Chapter 2

THE GREY WOLF'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!''O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!''Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.''I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

THE GREY WOLF

'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!''O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!''Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'

'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!'

'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'

'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;

Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'

'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,

O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,

Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,

Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'

THE OGRE'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale,And moonlight on an Ogre keen,Who prowling hungry through the daleA lone cottage hath seen.Small with thin smoke ascending upThree casements and a door:—The Ogre eager is to sup,And here seems dainty store.Sweet as a larder to a mouse,So to him staring down,Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house,With jasmine overgrown.He snorted, as the billows snortIn darkness of the night,Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart,He glowered on the sight.Into the garden sweet with peasHe put his wooden shoe,And bending back the apple treesCrept covetously through;Then, stooping, with an impious eyeStared through the lattice small,And spied two children which did lieAsleep, against the wall.Into their dreams no shadow fell,Of his disastrous thumbGroping discreet, and gradual,Across the quiet room.But scarce his nail had scraped the cotWherein these children lay,As if his malice were forgot,It suddenly did stay.For faintly in the ingle-nookHe heard a cradlesong,That rose into his thoughts and wokeTerror them among.For she who in the kitchen satDarning by the fire,Guileless of what he would be at,Sang sweet as wind or wire:—'Lullay, thou little tiny child,By-by, lullay, lullie;Jesu of glory, meek and mild,This night remember ye!'Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,He deems 'em smoke to be;Lullay, thou little tiny child,By-by, lullay, lullie!'The Ogre lifted up his eyesInto the moon's pale ray,And gazed upon her leopard-wise,Cruel and clear as day;He snarled in gluttony and fear:'The wind blows dismally,Jesu in storm my lambs be near,By-by, lullay, lullie!'And like a ravenous beast which seesThe hunter's icy eye,So did this wretch in wrath confessSweet Jesu's mastery.He lightly drew his greedy thumbFrom out that casement pale,And strode, enormous, swiftly home,Whinnying down the dale.

THE OGRE

'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale,And moonlight on an Ogre keen,Who prowling hungry through the daleA lone cottage hath seen.

'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale,

And moonlight on an Ogre keen,

Who prowling hungry through the dale

A lone cottage hath seen.

Small with thin smoke ascending upThree casements and a door:—The Ogre eager is to sup,And here seems dainty store.

Small with thin smoke ascending up

Three casements and a door:—

The Ogre eager is to sup,

And here seems dainty store.

Sweet as a larder to a mouse,So to him staring down,Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house,With jasmine overgrown.

Sweet as a larder to a mouse,

So to him staring down,

Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house,

With jasmine overgrown.

He snorted, as the billows snortIn darkness of the night,Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart,He glowered on the sight.

He snorted, as the billows snort

In darkness of the night,

Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart,

He glowered on the sight.

Into the garden sweet with peasHe put his wooden shoe,And bending back the apple treesCrept covetously through;

Into the garden sweet with peas

He put his wooden shoe,

And bending back the apple trees

Crept covetously through;

Then, stooping, with an impious eyeStared through the lattice small,And spied two children which did lieAsleep, against the wall.

Then, stooping, with an impious eye

Stared through the lattice small,

And spied two children which did lie

Asleep, against the wall.

Into their dreams no shadow fell,Of his disastrous thumbGroping discreet, and gradual,Across the quiet room.

Into their dreams no shadow fell,

Of his disastrous thumb

Groping discreet, and gradual,

Across the quiet room.

But scarce his nail had scraped the cotWherein these children lay,As if his malice were forgot,It suddenly did stay.

But scarce his nail had scraped the cot

Wherein these children lay,

As if his malice were forgot,

It suddenly did stay.

For faintly in the ingle-nookHe heard a cradlesong,That rose into his thoughts and wokeTerror them among.

For faintly in the ingle-nook

He heard a cradlesong,

That rose into his thoughts and woke

Terror them among.

For she who in the kitchen satDarning by the fire,Guileless of what he would be at,Sang sweet as wind or wire:—

For she who in the kitchen sat

Darning by the fire,

Guileless of what he would be at,

Sang sweet as wind or wire:—

'Lullay, thou little tiny child,By-by, lullay, lullie;Jesu of glory, meek and mild,This night remember ye!

