IFROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI STROZZINight, whom in shape so sweet thou here may'st seeSleeping, was by an Angel sculptured thusIn marble, and since she sleeps hath life like us:Thou doubt'st? Awake her: she will speak to thee.IIFROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTISleep likes me well, and better yet to knowI am but stone. While shame and grief must be,Good hap is mine, to feel not, nor to see:Take heed, then, lest thou wake me: ah, speak low.
I
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI STROZZI
Night, whom in shape so sweet thou here may'st seeSleeping, was by an Angel sculptured thusIn marble, and since she sleeps hath life like us:Thou doubt'st? Awake her: she will speak to thee.
II
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI
Sleep likes me well, and better yet to knowI am but stone. While shame and grief must be,Good hap is mine, to feel not, nor to see:Take heed, then, lest thou wake me: ah, speak low.
"Return," we dare not as we fainWould cry from hearts that yearn:Love dares not bid our dead againReturn.O hearts that strain and burnAs fires fast fettered burn and strain!Bow down, lie still, and learn.The heart that healed all hearts of painNo funeral rites inurn:Its echoes, while the stars remain,Return.May 1885.
"Return," we dare not as we fainWould cry from hearts that yearn:Love dares not bid our dead againReturn.
O hearts that strain and burnAs fires fast fettered burn and strain!Bow down, lie still, and learn.
The heart that healed all hearts of painNo funeral rites inurn:Its echoes, while the stars remain,Return.
May 1885.
IDays dawn on us that make amends for manySometimes,When heaven and earth seem sweeter even than anyMan's rhymes.Light had not all been quenched in France, or quelledIn Greece,Had Homer sung not, or had Hugo heldHis peace.Had Sappho's self not left her word thus longFor token,The sea round Lesbos yet in waves of songHad spoken.IIAnd yet these days of subtler air and finerDelight,When lovelier looks the darkness, and divinerThe light—The gift they give of all these golden hours,Whose urnPours forth reverberate rays or shadowing showersIn turn—Clouds, beams, and winds that make the live day's trackSeem living—What were they did no spirit give them backThanksgiving?IIIDead air, dead fire, dead shapes and shadows, tellingTime nought;Man gives them sense and soul by song, and dwellingIn thought.In human thought their being endures, their powerAbides:Else were their life a thing that each light hourDerides.The years live, work, sigh, smile, and die, with allThey cherish;The soul endures, though dreams that fed it fallAnd perish.IVIn human thought have all things habitation;Our daysLaugh, lower, and lighten past, and find no stationThat stays.But thought and faith are mightier things than timeCan wrong,Made splendid once with speech, or made sublimeBy song.Remembrance, though the tide of change that rollsWax hoary,Gives earth and heaven, for song's sake and the soul's,Their glory.July 16, 1885.
I
Days dawn on us that make amends for manySometimes,When heaven and earth seem sweeter even than anyMan's rhymes.
Light had not all been quenched in France, or quelledIn Greece,Had Homer sung not, or had Hugo heldHis peace.
Had Sappho's self not left her word thus longFor token,The sea round Lesbos yet in waves of songHad spoken.
II
And yet these days of subtler air and finerDelight,When lovelier looks the darkness, and divinerThe light—
The gift they give of all these golden hours,Whose urnPours forth reverberate rays or shadowing showersIn turn—
Clouds, beams, and winds that make the live day's trackSeem living—What were they did no spirit give them backThanksgiving?
III
Dead air, dead fire, dead shapes and shadows, tellingTime nought;Man gives them sense and soul by song, and dwellingIn thought.
In human thought their being endures, their powerAbides:Else were their life a thing that each light hourDerides.
The years live, work, sigh, smile, and die, with allThey cherish;The soul endures, though dreams that fed it fallAnd perish.
IV
In human thought have all things habitation;Our daysLaugh, lower, and lighten past, and find no stationThat stays.
But thought and faith are mightier things than timeCan wrong,Made splendid once with speech, or made sublimeBy song.
Remembrance, though the tide of change that rollsWax hoary,Gives earth and heaven, for song's sake and the soul's,Their glory.
July 16, 1885.
Return, they cry, ere yet your daySet, and the sky grow stern:Return, strayed souls, while yet ye mayReturn.But heavens beyond us yearn;Yea, heights of heaven above the swayOf stars that eyes discern.The soul whose wings from shoreward strayMakes toward her viewless bourneThough trustless faith and unfaith say,Return.
Return, they cry, ere yet your daySet, and the sky grow stern:Return, strayed souls, while yet ye mayReturn.
But heavens beyond us yearn;Yea, heights of heaven above the swayOf stars that eyes discern.
The soul whose wings from shoreward strayMakes toward her viewless bourneThough trustless faith and unfaith say,Return.
If we dream that desire of the distance above usShould be fettered by fear of the shadows that seem,If we wake, to be nought, but to hate or to love usIf we dream,Night sinks on the soul, and the stars as they gleamSpeak menace or mourning, with tongues to reprove usThat we deemed of them better than terror may deem.But if hope may not lure us, if fear may not move us,Thought lightens the darkness wherein the supremePure presence of death shall assure us, and prove usIf we dream.
