BREAK, BREAK, BREAK

Move eastward, happy earth, and leaveYon orange sunset waning slow:From fringes of the faded eve,O, happy planet, eastward go;Till over thy dark shoulder glowThy silver sister-world, and riseTo glass herself in dewy eyesThat watch me from the glen below.Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne,Dip forward under starry light,And move me to my marriage-morn,And round again to happy night.

Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne,Dip forward under starry light,And move me to my marriage-morn,And round again to happy night.

Break, break, break,On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me.O well for the fisherman's boy,That he shouts with his sister at play!O well for the sailor lad,That he sings in his boat on the bay.And the stately ships go onTo their haven under the hill;But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,And the sound of a voice that is still!Break, break, break,At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.

Break, break, break,On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,That he shouts with his sister at play!O well for the sailor lad,That he sings in his boat on the bay.

And the stately ships go onTo their haven under the hill;But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.

I knew an old wife lean and poor,Her rags scarce held together;There strode a stranger to the door,And it was windy weather.He held a goose upon his arm,He utter'd rhyme and reason,'Here, take the goose, and keep you warm,It is a stormy season.'She caught the white goose by the leg,A goose--'twas no great matter.The goose let fall a golden eggWith cackle and with clatter.She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,And ran to tell her neighbours;And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,And rested from her labours.And feeding high, and living soft,Grew plump and able-bodied;Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,The parson smirk'd and nodded.So sitting, served by man and maid,She felt her heart grow prouder:But ah! the more the white goose laidIt clack'd and cackled louder.It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;It stirr'd the old wife's mettle:She shifted in her elbow-chair,And hurl'd the pan and kettle.'A quinsy choke thy cursed note!'Then wax'd her anger stronger.'Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,I will not bear it longer.'Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat;Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.The goose flew this way and flew that,And fill'd the house with clamour.As head and heels upon the floorThey flounder'd all together,There strode a stranger to the door,And it was windy weather:He took the goose upon his arm,He utter'd words of scorning;'So keep you cold, or keep you warm,It is a stormy morning.'The wild wind rang from park and plain,And round the attics rumbled,Till all the tables danced again,And half the chimneys tumbled.The glass blew in, the fire blew out,The blast was hard and harder.Her cap blew off, her gown blew up,And a whirlwind clear'd the larder;And while on all sides breaking looseHer household fled the danger,Quoth she, 'The Devil take the goose,And God forget the stranger!'

I knew an old wife lean and poor,Her rags scarce held together;There strode a stranger to the door,And it was windy weather.

He held a goose upon his arm,He utter'd rhyme and reason,'Here, take the goose, and keep you warm,It is a stormy season.'

She caught the white goose by the leg,A goose--'twas no great matter.The goose let fall a golden eggWith cackle and with clatter.

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,And ran to tell her neighbours;And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,And rested from her labours.

And feeding high, and living soft,Grew plump and able-bodied;Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,The parson smirk'd and nodded.

So sitting, served by man and maid,She felt her heart grow prouder:But ah! the more the white goose laidIt clack'd and cackled louder.

It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;It stirr'd the old wife's mettle:She shifted in her elbow-chair,And hurl'd the pan and kettle.

'A quinsy choke thy cursed note!'Then wax'd her anger stronger.'Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,I will not bear it longer.'

Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat;Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.The goose flew this way and flew that,And fill'd the house with clamour.

As head and heels upon the floorThey flounder'd all together,There strode a stranger to the door,And it was windy weather:

He took the goose upon his arm,He utter'd words of scorning;'So keep you cold, or keep you warm,It is a stormy morning.'

The wild wind rang from park and plain,And round the attics rumbled,Till all the tables danced again,And half the chimneys tumbled.

The glass blew in, the fire blew out,The blast was hard and harder.Her cap blew off, her gown blew up,And a whirlwind clear'd the larder;

And while on all sides breaking looseHer household fled the danger,Quoth she, 'The Devil take the goose,And God forget the stranger!'