'Lullay, thou little tiny child,

By-by, lullay, lullie;

Jesu of glory, meek and mild,

This night remember ye!

'Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,He deems 'em smoke to be;Lullay, thou little tiny child,By-by, lullay, lullie!'

'Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,

He deems 'em smoke to be;

Lullay, thou little tiny child,

By-by, lullay, lullie!'

The Ogre lifted up his eyesInto the moon's pale ray,And gazed upon her leopard-wise,Cruel and clear as day;

The Ogre lifted up his eyes

Into the moon's pale ray,

And gazed upon her leopard-wise,

Cruel and clear as day;

He snarled in gluttony and fear:'The wind blows dismally,Jesu in storm my lambs be near,By-by, lullay, lullie!'

He snarled in gluttony and fear:

'The wind blows dismally,

Jesu in storm my lambs be near,

By-by, lullay, lullie!'

And like a ravenous beast which seesThe hunter's icy eye,So did this wretch in wrath confessSweet Jesu's mastery.

And like a ravenous beast which sees

The hunter's icy eye,

So did this wretch in wrath confess

Sweet Jesu's mastery.

He lightly drew his greedy thumbFrom out that casement pale,And strode, enormous, swiftly home,Whinnying down the dale.

He lightly drew his greedy thumb

From out that casement pale,

And strode, enormous, swiftly home,

Whinnying down the dale.

DAME HICKORY'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's sticks for your fire,Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,And beech-twigs, and briar!'But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's meat for your broth,Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,And pig's trotters both!'But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's a wolf at your door,His teeth grinning white,And his tongue wagging sore!''Nay!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie!'But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's buds for your tomb,Bramble, and lavender,And rosemary bloom!''Hush!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie,Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me.'

DAME HICKORY

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's sticks for your fire,Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,And beech-twigs, and briar!'But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,

Here's sticks for your fire,

Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,

And beech-twigs, and briar!'

But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,

She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's meat for your broth,Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,And pig's trotters both!'But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,

Here's meat for your broth,

Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,

And pig's trotters both!'

But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,

She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's a wolf at your door,His teeth grinning white,And his tongue wagging sore!''Nay!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie!'But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,

Here's a wolf at your door,

His teeth grinning white,

And his tongue wagging sore!'

'Nay!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie!'

But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,Here's buds for your tomb,Bramble, and lavender,And rosemary bloom!''Hush!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie,Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me.'

'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,

Here's buds for your tomb,

Bramble, and lavender,

And rosemary bloom!'

'Hush!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie,

Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me.'

THE PILGRIM'Shall we carry now your bundle,You old grey man?Over hill and over meadow,Lighter than an owlet's shadow,We will whirl it through the air,Through blue regions shrill and bare;Shall we carry now your bundle,You old grey man?'The Pilgrim lifted up his eyesAnd saw three fiends, in the skies,Stooping o'er that lonely placeEvil in form and face.'O leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends!Far it is my feet must wander,And my city lieth yonder;I must bear my bundle alone,Help nor solace suffer none:O leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends!'The fiends stared down with greedy eye,Fanning the chill air duskily,'Twixt their hoods they stoop and cry:—'Shall we smooth the path before you,You old grey man?Sprinkle it green with gilded showers,Strew it o'er with painted flowers?Shall we blow sweet airs on it,Lure the magpie there to flit?Shall we smooth the path before you,You old grey man?''O silence, silence, silence!Ye three wild fiends!Over bog, and fen, and boulder,I must bear it on my shoulder,Beaten of wind, torn of briar,Smitten of rain, parched of fire:O silence, silence, silence!Ye three wild fiends!'It seemed a smoke obscured the air,Bright lightning quivered in the gloom,And a faint voice of thunder spakeFar in the lone hill-hollows—'Come!'Then half in fury, half in dread,The fiends drew closer down and said:—'Grey old man but sleep awhile;Sad old man!Thorn, and dust, and ice, and heat;Tarry now, sit down and eat;Heat, and ice, and dust, and thorn;Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn,—Juice of purple grape shall beYouth and solace unto thee.With sweet wire and reed we'll haunt you;Songs of the valley shall enchant you;Rest now, lest this night you die:Sweet be now our lullaby:'Grey old man, come sleep awhile,Stubborn old man!'The pilgrim crouches terrifiedAt stooping hood, and glassy face,Gloating, evil, side by side;Terror and hate brood o'er the place;He flings his withered hands on highWith a bitter, breaking cry:—'Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends:If I lay me down in slumber,Then I lay me down in wrath;If I stir not in sweet dreaming,Then I wither in my path;If I hear sweet voices singing,'Tis a demon's lullaby,And in "hideous storm and terror"Wake but to die!'And even while he spake, the sunFrom the sweet hills pierced the gloom,Kindling th' affrighted fiends upon.Wild flapped their wings, as if in doom,He heard a dismal hooting laughter:—Nought but a little rain fell after,And from the cloud whither they flewA storm-sweet lark rose in the blue:And his bundle seemed of flowersIn his solitary hours.