If we dream that desire of the distance above usShould be fettered by fear of the shadows that seem,If we wake, to be nought, but to hate or to love usIf we dream,
Night sinks on the soul, and the stars as they gleamSpeak menace or mourning, with tongues to reprove usThat we deemed of them better than terror may deem.
But if hope may not lure us, if fear may not move us,Thought lightens the darkness wherein the supremePure presence of death shall assure us, and prove usIf we dream.
April made me: winter laid me here away asleep.Bright as Maytime was my daytime; night is soft and deep:Though the morrow bring forth sorrow, well are ye that weep.Ye that held me dear beheld me not a twelvemonth long:All the while ye saw me smile, ye knew not whence the songCame that made me smile, and laid me here, and wrought you wrong.Angels, calling from your brawling world one undefiled,Homeward bade me, and forbade me here to rest beguiled:Here I sleep not: pass, and weep not here upon your child.
April made me: winter laid me here away asleep.Bright as Maytime was my daytime; night is soft and deep:Though the morrow bring forth sorrow, well are ye that weep.
Ye that held me dear beheld me not a twelvemonth long:All the while ye saw me smile, ye knew not whence the songCame that made me smile, and laid me here, and wrought you wrong.
Angels, calling from your brawling world one undefiled,Homeward bade me, and forbade me here to rest beguiled:Here I sleep not: pass, and weep not here upon your child.
Fourscore and five times has the gradual yearRisen and fulfilled its days of youth and eldSince first the child's eyes opening first beheldLight, who now leaves behind to help us hereLight shed from song as starlight from a sphereSerene as summer; song whose charm compelledThe sovereign soul made flesh in ArteveldeTo stand august before us and austere,Half sad with mortal knowledge, all sublimeWith trust that takes no taint from change or time,Trust in man's might of manhood. Strong and sage,Clothed round with reverence of remembering hearts,He, twin-born with our nigh departing age,Into the light of peace and fame departs.
Fourscore and five times has the gradual yearRisen and fulfilled its days of youth and eldSince first the child's eyes opening first beheldLight, who now leaves behind to help us hereLight shed from song as starlight from a sphereSerene as summer; song whose charm compelledThe sovereign soul made flesh in ArteveldeTo stand august before us and austere,Half sad with mortal knowledge, all sublimeWith trust that takes no taint from change or time,Trust in man's might of manhood. Strong and sage,Clothed round with reverence of remembering hearts,He, twin-born with our nigh departing age,Into the light of peace and fame departs.
Farewell: how should not such as thou fare well,Though we fare ill that love thee, and that live,And know, whate'er the days wherein we dwellMay give us, thee again they will not give?Peace, rest, and sleep are all we know of death,And all we dream of comfort: yet for thee,Whose breath of life was bright and strenuous breath,We think the change is other than we see.The seal of sleep set on thine eyes to-daySurely can seal not up the keen swift lightThat lit them once for ever. Night can slayNone save the children of the womb of night.The fire that burns up dawn to bring forth noonWas father of thy spirit: how shouldst thouDie as they die for whom the sun and moonAre silent? Thee the darkness holds not now:Them, while they looked upon the light, and deemedThat life was theirs for living in the sun,The darkness held in bondage: and they dreamed,Who knew not that such life as theirs was none.To thee the sun spake, and the morning sangNotes deep and clear as life or heaven: the seaThat sounds for them but wild waste music rangNotes that were lost not when they rang for thee.The mountains clothed with light and night and change,The lakes alive with wind and cloud and sun,Made answer, by constraint sublime and strange,To the ardent hand that bade thy will be done.We may not bid the mountains mourn, the seaThat lived and lightened from thine hand againMoan, as of old would men that mourned as weA man beloved, a man elect of men,A man that loved them. Vain, divine and vain,The dream that touched with thoughts or tears of oursThe spirit of sense that lives in sun and rain,Sings out in birds, and breathes and fades in flowers.Not for our joy they live, and for our griefThey die not. Though thine eye be closed, thine handPowerless as mine to paint them, not a leafIn English woods or glades of SwitzerlandFalls earlier now, fades faster. All our loveMoves not our mother's changeless heart, who givesA little light to eyes and stars above,A little life to each man's heart that lives.A little life to heaven and earth and sea,To stars and souls revealed of night and day,And change, the one thing changeless: yet shall sheCease too, perchance, and perish. Who shall say?Our mother Nature, dark and sweet as sleep,And strange as life and strong as death, holds fast,Even as she holds our hearts alive, the deepDumb secret of her first-born births and last.But this, we know, shall cease not till the strifeOf nights and days and fears and hopes find end;This, through the brief eternities of life,Endures, and calls from death a living friend;The love made strong with knowledge, whence confirmedThe whole soul takes assurance, and the past(So by time's measure, not by memory's, termed)Lives present life, and mingles first with last.I, now long since thy guest of many days,Who found thy hearth a brother's, and with theeTracked in and out the lines of rolling baysAnd banks and gulfs and reaches of the sea—Deep dens wherein the wrestling water sobsAnd