IA spirit haunts the year's last hoursDwelling amid these yellowing bowers:To himself he talks;For at eventide, listening earnestly.At his work you may hear him sob and sighIn the walks;Earthward he boweth the heavy stalksOf the mouldering flowers:Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i' the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.IIThe air is damp, and hush'd, and close,As a sick man's room when he taketh reposeAn hour before death;My very heart faints and my whole soul grievesAt the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,And the breathOf the fading edges of box beneath,And the year's last rose.Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i' the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

A spirit haunts the year's last hoursDwelling amid these yellowing bowers:To himself he talks;For at eventide, listening earnestly.At his work you may hear him sob and sighIn the walks;Earthward he boweth the heavy stalksOf the mouldering flowers:Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i' the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

The air is damp, and hush'd, and close,As a sick man's room when he taketh reposeAn hour before death;My very heart faints and my whole soul grievesAt the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,And the breathOf the fading edges of box beneath,And the year's last rose.Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i' the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

As thro' the land at eve we went,And plucked the ripened ears,We fell out, my wife and I,We fell out, I know not why,And kissed again with tears.And blessings on the falling outThat all the more endears,When we fall out with those we love,And kiss again with tears!For when we came where lies the childWe lost in other years,There above the little grave,O there above the little grave,We kissed again with tears.

As thro' the land at eve we went,And plucked the ripened ears,We fell out, my wife and I,We fell out, I know not why,And kissed again with tears.

And blessings on the falling outThat all the more endears,When we fall out with those we love,And kiss again with tears!

For when we came where lies the childWe lost in other years,There above the little grave,O there above the little grave,We kissed again with tears.

The splendour falls on castle wallsAnd snowy summits, old in story:The long light shakes across the lakes,And the wild cataract leaps in glory.Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,And thinner, clearer, farther going!O sweet and far from cliff and scarThe horns of Elfland faintly blowing!Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.O love, they die in yon rich sky,They faint on hill or field or river:Our echoes roll from soul to soul,And grow for ever and for ever.Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,And thinner, clearer, farther going!O sweet and far from cliff and scarThe horns of Elfland faintly blowing!Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,They faint on hill or field or river:Our echoes roll from soul to soul,And grow for ever and for ever.Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Home they brought her warrior dead:She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry:All her maidens, watching, said,'She must weep or she will die.'Then they praised him, soft and low,Call'd him worthy to be loved,Truest friend and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke nor moved.Stole a maiden from her place,Lightly to the warrior stept,Took the face-cloth from the face;Yet she neither moved nor wept.Rose a nurse of ninety years,Set his child upon her knee--Like summer tempest came her tears--'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'

Home they brought her warrior dead:She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry:All her maidens, watching, said,'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,Call'd him worthy to be loved,Truest friend and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,Lightly to the warrior stept,Took the face-cloth from the face;Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,Set his child upon her knee--Like summer tempest came her tears--'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'

I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make a sudden sally,And sparkle out among the fern,To bicker down a valley.By thirty hills I hurry down,Or slip between the ridges,By twenty thorps, a little town,And half a hundred bridges.Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.I chatter over stony ways,In little sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles.With many a curve my bank I fretBy many a field and fallow,And many a fairy foreland setWith willow-weed and mallow.I chatter, chatter, as I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.I wind about, and in and out,With here a blossom sailing,And here and there a lusty trout,And here and there a grayling,And here and there a foamy flakeUpon me as I travel,With many a silvery waterbreakAbove the golden gravel,And draw them all along and flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.I steal by lawns and grassy plots,I slide by hazel covers,I move the sweet forget-me-notsThat grow for happy lovers.I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,Among my skimming swallows;I make the netted sunbeam danceAgainst my sandy shallows.I murmur under moon and starsIn brambly wildernesses;I linger by my shingly bars;I loiter round my cresses;And out again I curve and flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make a sudden sally,And sparkle out among the fern,To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,Or slip between the ridges,By twenty thorps, a little town,And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,In little sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my bank I fretBy many a field and fallow,And many a fairy foreland setWith willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,With here a blossom sailing,And here and there a lusty trout,And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flakeUpon me as I travel,With many a silvery waterbreakAbove the golden gravel,

