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.
Children, 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.
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!
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, non
Go 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!