pants with restless pain of refluent breathTill all the sunless hollow sounds and throbsWith ebb and flow of eddies dark as death—I know not what more glorious world, what wavesMore bright with life,—if brighter aught may liveThan those that filled and fled their tidal caves—May now give back the love thou hast to give.Tintagel, and the long Trebarwith sand,Lone Camelford, and Boscastle divineWith dower of southern blossom, bright and blandAbove the roar of granite-baffled brine,Shall hear no more by joyous night or dayFrom downs or causeways good to rove and rideOr feet of ours or horse-hoofs urge their wayThat sped us here and there by tower and tide.The headlands and the hollows and the waves,For all our love, forget us: where I amThou art not: deeper sleeps the shadow on gravesThan in the sunless gulf that once we swam.Thou hast swum too soon the sea of death: for usToo soon, but if truth bless love's blind beliefFaith, born of hope and memory, says not thus:And joy for thee for me should mean not grief.And joy for thee, if ever soul of manFound joy in change and life of ampler birthThan here pens in the spirit for a span,Must be the life that doubt calls death on earth.For if, beyond the shadow and the sleep,A place there be for souls without a stain,Where peace is perfect, and delight more deepThan seas or skies that change and shine again,There none of all unsullied souls that liveMay hold a surer station: none may lendMore light to hope's or memory's lamp, nor giveMore joy than thine to those that called thee friend.Yea, joy from sorrow's barren womb is bornWhen faith begets on grief the godlike child:As midnight yearns with starry sense of mornIn Arctic summers, though the sea wax wild,So love, whose name is memory, thrills at heart,Remembering and rejoicing in thee, nowAlive where love may dream not what thou artBut knows that higher than hope or love art thou."Whatever heaven, if heaven at all may be,Await the sacred souls of good men dead,There, now we mourn who loved him here, is he,"So, sweet and stern of speech, the Roman said,Erect in grief, in trust erect, and gaveHis deathless dead a deathless life even hereWhere day bears down on day as wave on waveAnd not man's smile fades faster than his tear.Albeit this gift be given not me to give,Nor power be mine to break time's silent spell,Not less shall love that dies not while I liveBid thee, beloved in life and death, farewell.
Farewell: how should not such as thou fare well,Though we fare ill that love thee, and that live,And know, whate'er the days wherein we dwellMay give us, thee again they will not give?
Peace, rest, and sleep are all we know of death,And all we dream of comfort: yet for thee,Whose breath of life was bright and strenuous breath,We think the change is other than we see.
The seal of sleep set on thine eyes to-daySurely can seal not up the keen swift lightThat lit them once for ever. Night can slayNone save the children of the womb of night.
The fire that burns up dawn to bring forth noonWas father of thy spirit: how shouldst thouDie as they die for whom the sun and moonAre silent? Thee the darkness holds not now:
Them, while they looked upon the light, and deemedThat life was theirs for living in the sun,The darkness held in bondage: and they dreamed,Who knew not that such life as theirs was none.
To thee the sun spake, and the morning sangNotes deep and clear as life or heaven: the seaThat sounds for them but wild waste music rangNotes that were lost not when they rang for thee.
The mountains clothed with light and night and change,The lakes alive with wind and cloud and sun,Made answer, by constraint sublime and strange,To the ardent hand that bade thy will be done.
We may not bid the mountains mourn, the seaThat lived and lightened from thine hand againMoan, as of old would men that mourned as weA man beloved, a man elect of men,
A man that loved them. Vain, divine and vain,The dream that touched with thoughts or tears of oursThe spirit of sense that lives in sun and rain,Sings out in birds, and breathes and fades in flowers.
Not for our joy they live, and for our griefThey die not. Though thine eye be closed, thine handPowerless as mine to paint them, not a leafIn English woods or glades of Switzerland
Falls earlier now, fades faster. All our loveMoves not our mother's changeless heart, who givesA little light to eyes and stars above,A little life to each man's heart that lives.
A little life to heaven and earth and sea,To stars and souls revealed of night and day,And change, the one thing changeless: yet shall sheCease too, perchance, and perish. Who shall say?
Our mother Nature, dark and sweet as sleep,And strange as life and strong as death, holds fast,Even as she holds our hearts alive, the deepDumb secret of her first-born births and last.
But this, we know, shall cease not till the strifeOf nights and days and fears and hopes find end;This, through the brief eternities of life,Endures, and calls from death a living friend;
The love made strong with knowledge, whence confirmedThe whole soul takes assurance, and the past(So by time's measure, not by memory's, termed)Lives present life, and mingles first with last.
I, now long since thy guest of many days,Who found thy hearth a brother's, and with theeTracked in and out the lines of rolling baysAnd banks and gulfs and reaches of the sea—
Deep dens wherein the wrestling water sobsAnd pants with restless pain of refluent breathTill all the sunless hollow sounds and throbsWith ebb and flow of eddies dark as death—
I know not what more glorious world, what wavesMore bright with life,—if brighter aught may liveThan those that filled and fled their tidal caves—May now give back the love thou hast to give.