THE PILGRIM

'Shall we carry now your bundle,You old grey man?

'Shall we carry now your bundle,

You old grey man?

Over hill and over meadow,Lighter than an owlet's shadow,We will whirl it through the air,Through blue regions shrill and bare;

Over hill and over meadow,

Lighter than an owlet's shadow,

We will whirl it through the air,

Through blue regions shrill and bare;

Shall we carry now your bundle,You old grey man?'

Shall we carry now your bundle,

You old grey man?'

The Pilgrim lifted up his eyesAnd saw three fiends, in the skies,Stooping o'er that lonely placeEvil in form and face.

The Pilgrim lifted up his eyes

And saw three fiends, in the skies,

Stooping o'er that lonely place

Evil in form and face.

'O leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends!

'O leave me, leave me, leave me,

Ye three wild fiends!

Far it is my feet must wander,And my city lieth yonder;I must bear my bundle alone,Help nor solace suffer none:

Far it is my feet must wander,

And my city lieth yonder;

I must bear my bundle alone,

Help nor solace suffer none:

O leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends!'

O leave me, leave me, leave me,

Ye three wild fiends!'

The fiends stared down with greedy eye,Fanning the chill air duskily,'Twixt their hoods they stoop and cry:—

The fiends stared down with greedy eye,

Fanning the chill air duskily,

'Twixt their hoods they stoop and cry:—

'Shall we smooth the path before you,You old grey man?

'Shall we smooth the path before you,

You old grey man?

Sprinkle it green with gilded showers,Strew it o'er with painted flowers?Shall we blow sweet airs on it,Lure the magpie there to flit?

Sprinkle it green with gilded showers,

Strew it o'er with painted flowers?

Shall we blow sweet airs on it,

Lure the magpie there to flit?

Shall we smooth the path before you,You old grey man?'

Shall we smooth the path before you,

You old grey man?'

'O silence, silence, silence!Ye three wild fiends!

'O silence, silence, silence!

Ye three wild fiends!

Over bog, and fen, and boulder,I must bear it on my shoulder,Beaten of wind, torn of briar,Smitten of rain, parched of fire:

Over bog, and fen, and boulder,

I must bear it on my shoulder,

Beaten of wind, torn of briar,

Smitten of rain, parched of fire:

O silence, silence, silence!Ye three wild fiends!'

O silence, silence, silence!

Ye three wild fiends!'

It seemed a smoke obscured the air,Bright lightning quivered in the gloom,And a faint voice of thunder spakeFar in the lone hill-hollows—'Come!'Then half in fury, half in dread,The fiends drew closer down and said:—

It seemed a smoke obscured the air,

Bright lightning quivered in the gloom,

And a faint voice of thunder spake

Far in the lone hill-hollows—'Come!'

Then half in fury, half in dread,

The fiends drew closer down and said:—

'Grey old man but sleep awhile;Sad old man!

'Grey old man but sleep awhile;

Sad old man!

Thorn, and dust, and ice, and heat;Tarry now, sit down and eat;Heat, and ice, and dust, and thorn;Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn,—Juice of purple grape shall beYouth and solace unto thee.

Thorn, and dust, and ice, and heat;

Tarry now, sit down and eat;

Heat, and ice, and dust, and thorn;

Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn,—

Juice of purple grape shall be

Youth and solace unto thee.