And draw them all along and flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,I slide by hazel covers,I move the sweet forget-me-notsThat grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,Among my skimming swallows;I make the netted sunbeam danceAgainst my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and starsIn brambly wildernesses;I linger by my shingly bars;I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come, and men may go,But I go on for ever.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dropping moon, and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,Father will come to thee soon;Rest, rest, on mother's breast,Father will come to thee soon;Father will come to his babe in the nest,Silver sails all out of the westUnder the silver moon:Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,Father will come to thee soon;Rest, rest, on mother's breast,Father will come to thee soon;Father will come to his babe in the nest,Silver sails all out of the westUnder the silver moon:Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat, night, has flown,Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone;And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,And the musk of the roses blown.For a breeze of morning moves,And the planet of Love is on high,Beginning to faint in the light that she lovesOn a bed of daffodil sky,To faint in the light of the sun she loves,To faint in his light, and to die.All night have the roses heardThe flute, violin, bassoon;All night has the casement jessamine stirr'dTo the dancers dancing in tune;Till a silence fell with the waking bird,And a hush with the setting moon.I said to the lily, 'There is but oneWith whom she has heart to be gay.When will the dancers leave her alone?She is weary of dance and play.'Now half to the setting moon are gone,And half to the rising day;Low on the sand and loud on the stoneThe last wheel echoes away.I said to the rose, 'The brief night goesIn babble and revel and wine.O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,For one that will never be thine?But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose,'For ever and ever, mine.'And the soul of the rose went into my blood,As the music clash'd in the hall;And long by the garden lake I stood,For I heard your rivulet fallFrom the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,Our wood, that is dearer than all;From the meadow your walks have left so sweetThat whenever a March-wind sighsHe sets the jewel-print of your feetIn violets blue as your eyes,To the woody hollows in which we meetAnd the valleys of Paradise.The slender acacia would not shakeOne long milk-bloom on the tree;The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;But the rose was awake all night for your sake,Knowing your promise to me;The lilies and roses were all awake,They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,Come hither, the dances are done,In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,Queen lily and rose in one;Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,To the flowers, and be their sun.There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate;The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'She is coming, my own, my sweet,Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.

Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat, night, has flown,Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone;And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,And the planet of Love is on high,Beginning to faint in the light that she lovesOn a bed of daffodil sky,To faint in the light of the sun she loves,To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heardThe flute, violin, bassoon;All night has the casement jessamine stirr'dTo the dancers dancing in tune;Till a silence fell with the waking bird,And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, 'There is but oneWith whom she has heart to be gay.When will the dancers leave her alone?She is weary of dance and play.'Now half to the setting moon are gone,And half to the rising day;Low on the sand and loud on the stoneThe last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, 'The brief night goesIn babble and revel and wine.O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,For one that will never be thine?But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose,'For ever and ever, mine.'

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,As the music clash'd in the hall;And long by the garden lake I stood,For I heard your rivulet fallFrom the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweetThat whenever a March-wind sighsHe sets the jewel-print of your feetIn violets blue as your eyes,To the woody hollows in which we meetAnd the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shakeOne long milk-bloom on the tree;The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;But the rose was awake all night for your sake,Knowing your promise to me;The lilies and roses were all awake,They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,Come hither, the dances are done,In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,Queen lily and rose in one;Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate;The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near';And the white rose weeps, 'She is late';The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear';And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet,Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?Ask me no more.Ask me no more: what answer should I give?I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;Ask me no more.Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:I strove against the stream and all in vain:Let the great river take me to the main:No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:I strove against the stream and all in vain:Let the great river take me to the main:No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;Ask me no more.

When all among the thundering drumsThy soldier in the battle stands,Thy face across his fancy comesAnd gives the battle to his hands:A moment while the trumpets blow,He sees his brood about thy knee--The next--like fire he meets the foe,And strikes him dead for them and thee!Tara ta tantara!

When all among the thundering drumsThy soldier in the battle stands,Thy face across his fancy comesAnd gives the battle to his hands:

A moment while the trumpets blow,He sees his brood about thy knee--The next--like fire he meets the foe,And strikes him dead for them and thee!Tara ta tantara!