Tintagel, and the long Trebarwith sand,Lone Camelford, and Boscastle divineWith dower of southern blossom, bright and blandAbove the roar of granite-baffled brine,
Shall hear no more by joyous night or dayFrom downs or causeways good to rove and rideOr feet of ours or horse-hoofs urge their wayThat sped us here and there by tower and tide.
The headlands and the hollows and the waves,For all our love, forget us: where I amThou art not: deeper sleeps the shadow on gravesThan in the sunless gulf that once we swam.
Thou hast swum too soon the sea of death: for usToo soon, but if truth bless love's blind beliefFaith, born of hope and memory, says not thus:And joy for thee for me should mean not grief.
And joy for thee, if ever soul of manFound joy in change and life of ampler birthThan here pens in the spirit for a span,Must be the life that doubt calls death on earth.
For if, beyond the shadow and the sleep,A place there be for souls without a stain,Where peace is perfect, and delight more deepThan seas or skies that change and shine again,
There none of all unsullied souls that liveMay hold a surer station: none may lendMore light to hope's or memory's lamp, nor giveMore joy than thine to those that called thee friend.
Yea, joy from sorrow's barren womb is bornWhen faith begets on grief the godlike child:As midnight yearns with starry sense of mornIn Arctic summers, though the sea wax wild,
So love, whose name is memory, thrills at heart,Remembering and rejoicing in thee, nowAlive where love may dream not what thou artBut knows that higher than hope or love art thou.
"Whatever heaven, if heaven at all may be,Await the sacred souls of good men dead,There, now we mourn who loved him here, is he,"So, sweet and stern of speech, the Roman said,
Erect in grief, in trust erect, and gaveHis deathless dead a deathless life even hereWhere day bears down on day as wave on waveAnd not man's smile fades faster than his tear.
Albeit this gift be given not me to give,Nor power be mine to break time's silent spell,Not less shall love that dies not while I liveBid thee, beloved in life and death, farewell.
New Year, be good to England. Bid her nameShine sunlike as of old on all the sea:Make strong her soul: set all her spirit free:Bind fast her homeborn foes with links of shameMore strong than iron and more keen than flame:Seal up their lips for shame's sake: so shall sheWho was the light that lightened freedom be,For all false tongues, in all men's eyes the same.O last-born child of Time, earth's eldest lord,God undiscrowned of godhead, who for manBegets all good and evil things that live,Do thou, his new-begotten son, imploredOf hearts that hope and fear not, make thy spanBright with such light as history bids thee give.Jan. 1, 1889.
New Year, be good to England. Bid her nameShine sunlike as of old on all the sea:Make strong her soul: set all her spirit free:Bind fast her homeborn foes with links of shameMore strong than iron and more keen than flame:Seal up their lips for shame's sake: so shall sheWho was the light that lightened freedom be,For all false tongues, in all men's eyes the same.
O last-born child of Time, earth's eldest lord,God undiscrowned of godhead, who for manBegets all good and evil things that live,Do thou, his new-begotten son, imploredOf hearts that hope and fear not, make thy spanBright with such light as history bids thee give.
Jan. 1, 1889.
Westward the sun sinks, grave and glad; but farEastward, with laughter and tempestuous tears,Cloud, rain, and splendour as of orient spears,Keen as the sea's thrill toward a kindling star,The sundawn breaks the barren twilight's barAnd fires the mist and slays it. Years on yearsVanish, but he that hearkens eastward hearsBright music from the world where shadows are.Where shadows are not shadows. Hand in handA man's word bids them rise and smile and standAnd triumph. All that glorious orient glowsDefiant of the dusk. Our twilight landTrembles; but all the heaven is all one rose,Whence laughing love dissolves her frosts and snows.
Westward the sun sinks, grave and glad; but farEastward, with laughter and tempestuous tears,Cloud, rain, and splendour as of orient spears,Keen as the sea's thrill toward a kindling star,The sundawn breaks the barren twilight's barAnd fires the mist and slays it. Years on yearsVanish, but he that hearkens eastward hearsBright music from the world where shadows are.
Where shadows are not shadows. Hand in handA man's word bids them rise and smile and standAnd triumph. All that glorious orient glowsDefiant of the dusk. Our twilight landTrembles; but all the heaven is all one rose,Whence laughing love dissolves her frosts and snows.
Sweet heart, that no taint of the throne or the stageCould touch with unclean transformation, or alterTo the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falterAt the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage,Of a master whom chance could inflame or assuage,Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter,Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter,Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age.Our Lady of Pity thou wast: and to theeAll England, whose sons are the sons of the sea,Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarlsWhen the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken;And thy lover she cannot but love—by the tokenThat thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles.
Sweet heart, that no taint of the throne or the stageCould touch with unclean transformation, or alterTo the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falterAt the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage,Of a master whom chance could inflame or assuage,Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter,Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter,Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age.