With sweet wire and reed we'll haunt you;Songs of the valley shall enchant you;Rest now, lest this night you die:Sweet be now our lullaby:

With sweet wire and reed we'll haunt you;

Songs of the valley shall enchant you;

Rest now, lest this night you die:

Sweet be now our lullaby:

'Grey old man, come sleep awhile,Stubborn old man!'

'Grey old man, come sleep awhile,

Stubborn old man!'

The pilgrim crouches terrifiedAt stooping hood, and glassy face,Gloating, evil, side by side;Terror and hate brood o'er the place;He flings his withered hands on highWith a bitter, breaking cry:—

The pilgrim crouches terrified

At stooping hood, and glassy face,

Gloating, evil, side by side;

Terror and hate brood o'er the place;

He flings his withered hands on high

With a bitter, breaking cry:—

'Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,Ye three wild fiends:If I lay me down in slumber,Then I lay me down in wrath;If I stir not in sweet dreaming,Then I wither in my path;If I hear sweet voices singing,'Tis a demon's lullaby,And in "hideous storm and terror"Wake but to die!'

'Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,

Ye three wild fiends:

If I lay me down in slumber,

Then I lay me down in wrath;

If I stir not in sweet dreaming,

Then I wither in my path;

If I hear sweet voices singing,

'Tis a demon's lullaby,

And in "hideous storm and terror"

Wake but to die!'

And even while he spake, the sunFrom the sweet hills pierced the gloom,Kindling th' affrighted fiends upon.Wild flapped their wings, as if in doom,He heard a dismal hooting laughter:—

And even while he spake, the sun

From the sweet hills pierced the gloom,

Kindling th' affrighted fiends upon.

Wild flapped their wings, as if in doom,

He heard a dismal hooting laughter:—

Nought but a little rain fell after,And from the cloud whither they flewA storm-sweet lark rose in the blue:And his bundle seemed of flowersIn his solitary hours.

Nought but a little rain fell after,

And from the cloud whither they flew

A storm-sweet lark rose in the blue:

And his bundle seemed of flowers

In his solitary hours.

THE GAGE'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane!Your hound hath broken bounds again,And chased my timorous deer, O;If him I see,That hour he'll dee;My brakes shall be his bier, O.''Lord Aërie, Lord Aërie,My hound, I trow, is fleet and free,He's welcome to your deer, O;Shoot, shoot you may,He'll gang his way,Your threats we nothing fear, O.'He's fetched him in, he's fetched him in,Gone all his swiftness, all his din,White fang, and glowering eye, O:'Here is your beast,And now at leastMy herds in peace shall lie, O.'"In peace!" my lord, O mark me well!For what my jolly hound befellYou shall sup twenty-fold, O!For every toothOf his, i'sooth,A stag in pawn I hold, O.'Huntsman and horn, huntsman and horn,Shall scare your heaths and coverts lorn,Braying 'em shrill and clear, O;But lone and stillShall lift each hill,Each valley wan and sere, O.'Ride up you may, ride down you may,Lonely or trooped, by night or day,My hound shall haunt you ever:Bird, beast, and gameShall dread the same,The wild fish of your river.'Her cheek is like the angry rose,Her eye with wrath and pity flows:He gazes fierce and round, O,—'Dear Lord!' he says,'What lovelinessTo waste upon a hound, O.'I'd give my stags, my hills and dales,My stormcocks and my nightingalesTo have undone this deed, O;For deep beneathMy heart is deathWhich for her love doth bleed, O.'Wanders he up, wanders he down,On foot, a-horse, by night and noon:His lands are bleak and drear, O;Forsook his dalesOf nightingales,Forsook his moors of deer, O.Forsook his heart, ah me! of mirth;There's nothing lightsome left on earth:Only one scene is fain, O,Where far remoteThe moonbeams gloat,And sleeps the lovely Jane, O.Until an eve when lone he went,Gnawing his beard in dreariment,Lo! from a thicket hidden,Lovely as flowerIn April hour,Steps forth a form unbidden.'Get ye now down, Lord Aërie,I'm troubled so I'm like to dee,'She cries, 'twixt joy and grief, O;'The hound is dead,When all is said,But love is past belief, O.'Nights, nights I've lain your lands to see,Forlorn and still—and all for me,All for a foolish curse, O;Now here am ICome out to die,To live unlov'd is worse, O!'In faith, this lord, in that lone dale,Hears now a sweeter nightingale,And lairs a tend'rer deer, O;His sorrow goesLike mountain snowsIn waters sweet and clear, O!Let the hound bay in Shadowland,Tuning his ear to understandWhat voice hath tamed this Aërie;Chafe, chafe he mayThe stag all day,And never thirst nor weary.Now here he smells, now there he smells,Winding his voice along the dells,Till grey flows up the morn, O;Then hies againTo Lady Jane,No longer now forlorn, O.Ay, as it were a bud, did breakTo loveliness for Aërie's sake,So she in beauty movingRides at his handAcross his land,Beloved as well as loving.