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,And all thy heart lies open unto me.Now slides the silent meteor on, and leavesA shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,And slips into the bosom of the lake:So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slipInto my bosom and be lost in me.

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leavesA shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,And slips into the bosom of the lake:So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slipInto my bosom and be lost in me.

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,Thy tribute wave deliver:No more by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,A rivulet then a river:No where by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.But here will sigh thine alder-tree,And here thine aspen shiver;And here by thee will hum the bee,For ever and for ever.A thousand suns will stream on thee,A thousand moons will quiver;But not by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,Thy tribute wave deliver:No more by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,A rivulet then a river:No where by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder-tree,And here thine aspen shiver;And here by thee will hum the bee,For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,A thousand moons will quiver;But not by thee my steps shall be,For ever and for ever.

Her arms across her breast she laid;She was more fair than words can say:Bare-footed came the beggar maidBefore the king Cophetua.In robe and crown the king stept down,To meet and greet her on her way;'It is no wonder,' said the lords,'She is more beautiful than day.'As shines the moon in clouded skies,She in her poor attire was seen:One praised her ankles, one her eyes,One her dark hair and lovesome mien.So sweet a face, such angel grace,In all that land had never beenCophetua sware a royal oath:'This beggar maid shall be my queen!'

As shines the moon in clouded skies,She in her poor attire was seen:One praised her ankles, one her eyes,One her dark hair and lovesome mien.So sweet a face, such angel grace,In all that land had never beenCophetua sware a royal oath:'This beggar maid shall be my queen!'

Come not, when I am dead,To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,To trample round my fallen head,And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;But thou, go by.Child, if it were thine error or thy crimeI care no longer, being all unblest:Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,And I desire to rest.Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:Go by, go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crimeI care no longer, being all unblest:Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,And I desire to rest.Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:Go by, go by.

'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,And dark and true and tender is the North.'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and lightUpon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.'O were I thou that she might take me in,And lay me on her bosom, and her heartWould rock the snowy cradle till I died.'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,Delaying as the tender ash delaysTo clothe herself, when all the woods are green?'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:Say to her, I do but wanton in the SouthBut in the North long since my nest is made.'O tell her, brief is life but love is long,And brief the sun of summer in the North,And brief the moon of beauty in the South.'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'

'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.

'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,And dark and true and tender is the North.

'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and lightUpon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.

'O were I thou that she might take me in,And lay me on her bosom, and her heartWould rock the snowy cradle till I died.

'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,Delaying as the tender ash delaysTo clothe herself, when all the woods are green?

'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:Say to her, I do but wanton in the SouthBut in the North long since my nest is made.

'O tell her, brief is life but love is long,And brief the sun of summer in the North,And brief the moon of beauty in the South.

'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'

It is the miller's daughter,And she is grown so dear, so dear,That I would be the jewelThat trembles at her ear:For hid in ringlets day and night,I'd touch her neck so warm and white.And I would be the girdleAbout her dainty dainty waist,And her heart would beat against me,In sorrow and in rest:And I should know if it beat right,I'd clasp it round so close and tight.And I would be the necklace,And all day long to fall and riseUpon her balmy bosom,With her laughter or her sighs,And I would lie so light, so light,I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

It is the miller's daughter,And she is grown so dear, so dear,That I would be the jewelThat trembles at her ear:For hid in ringlets day and night,I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdleAbout her dainty dainty waist,And her heart would beat against me,In sorrow and in rest:And I should know if it beat right,I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,And all day long to fall and riseUpon her balmy bosom,With her laughter or her sighs,And I would lie so light, so light,I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