Our Lady of Pity thou wast: and to theeAll England, whose sons are the sons of the sea,Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarlsWhen the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken;And thy lover she cannot but love—by the tokenThat thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles.
"His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract"
The tongue is loosed of that most lying slave,Whom stripes may move, not kindness. Listen: "Lo,The real god of song, Lord Stephano,That's a brave god, if ever god were brave,And bears celestial liquor: but," the knave(A most ridiculous monster) howls, "we knowFrom Ariel's lips what springs of poison flow,The chicken-heart blasphemer! Hear him rave!"Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himselfUpon thy wicked dam, the witch whose nameIs darkness, and the sun her eyes' offence,Though hell's hot sewerage breed no loathlier elf,Men cry not shame upon thee, seeing thy shameSo perfect: they but bid thee—"Hag-seed, hence!"
The tongue is loosed of that most lying slave,Whom stripes may move, not kindness. Listen: "Lo,The real god of song, Lord Stephano,That's a brave god, if ever god were brave,And bears celestial liquor: but," the knave(A most ridiculous monster) howls, "we knowFrom Ariel's lips what springs of poison flow,The chicken-heart blasphemer! Hear him rave!"
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himselfUpon thy wicked dam, the witch whose nameIs darkness, and the sun her eyes' offence,Though hell's hot sewerage breed no loathlier elf,Men cry not shame upon thee, seeing thy shameSo perfect: they but bid thee—"Hag-seed, hence!"
O daughter, why do ye laugh and weep,One with another?For woe to wake and for will to sleep,Mother, my mother.But weep ye winna the day ye wed,One with another.For tears are dry when the springs are dead,Mother, my mother.Too long have your tears run down like rain,One with another.For a long love lost and a sweet love slain,Mother, my mother.Too long have your tears dripped down like dew,One with another.For a knight that my sire and my brethren slew,Mother, my mother.Let past things perish and dead griefs lie,One with another.O fain would I weep not, and fain would I die,Mother, my mother.Fair gifts we give ye, to laugh and live,One with another.But sair and strange are the gifts I give,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give for your father's love?One with another.Fruits full few and thorns enough,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give for your mother's sake?One with another.Tears to brew and tares to bake,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your sister Jean?One with another.A bier to build and a babe to wean,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your sister Nell?One with another.The end of life and beginning of hell,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your sister Kate?One with another.Earth's door and hell's gate,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your brother Will?One with another.Life's grief and world's ill,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your brother Hugh?One with another.A bed of turf to turn into,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your brother John?One with another.The dust of death to feed upon,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your bauld bridegroom?One with another.A barren bed and an empty room,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your bridegroom's friend?One with another.A weary foot to the weary end,Mother, my mother.And what will ye give your blithe bridesmaid?One with another.Grief to sew and sorrow to braid,Mother, my mother.And what will ye drink the day ye're wed?One with another.But ae drink of the wan well-head,Mother, my mother.And whatten a water is that to draw?One with another.We maun draw thereof a', we maun drink thereof a',Mother, my mother.And what shall ye pu' where the well rins deep?One with another.Green herb of death, fine flower of sleep,Mother, my mother.Are there ony fishes that swim therein?One with another.The white fish grace, and the red fish sin,Mother, my mother.Are there ony birds that sing thereby?One with another.O when they come thither they sing till they die,Mother, my mother.Is there ony draw-bucket to that well-head?One with another.There's a wee well-bucket hangs low by a thread,Mother, my mother.And whatten a thread is that to spin?One with another.It's green for grace, and it's black for sin,Mother, my mother.And what will ye strew on your bride-chamber floor?One with another.But one strewing and no more,Mother, my mother.And whatten a strewing shall that one be?One with another.The dust of earth and sand of the sea,Mother, my mother.And what will ye take to build your bed?One with another.Sighing and shame and the bones of the dead,Mother, my mother.And what will ye wear for your wedding gown?One with another.Grass for the green and dust for the brown,Mother, my mother.And what will ye wear for your wedding lace?One with another.A heavy heart and a hidden face,Mother, my mother.And what will ye wear for a wreath to your head?One with another.Ash for the white and blood for the red,Mother, my mother.And what will ye wear for your wedding ring?One with another.A weary thought for a weary thing,Mother, my mother.And what shall the chimes and the bell-ropes play?One with another.A weary tune on a weary day,Mother, my mother.And what shall be sung for your wedding song?One with another.A weary word of a weary wrong,Mother, my mother.The world's way with me runs back,One with another,Wedded in white and buried in black,Mother, my mother.The world's day and the world's night,One with another,Wedded in black and buried in white,Mother, my mother.The world's bliss and the world's teen,One with another,It's red for white and it's black for green,Mother, my mother.The world's will and the world's way,One with another,It's sighing for night and crying for day,Mother, my mother.The world's good and the world's worth,One with another,It's earth to flesh and it's flesh to earth,Mother, my mother.* * * * *When she came out at the kirkyard gate,(One with another)The bridegroom's mother was there in wait.