THE GAGE

'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane!Your hound hath broken bounds again,And chased my timorous deer, O;If him I see,That hour he'll dee;My brakes shall be his bier, O.'

'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane!

Your hound hath broken bounds again,

And chased my timorous deer, O;

If him I see,

That hour he'll dee;

My brakes shall be his bier, O.'

'Lord Aërie, Lord Aërie,My hound, I trow, is fleet and free,He's welcome to your deer, O;Shoot, shoot you may,He'll gang his way,Your threats we nothing fear, O.'

'Lord Aërie, Lord Aërie,

My hound, I trow, is fleet and free,

He's welcome to your deer, O;

Shoot, shoot you may,

He'll gang his way,

Your threats we nothing fear, O.'

He's fetched him in, he's fetched him in,Gone all his swiftness, all his din,White fang, and glowering eye, O:'Here is your beast,And now at leastMy herds in peace shall lie, O.'

He's fetched him in, he's fetched him in,

Gone all his swiftness, all his din,

White fang, and glowering eye, O:

'Here is your beast,

And now at least

My herds in peace shall lie, O.'

"In peace!" my lord, O mark me well!For what my jolly hound befellYou shall sup twenty-fold, O!For every toothOf his, i'sooth,A stag in pawn I hold, O.

"In peace!" my lord, O mark me well!

For what my jolly hound befell

You shall sup twenty-fold, O!

For every tooth

Of his, i'sooth,

A stag in pawn I hold, O.

'Huntsman and horn, huntsman and horn,Shall scare your heaths and coverts lorn,Braying 'em shrill and clear, O;But lone and stillShall lift each hill,Each valley wan and sere, O.

'Huntsman and horn, huntsman and horn,

Shall scare your heaths and coverts lorn,

Braying 'em shrill and clear, O;

But lone and still

Shall lift each hill,

Each valley wan and sere, O.

'Ride up you may, ride down you may,Lonely or trooped, by night or day,My hound shall haunt you ever:Bird, beast, and gameShall dread the same,The wild fish of your river.'

'Ride up you may, ride down you may,

Lonely or trooped, by night or day,

My hound shall haunt you ever:

Bird, beast, and game

Shall dread the same,

The wild fish of your river.'

Her cheek is like the angry rose,Her eye with wrath and pity flows:He gazes fierce and round, O,—'Dear Lord!' he says,'What lovelinessTo waste upon a hound, O.

Her cheek is like the angry rose,

Her eye with wrath and pity flows:

He gazes fierce and round, O,—

'Dear Lord!' he says,

'What loveliness

To waste upon a hound, O.

'I'd give my stags, my hills and dales,My stormcocks and my nightingalesTo have undone this deed, O;For deep beneathMy heart is deathWhich for her love doth bleed, O.'

'I'd give my stags, my hills and dales,

My stormcocks and my nightingales

To have undone this deed, O;

For deep beneath

My heart is death

Which for her love doth bleed, O.'

Wanders he up, wanders he down,On foot, a-horse, by night and noon:His lands are bleak and drear, O;Forsook his dalesOf nightingales,Forsook his moors of deer, O.

Wanders he up, wanders he down,

On foot, a-horse, by night and noon:

His lands are bleak and drear, O;

Forsook his dales

Of nightingales,

Forsook his moors of deer, O.

Forsook his heart, ah me! of mirth;There's nothing lightsome left on earth:Only one scene is fain, O,Where far remoteThe moonbeams gloat,And sleeps the lovely Jane, O.

Forsook his heart, ah me! of mirth;

There's nothing lightsome left on earth:

Only one scene is fain, O,

Where far remote

The moonbeams gloat,

And sleeps the lovely Jane, O.