There were three sailors of Bristol cityWho took a boat and went to sea,But first with beef and captain's biscuitsAnd pickled pork they loaded she.There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy,And the youngest he was little Billee.Now when they got as far as the EquatorThey'd nothing left but one split pea.Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,'I am extremely hungaree.'To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,'We've nothing left; us must eat we.'Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,'With one another we shouldn't agree!'There's little Bill, he's young and tender,We're old and tough, so let's eat he.''Oh, Bill, we're going to kill and eat you,So undo the button of your chemie.'When Bill received this informationHe used his pocket handkerchie.'First let me say my catechism,Which my poor mammy taught to me.''Make haste, make haste,' says guzzling Jimmy,While Jack pulled out his snickersnee.So Billy went up to the main-top gallant mast,And down he fell on his bended knee,He scarce had come to the twelfth commandmentWhen up he jumps. 'There's land I see:'There's Jerusalem and Madagascar,And North and South Amerikee:'There's the British flag a-riding at anchor,With Admiral Napier, K.C.B.'So when they got aboard of the Admiral's,He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee:But as for little Bill, he made himThe Captain of a Seventy-three.

There were three sailors of Bristol cityWho took a boat and went to sea,

But first with beef and captain's biscuitsAnd pickled pork they loaded she.

There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy,And the youngest he was little Billee.

Now when they got as far as the EquatorThey'd nothing left but one split pea.

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,'I am extremely hungaree.'

To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,'We've nothing left; us must eat we.'

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,'With one another we shouldn't agree!

'There's little Bill, he's young and tender,We're old and tough, so let's eat he.'

'Oh, Bill, we're going to kill and eat you,So undo the button of your chemie.'

When Bill received this informationHe used his pocket handkerchie.

'First let me say my catechism,Which my poor mammy taught to me.'

'Make haste, make haste,' says guzzling Jimmy,While Jack pulled out his snickersnee.

So Billy went up to the main-top gallant mast,And down he fell on his bended knee,

He scarce had come to the twelfth commandmentWhen up he jumps. 'There's land I see:

'There's Jerusalem and Madagascar,And North and South Amerikee:

'There's the British flag a-riding at anchor,With Admiral Napier, K.C.B.'

So when they got aboard of the Admiral's,He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee:

But as for little Bill, he made himThe Captain of a Seventy-three.

Green fields of England! wheresoe'erAcross this watery waste we fare,One image at our hearts we bear,Green fields of England, everywhere.Sweet eyes in England, I must fleePast where the waves' last confines be,Ere your loved smile I cease to see,Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.Dear home in England, safe and fast,If but in thee my lot lie cast,The past shall seem a nothing pastTo thee, dear home, if won at last;Dear home in England, won at last.

Green fields of England! wheresoe'erAcross this watery waste we fare,One image at our hearts we bear,Green fields of England, everywhere.

Sweet eyes in England, I must fleePast where the waves' last confines be,Ere your loved smile I cease to see,Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.

Dear home in England, safe and fast,If but in thee my lot lie cast,The past shall seem a nothing pastTo thee, dear home, if won at last;Dear home in England, won at last.

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;'Good speed!' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;'Speed!' echoed the wall to us galloping through;Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,And into the midnight we galloped abreast.Not a word to each other; we kept the great paceNeck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew nearLokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear;At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime,So Joris broke silence with 'Yet there is time!'At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,And against him the cattle stood black every one,To stare through the mist at us galloping past,And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,With resolute shoulders, each butting awayThe haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent backFor my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;And one eye's black intelligence--ever that glanceO'er its white edge at me, his own master askance!And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anonHis fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, 'Stay spur!Your Ross galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,We'll remember at Aix'--for one heard the quick wheezeOf her chest, saw her stretched neck and staggering knees,And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.So we were left galloping, Joris and I,Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,And 'Gallop,' gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!''How they'll greet us!' and all in a moment his roanRolled neck and crop over; lay dead as a stone;And there was my Roland to bear the whole weightOf the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,And with circles of red for his eye-socket's rim.Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.And all I remember is, friends flocking roundAs I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great paceNeck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew nearLokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear;At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime,So Joris broke silence with 'Yet there is time!'

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,And against him the cattle stood black every one,To stare through the mist at us galloping past,And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,With resolute shoulders, each butting awayThe haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent backFor my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;And one eye's black intelligence--ever that glanceO'er its white edge at me, his own master askance!And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anonHis fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, 'Stay spur!Your Ross galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,We'll remember at Aix'--for one heard the quick wheezeOf her chest, saw her stretched neck and staggering knees,And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,And 'Gallop,' gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!'