(Mother, my mother.)O mother, where is my great green bed,(One with another)Silk at the foot and gold at the head,Mother, my mother?Yea, it is ready, the silk and the gold,One with another.But line it well that I lie not cold,Mother, my mother.She laid her cheek to the velvet and vair,One with another;She laid her arms up under her hair.(Mother, my mother.)Her gold hair fell through her arms fu' low,One with another:Lord God, bring me out of woe!(Mother, my mother.)Her gold hair fell in the gay reeds green,One with another:Lord God, bring me out of teen!(Mother, my mother.)* * * * *O mother, where is my lady gone?(One with another.)In the bride-chamber she makes sore moan:(Mother, my mother.)Her hair falls over the velvet and vair,(One with another)Her great soft tears fall over her hair.(Mother, my mother.)When he came into the bride's chamber,(One with another)Her hands were like pale yellow amber.(Mother, my mother.)Her tears made specks in the velvet and vair,(One with another)The seeds of the reeds made specks in her hair.(Mother, my mother.)He kissed her under the gold on her head;(One with another)The lids of her eyes were like cold lead.(Mother, my mother.)He kissed her under the fall of her chin;(One with another)There was right little blood therein.(Mother, my mother.)He kissed her under her shoulder sweet;(One with another)Her throat was weak, with little heat.(Mother, my mother.)He kissed her down by her breast-flowers red,One with another;They were like river-flowers dead.(Mother, my mother.)What ails you now o' your weeping, wife?(One with another.)It ails me sair o' my very life.(Mother, my mother.)What ails you now o' your weary ways?(One with another.)It ails me sair o' my long life-days.(Mother, my mother.)Nay, ye are young, ye are over fair.(One with another.)Though I be young, what needs ye care?(Mother, my mother.)Nay, ye are fair, ye are over sweet.(One with another.)Though I be fair, what needs ye greet?(Mother, my mother.)Nay, ye are mine while I hold my life.(One with another.)O fool, will ye marry the worm for a wife?(Mother, my mother.)Nay, ye are mine while I have my breath.(One with another.)O fool, will ye marry the dust of death?(Mother, my mother.)Yea, ye are mine, we are handfast wed,One with another.Nay, I am no man's; nay, I am dead,Mother, my mother.
O daughter, why do ye laugh and weep,One with another?For woe to wake and for will to sleep,Mother, my mother.
But weep ye winna the day ye wed,One with another.For tears are dry when the springs are dead,Mother, my mother.
Too long have your tears run down like rain,One with another.For a long love lost and a sweet love slain,Mother, my mother.
Too long have your tears dripped down like dew,One with another.For a knight that my sire and my brethren slew,Mother, my mother.
Let past things perish and dead griefs lie,One with another.O fain would I weep not, and fain would I die,Mother, my mother.
Fair gifts we give ye, to laugh and live,One with another.But sair and strange are the gifts I give,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give for your father's love?One with another.Fruits full few and thorns enough,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give for your mother's sake?One with another.Tears to brew and tares to bake,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your sister Jean?One with another.A bier to build and a babe to wean,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your sister Nell?One with another.The end of life and beginning of hell,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your sister Kate?One with another.Earth's door and hell's gate,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your brother Will?One with another.Life's grief and world's ill,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your brother Hugh?One with another.A bed of turf to turn into,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your brother John?One with another.The dust of death to feed upon,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your bauld bridegroom?One with another.A barren bed and an empty room,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your bridegroom's friend?One with another.A weary foot to the weary end,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye give your blithe bridesmaid?One with another.Grief to sew and sorrow to braid,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye drink the day ye're wed?One with another.But ae drink of the wan well-head,Mother, my mother.
And whatten a water is that to draw?One with another.We maun draw thereof a', we maun drink thereof a',Mother, my mother.
And what shall ye pu' where the well rins deep?One with another.Green herb of death, fine flower of sleep,Mother, my mother.
Are there ony fishes that swim therein?One with another.The white fish grace, and the red fish sin,Mother, my mother.
Are there ony birds that sing thereby?One with another.O when they come thither they sing till they die,Mother, my mother.
Is there ony draw-bucket to that well-head?One with another.There's a wee well-bucket hangs low by a thread,Mother, my mother.
And whatten a thread is that to spin?One with another.It's green for grace, and it's black for sin,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye strew on your bride-chamber floor?One with another.But one strewing and no more,Mother, my mother.
And whatten a strewing shall that one be?One with another.The dust of earth and sand of the sea,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye take to build your bed?One with another.Sighing and shame and the bones of the dead,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye wear for your wedding gown?One with another.Grass for the green and dust for the brown,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye wear for your wedding lace?One with another.A heavy heart and a hidden face,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye wear for a wreath to your head?One with another.Ash for the white and blood for the red,Mother, my mother.
And what will ye wear for your wedding ring?One with another.A weary thought for a weary thing,Mother, my mother.
And what shall the chimes and the bell-ropes play?One with another.A weary tune on a weary day,Mother, my mother.
And what shall be sung for your wedding song?One with another.A weary word of a weary wrong,Mother, my mother.