Until an eve when lone he went,Gnawing his beard in dreariment,Lo! from a thicket hidden,Lovely as flowerIn April hour,Steps forth a form unbidden.

Until an eve when lone he went,

Gnawing his beard in dreariment,

Lo! from a thicket hidden,

Lovely as flower

In April hour,

Steps forth a form unbidden.

'Get ye now down, Lord Aërie,I'm troubled so I'm like to dee,'She cries, 'twixt joy and grief, O;'The hound is dead,When all is said,But love is past belief, O.

'Get ye now down, Lord Aërie,

I'm troubled so I'm like to dee,'

She cries, 'twixt joy and grief, O;

'The hound is dead,

When all is said,

But love is past belief, O.

'Nights, nights I've lain your lands to see,Forlorn and still—and all for me,All for a foolish curse, O;Now here am ICome out to die,To live unlov'd is worse, O!'

'Nights, nights I've lain your lands to see,

Forlorn and still—and all for me,

All for a foolish curse, O;

Now here am I

Come out to die,

To live unlov'd is worse, O!'

In faith, this lord, in that lone dale,Hears now a sweeter nightingale,And lairs a tend'rer deer, O;His sorrow goesLike mountain snowsIn waters sweet and clear, O!

In faith, this lord, in that lone dale,

Hears now a sweeter nightingale,

And lairs a tend'rer deer, O;

His sorrow goes

Like mountain snows

In waters sweet and clear, O!

Let the hound bay in Shadowland,Tuning his ear to understandWhat voice hath tamed this Aërie;Chafe, chafe he mayThe stag all day,And never thirst nor weary.

Let the hound bay in Shadowland,

Tuning his ear to understand

What voice hath tamed this Aërie;

Chafe, chafe he may

The stag all day,

And never thirst nor weary.

Now here he smells, now there he smells,Winding his voice along the dells,Till grey flows up the morn, O;Then hies againTo Lady Jane,No longer now forlorn, O.

Now here he smells, now there he smells,

Winding his voice along the dells,

Till grey flows up the morn, O;

Then hies again

To Lady Jane,

No longer now forlorn, O.

Ay, as it were a bud, did breakTo loveliness for Aërie's sake,So she in beauty movingRides at his handAcross his land,Beloved as well as loving.

Ay, as it were a bud, did break

To loveliness for Aërie's sake,

So she in beauty moving

Rides at his hand

Across his land,

Beloved as well as loving.

AS LUCY WENT A-WALKINGAs Lucy went a-walking one wintry morning fine,There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine:Then 'O!' said Lucy, in the snow, 'it's very plain to seeA witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'Then stept she light and heedfully across the frozen snow,And plucked a bunch of elder-twigs that near a pool did grow:And, by and by, she comes to seven shadows in one placeAll stretched by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she seesA little well of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees;Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels,And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.But when the belfry ceased to sound yet nothing could she see,Save only frozen water in the shadow of the tree.But presently she lifted up her eyes along the snow,And sees a witch in brindled shawl a-frisking to and fro.Her shoes were buckled scarlet that capered to and fro,And all her rusty locks were wreathed with twisted mistletoe;But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see,Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she lissomely.It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost;It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tost;It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose:'Nay!' Lucy said, 'it is the wind that through the branches flows.'And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three,And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree,And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before,And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four.'O! who are ye,' sweet Lucy cries, 'that in a dreadful ring,All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?''A witch and witches, one and nine,' they straight to her reply,And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold sweet cherry-trees upgrow,And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow;She smells all faint the almond-boughs that blow so wild and fair,And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.Clear flow'rs she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds,With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words;And as with ropes of amethyst the boughs with lamps were hung,And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.'O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three!Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?'But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word,Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;Nor warbling flame, nor gloaming-rope of amethyst there shows,Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose,Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindled shawl,But like a dream which vanishes, so vanished were they all.When Lucy sees, and only sees, three crows upon a bough,And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow,Then 'O!' said Lucy, 'three times three is nine—I plainly seeSome witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'

AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING

As Lucy went a-walking one wintry morning fine,There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine:Then 'O!' said Lucy, in the snow, 'it's very plain to seeA witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'

As Lucy went a-walking one wintry morning fine,

There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine:

Then 'O!' said Lucy, in the snow, 'it's very plain to see

A witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'

Then stept she light and heedfully across the frozen snow,And plucked a bunch of elder-twigs that near a pool did grow:And, by and by, she comes to seven shadows in one placeAll stretched by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.

