from the good land, the dear familiar faces,The love of the old regiment at home!
“Henley is dead!” Ah, but the sound and the sight of him,Buoyant, commanding, and strong, suffering, noble in mind!Gone, and no more shall we have any discourse or delight of him,Wearing his pain like a song, casting his troubles behind.Gallant and fair! Feeling the soul and the ruth of things,Probing the wounds of the world, healing he brought and surcease—Laughter he gave, beauty to teach us the truth of things,Music to march to the fight, ballads for hours of peace.Now it is done! Fearless the soul of him strove for us,Viking in blood and in soul, baring his face to the rain,Facing the storm he fared on, singing for England and love of us,On to the last corral where now he lies beaten and slain.Beaten and slain! Yes, but England hath heed of him,Singer of high degree, master of thought and of word—She shall bear witness with tears, of the pride and theloss and the need of him;We shall measure the years by the voice and the song unheard.
When blows the wind and drives the sleet,And all the trees droop down;When all the world is sad, ‘tis meetGood company be known:And, in my heart, good companySits by the fire and sings to me.When warriors return, and oneThat went returns no more;When dusty is the road we run,And garners have no store;One ingle-nook right warm shall beWhere my heart hath good company.When man shall flee and woman fail,And folly mock and hope deceive,Let cowards beat the breast and wail,I’ll homeward hie; I will not grieve:I’ll curtains draw, I’ll there set freeMy heart’s beloved boon company.When kings shall favour, ladies callMy service to their side;When roses grow upon the wallOf life, and love inside;I’ll get me home with joy to beIn my heart’s own good company!
King Rufus he did hunt the deer,With a hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly!It was the spring-time of the year—Hey ho, Dolly shut her eyes!King Rufus was a bully boy,He hunted all the day for joy,Sweet Dolly she was ever coy:And who would e’er be wiseThat looked in Dolly’s eyes?King Rufus he did have his day,With a hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly!So get ye forth where dun deer play—Hey ho, Dolly comes again!The greenwood is the place for me,For that is where the dun deer be,And who would stay at home,That might with Dolly roam?Sing hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly!
Who would lie down and close his eyesWhile yet the lark sings o’er the dale?Who would to Love make no replies,Nor drink the nut-brown ale,While throbs the pulse, and full’s the purseAnd all the world’s for sale?Though wintry blasts may prove unkind,When winter’s past we do forget;Love’s breast in summer-time is kind,And all’s well while life’s with us yet.Hey ho, now the lark is mating—Life’s sweet wages are in waiting!
Come hither, oh come hither,There’s a bride upon her bed;They have strewn her o’er with roses,There are roses ‘neath her head:Life is love and tears and laughter,But the laughter it is dead—Sing the way to the Valley, to the Valley—Hey, but the roses they are red!
THE LILY FLOWEROh, love, it is a lily flower,(Sing, my captain, sing, my lady!)The sword shall cleave it, Life shall leave it—Who shall know the hour?(Sing, my lady, still!)
Love in her cold grave lies,But that is not my love:My love hath constant eyes,My love her life doth prove;That love, the poorer, dies—Ah, that is not my love!Love in her cold grave lies,But she will wake again;With trembling feet will rise,Will call this love in vain,That she doth now despiseAh, love shall wake again!
Granada, Granada, thy gardens are gay,And bright are thy stars, the high stars above;But as flowers that fade and are grey,But as dusk at the end of the dayAre ye to the light in the eyes of my love—In the eyes, in the soul, of my love.Granada, Granada, oh, when shall I seeMy love in thy garden, there waiting for me!Beloved, beloved, have pity and makeNot the sun shut its eyes, its hot envious eyes;And the world in the darkness of night,Be debtor to thee for its light.Turn thy face, turn thy face from the skiesTo the love, to the pain in my eyes.Granada, Granada, oh, when shall I seeMy love in thy garden, there waiting for me!