The world's way with me runs back,One with another,Wedded in white and buried in black,Mother, my mother.
The world's day and the world's night,One with another,Wedded in black and buried in white,Mother, my mother.
The world's bliss and the world's teen,One with another,It's red for white and it's black for green,Mother, my mother.
The world's will and the world's way,One with another,It's sighing for night and crying for day,Mother, my mother.
The world's good and the world's worth,One with another,It's earth to flesh and it's flesh to earth,Mother, my mother.
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When she came out at the kirkyard gate,(One with another)The bridegroom's mother was there in wait.(Mother, my mother.)
O mother, where is my great green bed,(One with another)Silk at the foot and gold at the head,Mother, my mother?
Yea, it is ready, the silk and the gold,One with another.But line it well that I lie not cold,Mother, my mother.
She laid her cheek to the velvet and vair,One with another;She laid her arms up under her hair.(Mother, my mother.)
Her gold hair fell through her arms fu' low,One with another:Lord God, bring me out of woe!(Mother, my mother.)
Her gold hair fell in the gay reeds green,One with another:Lord God, bring me out of teen!(Mother, my mother.)
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O mother, where is my lady gone?(One with another.)In the bride-chamber she makes sore moan:(Mother, my mother.)
Her hair falls over the velvet and vair,(One with another)Her great soft tears fall over her hair.(Mother, my mother.)
When he came into the bride's chamber,(One with another)Her hands were like pale yellow amber.(Mother, my mother.)
Her tears made specks in the velvet and vair,(One with another)The seeds of the reeds made specks in her hair.(Mother, my mother.)
He kissed her under the gold on her head;(One with another)The lids of her eyes were like cold lead.(Mother, my mother.)
He kissed her under the fall of her chin;(One with another)There was right little blood therein.(Mother, my mother.)
He kissed her under her shoulder sweet;(One with another)Her throat was weak, with little heat.(Mother, my mother.)
He kissed her down by her breast-flowers red,One with another;They were like river-flowers dead.(Mother, my mother.)
What ails you now o' your weeping, wife?(One with another.)It ails me sair o' my very life.(Mother, my mother.)
What ails you now o' your weary ways?(One with another.)It ails me sair o' my long life-days.(Mother, my mother.)
Nay, ye are young, ye are over fair.(One with another.)Though I be young, what needs ye care?(Mother, my mother.)
Nay, ye are fair, ye are over sweet.(One with another.)Though I be fair, what needs ye greet?(Mother, my mother.)
Nay, ye are mine while I hold my life.(One with another.)O fool, will ye marry the worm for a wife?(Mother, my mother.)
Nay, ye are mine while I have my breath.(One with another.)O fool, will ye marry the dust of death?(Mother, my mother.)
Yea, ye are mine, we are handfast wed,One with another.Nay, I am no man's; nay, I am dead,Mother, my mother.
O weary fa' the east wind,And weary fa' the west:And gin I were under the wan waves wideI wot weel wad I rest.O weary fa' the north wind,And weary fa' the south:The sea went ower my good lord's headOr ever he kissed my mouth.Weary fa' the windward rocks,And weary fa' the lee:They might hae sunken sevenscore ships,And let my love's gang free.And weary fa' ye, mariners a',And weary fa' the sea:It might hae taken an hundred men,And let my ae love be.
O weary fa' the east wind,And weary fa' the west:And gin I were under the wan waves wideI wot weel wad I rest.
O weary fa' the north wind,And weary fa' the south:The sea went ower my good lord's headOr ever he kissed my mouth.
Weary fa' the windward rocks,And weary fa' the lee:They might hae sunken sevenscore ships,And let my love's gang free.
And weary fa' ye, mariners a',And weary fa' the sea:It might hae taken an hundred men,And let my ae love be.
Fair of face, full of pride,Sit ye down by a dead man's side.Ye sang songs a' the day:Sit down at night in the red worm's way.Proud ye were a' day long:Ye'll be but lean at evensong.Ye had gowd kells on your hair:Nae man kens what ye were.Ye set scorn by the silken stuff:Now the grave is clean enough.Ye set scorn by the rubis ring:Now the worm is a saft sweet thing.Fine gold and blithe fair face,Ye are come to a grimly place.Gold hair and glad grey een,Nae man kens if ye have been.
Fair of face, full of pride,Sit ye down by a dead man's side.
Ye sang songs a' the day:Sit down at night in the red worm's way.
Proud ye were a' day long:Ye'll be but lean at evensong.
Ye had gowd kells on your hair:Nae man kens what ye were.
Ye set scorn by the silken stuff:Now the grave is clean enough.
Ye set scorn by the rubis ring:Now the worm is a saft sweet thing.
Fine gold and blithe fair face,Ye are come to a grimly place.
Gold hair and glad grey een,Nae man kens if ye have been.