Then stept she light and heedfully across the frozen snow,

And plucked a bunch of elder-twigs that near a pool did grow:

And, by and by, she comes to seven shadows in one place

All stretched by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.

She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she seesA little well of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees;Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels,And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.

She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she sees

A little well of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees;

Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels,

And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.

But when the belfry ceased to sound yet nothing could she see,Save only frozen water in the shadow of the tree.But presently she lifted up her eyes along the snow,And sees a witch in brindled shawl a-frisking to and fro.

But when the belfry ceased to sound yet nothing could she see,

Save only frozen water in the shadow of the tree.

But presently she lifted up her eyes along the snow,

And sees a witch in brindled shawl a-frisking to and fro.

Her shoes were buckled scarlet that capered to and fro,And all her rusty locks were wreathed with twisted mistletoe;But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see,Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she lissomely.

Her shoes were buckled scarlet that capered to and fro,

And all her rusty locks were wreathed with twisted mistletoe;

But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see,

Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she lissomely.

It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost;It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tost;It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose:'Nay!' Lucy said, 'it is the wind that through the branches flows.'

It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost;

It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tost;

It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose:

'Nay!' Lucy said, 'it is the wind that through the branches flows.'

And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three,And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree,And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before,And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four.

And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three,

And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree,

And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before,

And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four.

'O! who are ye,' sweet Lucy cries, 'that in a dreadful ring,All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?''A witch and witches, one and nine,' they straight to her reply,And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.

'O! who are ye,' sweet Lucy cries, 'that in a dreadful ring,

All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?'

'A witch and witches, one and nine,' they straight to her reply,

And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.

Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold sweet cherry-trees upgrow,And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow;She smells all faint the almond-boughs that blow so wild and fair,And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.

Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold sweet cherry-trees upgrow,

And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow;

She smells all faint the almond-boughs that blow so wild and fair,

And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.

Clear flow'rs she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds,With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words;And as with ropes of amethyst the boughs with lamps were hung,And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.

Clear flow'rs she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds,

With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words;

And as with ropes of amethyst the boughs with lamps were hung,

And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.

'O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three!Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?'But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word,Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;

'O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three!

Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?'

But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word,

Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;

Nor warbling flame, nor gloaming-rope of amethyst there shows,Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose,Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindled shawl,But like a dream which vanishes, so vanished were they all.

Nor warbling flame, nor gloaming-rope of amethyst there shows,

Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose,

Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindled shawl,

But like a dream which vanishes, so vanished were they all.

When Lucy sees, and only sees, three crows upon a bough,And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow,Then 'O!' said Lucy, 'three times three is nine—I plainly seeSome witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'

When Lucy sees, and only sees, three crows upon a bough,

And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow,

Then 'O!' said Lucy, 'three times three is nine—I plainly see

Some witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'

THE ENGLISHMANI met a sailor in the woods,A silver ring wore he,His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,And thus he said to me:—'What country, say, of this round earth,What shore of what salt sea,Be this, my son, I wander in,And looks so strange to me?'Says I, 'O foreign sailorman,In England now you be,This is her wood, and this her sky,And that her roaring sea.'He lifts his voice yet louder,'What smell be this,' says he,'My nose on the sharp morning airSnuffs up so greedily?'Says I, 'It is wild rosesDo smell so winsomely,And winy briar too,' says I,'That in these thickets be.''And oh!' says he, 'what leetle birdIs singing in yon high tree,So every shrill and long-drawn noteLike bubbles breaks in me?'Says I, 'It is the mavisThat perches in the tree,And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,When dawn comes up the sea.'At which he fell a-musing,And fixed his eye on me,As one alone 'twixt light and darkA spirit thinks to see'England!' he whispers soft and harsh,'England!' repeated he,'And briar, and rose, and mavis,A-singing in yon high tree.'Ye speak me true, my leetle son,So—so, it came to me,A-drifting landwards on a spar,And grey dawn on the sea.'Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;I knew them leafy trees,I knew that land so witcherie sweet,And that old noise of seas.'Though here I've sailed a score of years,And heard 'em, dream or wake,Lap small and hollow 'gainst my cheek,On sand and coral break;'"Yet now, my leetle son," says I,A-drifting on the wave,"That land I see so safe and greenIs England, I believe.'"And that there wood is English wood,And this here cruel sea,The selfsame old blue oceanYears gone remembers me,"A-sitting with my bread and butterDown ahind yon chitterin' mill;And this same Marinere"—(that's me),"Is that same leetle Will!—"That very same wee leetle WillEating his bread and butter there,A-looking on the broad blue seaBetwixt his yaller hair!"'And here be I, my son, throwed upLike corpses from the sea,Ships, stars, winds, tempests, pirates past,Yet leetle Will I be!'He said no more, that sailorman,But in a reverieStared like the figure of a shipWith painted eyes to sea.