'How they'll greet us!' and all in a moment his roanRolled neck and crop over; lay dead as a stone;And there was my Roland to bear the whole weightOf the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,And with circles of red for his eye-socket's rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is, friends flocking roundAs I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

IKentish Sir Byng stood for his King,Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:And, pressing a troop unable to stoopAnd see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,Marched them along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.IIGod for King Charles! Pym and such carlesTo the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles.Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor supTill you're--Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.IIIHampden to hell, and his obsequies' knellServe Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!England, good cheer! Rupert is near!Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!IVThen, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarlsTo the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!Hold by the right, you double your might;So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King,Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:And, pressing a troop unable to stoopAnd see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,Marched them along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carlesTo the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles.Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor supTill you're--Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

III

Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knellServe Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!England, good cheer! Rupert is near!Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarlsTo the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!Hold by the right, you double your might;So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,Where we sat side by side,On a bright May morning long ago,When first you were my bride.The corn was springing fresh and green,And the lark sang loud and high,And the red was on your lip, Mary,And the love light in your eye.The place is little changed, Mary,The day's as bright as then;The lark's loud song is in my ear,And the corn is green again,But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,And your warm breath on my cheek,And I still keep listening for the wordsYou never more may speak.'Tis but a step down yonder lane,The village church stands near,--The church where we were wed, Mary,I see the spire from here.But the grave-yard lies between, Mary,And my step might break your rest,Where I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,With your baby on your breast.I'm very lonely now, Mary,For the poor make no new friends;But, oh, they love the betterThe few our Father sends.And you were all I had, Mary,My blessing and my pride;There's nothing left to care for now,Since my poor Mary died.I'm bidding you a long farewell,My Mary kind and true,But I'll not forget you, darling,In the land I'm going to.They say there's bread and work for all,And the sun shines always there,But I'll not forget old Ireland,Were it fifty times less fair.

The place is little changed, Mary,The day's as bright as then;The lark's loud song is in my ear,And the corn is green again,But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,And your warm breath on my cheek,And I still keep listening for the wordsYou never more may speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,The village church stands near,--The church where we were wed, Mary,I see the spire from here.But the grave-yard lies between, Mary,And my step might break your rest,Where I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,For the poor make no new friends;But, oh, they love the betterThe few our Father sends.And you were all I had, Mary,My blessing and my pride;There's nothing left to care for now,Since my poor Mary died.

I'm bidding you a long farewell,My Mary kind and true,But I'll not forget you, darling,In the land I'm going to.They say there's bread and work for all,And the sun shines always there,But I'll not forget old Ireland,Were it fifty times less fair.

I wander'd by the brook-side,I wander'd by the mill,--I could not hear the brook flow,The noisy wheel was still;There was no burr of grasshopper,Nor chirp of any bird;But the beating of my own heartWas all the sound I heard.I sat beneath the elm-tree,I watch'd the long, long shade,And as it grew still longerI did not feel afraid;For I listen'd for a footfall,I listen'd for a word,--But the beating of my own heartWas all the sound I heard.He came not,--no, he came not;The night came on alone;The little stars sat one by oneEach on his golden throne;The evening air pass'd by my cheek,The leaves above were stirr'd,--But the beating of my own heartWas all the sound I heard.Fast silent tears were flowing,When some one stood behind;A hand was on my shoulder,I knew its touch was kind:It drew me nearer, nearer;We did not speak a word,--For the beating of our own heartsWas all the sound we heard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree,I watch'd the long, long shade,And as it grew still longerI did not feel afraid;For I listen'd for a footfall,I listen'd for a word,--But the beating of my own heartWas all the sound I heard.

He came not,--no, he came not;The night came on alone;The little stars sat one by oneEach on his golden throne;The evening air pass'd by my cheek,The leaves above were stirr'd,--But the beating of my own heartWas all the sound I heard.

Fast silent tears were flowing,When some one stood behind;A hand was on my shoulder,I knew its touch was kind:It drew me nearer, nearer;We did not speak a word,--For the beating of our own heartsWas all the sound we heard.

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