Some die singing, and some die swinging,And weel mot a' they be:Some die playing, and some die praying,And I wot sae winna we, my dear,And I wot sae winna we.Some die sailing, and some die wailing,And some die fair and free:Some die flyting, and some die fighting,But I for a fause love's fee, my dear,But I for a fause love's fee.Some die laughing, and some die quaffing,And some die high on tree:Some die spinning, and some die sinning,But faggot and fire for ye, my dear,Faggot and fire for ye.Some die weeping, and some die sleeping,And some die under sea:Some die ganging, and some die hanging,And a twine of a tow for me, my dear,A twine of a tow for me.
Some die singing, and some die swinging,And weel mot a' they be:Some die playing, and some die praying,And I wot sae winna we, my dear,And I wot sae winna we.
Some die sailing, and some die wailing,And some die fair and free:Some die flyting, and some die fighting,But I for a fause love's fee, my dear,But I for a fause love's fee.
Some die laughing, and some die quaffing,And some die high on tree:Some die spinning, and some die sinning,But faggot and fire for ye, my dear,Faggot and fire for ye.
Some die weeping, and some die sleeping,And some die under sea:Some die ganging, and some die hanging,And a twine of a tow for me, my dear,A twine of a tow for me.
"O where will ye gang to and where will ye sleep,Against the night begins?""My bed is made wi' cauld sorrows,My sheets are lined wi' sins."And a sair grief sitting at my foot,And a sair grief at my head;And dule to lay me my laigh pillows,And teen till I be dead."And the rain is sair upon my face,And sair upon my hair;And the wind upon my weary mouth,That never may man kiss mair."And the snow upon my heavy lips,That never shall drink nor eat;And shame to cledding, and woe to wedding,And pain to drink and meat."But woe be to my bairns' father,And ever ill fare he:He has tane a braw bride hame to him,Cast out my bairns and me.""And what shall they have to their marriage meatThis day they twain are wed?""Meat of strong crying, salt of sad sighing,And God restore the dead.""And what shall they have to their wedding wineThis day they twain are wed?""Wine of weeping, and draughts of sleeping,And God raise up the dead."She's tane her to the wild woodside,Between the flood and fell:She's sought a rede against her needOf the fiend that bides in hell.She's tane her to the wan burnside,She's wrought wi' sang and spell:She's plighted her soul for doom and doleTo the fiend that bides in hell.She's set her young son to her breast,Her auld son to her knee:Says, "Weel for you the night, bairnies,And weel the morn for me."She looked fu' lang in their een, sighing,And sair and sair grat she:She has slain her young son at her breast,Her auld son at her knee.She's sodden their flesh wi' saft water,She's mixed their blood with wine:She's tane her to the braw bride-house,Where a' were boun' to dine.She poured the red wine in his cup,And his een grew fain to greet:She set the baked meats at his hand,And bade him drink and eat.Says, "Eat your fill of your flesh, my lord,And drink your fill of your wine;For a' thing's yours and only yoursThat has been yours and mine."Says, "Drink your fill of your wine, my lord,And eat your fill of your bread:I would they were quick in my body again,Or I that bare them dead."He struck her head frae her fair body,And dead for grief he fell:And there were twae mair sangs in heaven,And twae mair sauls in hell.
"O where will ye gang to and where will ye sleep,Against the night begins?""My bed is made wi' cauld sorrows,My sheets are lined wi' sins.
"And a sair grief sitting at my foot,And a sair grief at my head;And dule to lay me my laigh pillows,And teen till I be dead.
"And the rain is sair upon my face,And sair upon my hair;And the wind upon my weary mouth,That never may man kiss mair.
"And the snow upon my heavy lips,That never shall drink nor eat;And shame to cledding, and woe to wedding,And pain to drink and meat.
"But woe be to my bairns' father,And ever ill fare he:He has tane a braw bride hame to him,Cast out my bairns and me."
"And what shall they have to their marriage meatThis day they twain are wed?""Meat of strong crying, salt of sad sighing,And God restore the dead."
"And what shall they have to their wedding wineThis day they twain are wed?""Wine of weeping, and draughts of sleeping,And God raise up the dead."
She's tane her to the wild woodside,Between the flood and fell:She's sought a rede against her needOf the fiend that bides in hell.
She's tane her to the wan burnside,She's wrought wi' sang and spell:She's plighted her soul for doom and doleTo the fiend that bides in hell.
She's set her young son to her breast,Her auld son to her knee:Says, "Weel for you the night, bairnies,And weel the morn for me."
She looked fu' lang in their een, sighing,And sair and sair grat she:She has slain her young son at her breast,Her auld son at her knee.
She's sodden their flesh wi' saft water,She's mixed their blood with wine:She's tane her to the braw bride-house,Where a' were boun' to dine.
She poured the red wine in his cup,And his een grew fain to greet:She set the baked meats at his hand,And bade him drink and eat.
Says, "Eat your fill of your flesh, my lord,And drink your fill of your wine;For a' thing's yours and only yoursThat has been yours and mine."
Says, "Drink your fill of your wine, my lord,And eat your fill of your bread:I would they were quick in my body again,Or I that bare them dead."
He struck her head frae her fair body,And dead for grief he fell:And there were twae mair sangs in heaven,And twae mair sauls in hell.