THE ENGLISHMAN

I met a sailor in the woods,A silver ring wore he,His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,And thus he said to me:—

I met a sailor in the woods,

A silver ring wore he,

His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,

And thus he said to me:—

'What country, say, of this round earth,What shore of what salt sea,Be this, my son, I wander in,And looks so strange to me?'

'What country, say, of this round earth,

What shore of what salt sea,

Be this, my son, I wander in,

And looks so strange to me?'

Says I, 'O foreign sailorman,In England now you be,This is her wood, and this her sky,And that her roaring sea.'

Says I, 'O foreign sailorman,

In England now you be,

This is her wood, and this her sky,

And that her roaring sea.'

He lifts his voice yet louder,'What smell be this,' says he,'My nose on the sharp morning airSnuffs up so greedily?'

He lifts his voice yet louder,

'What smell be this,' says he,

'My nose on the sharp morning air

Snuffs up so greedily?'

Says I, 'It is wild rosesDo smell so winsomely,And winy briar too,' says I,'That in these thickets be.'

Says I, 'It is wild roses

Do smell so winsomely,

And winy briar too,' says I,

'That in these thickets be.'

'And oh!' says he, 'what leetle birdIs singing in yon high tree,So every shrill and long-drawn noteLike bubbles breaks in me?'

'And oh!' says he, 'what leetle bird

Is singing in yon high tree,

So every shrill and long-drawn note

Like bubbles breaks in me?'

Says I, 'It is the mavisThat perches in the tree,And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,When dawn comes up the sea.'

Says I, 'It is the mavis

That perches in the tree,

And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,

When dawn comes up the sea.'

At which he fell a-musing,And fixed his eye on me,As one alone 'twixt light and darkA spirit thinks to see

At which he fell a-musing,

And fixed his eye on me,

As one alone 'twixt light and dark

A spirit thinks to see

'England!' he whispers soft and harsh,'England!' repeated he,'And briar, and rose, and mavis,A-singing in yon high tree.

'England!' he whispers soft and harsh,

'England!' repeated he,

'And briar, and rose, and mavis,

A-singing in yon high tree.

'Ye speak me true, my leetle son,So—so, it came to me,A-drifting landwards on a spar,And grey dawn on the sea.

'Ye speak me true, my leetle son,

So—so, it came to me,

A-drifting landwards on a spar,

And grey dawn on the sea.

'Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;I knew them leafy trees,I knew that land so witcherie sweet,And that old noise of seas.

'Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;

I knew them leafy trees,

I knew that land so witcherie sweet,

And that old noise of seas.

'Though here I've sailed a score of years,And heard 'em, dream or wake,Lap small and hollow 'gainst my cheek,On sand and coral break;

'Though here I've sailed a score of years,

And heard 'em, dream or wake,

Lap small and hollow 'gainst my cheek,

On sand and coral break;

'"Yet now, my leetle son," says I,A-drifting on the wave,"That land I see so safe and greenIs England, I believe.

'"Yet now, my leetle son," says I,

A-drifting on the wave,

"That land I see so safe and green

Is England, I believe.

'"And that there wood is English wood,And this here cruel sea,The selfsame old blue oceanYears gone remembers me,

'"And that there wood is English wood,

And this here cruel sea,

The selfsame old blue ocean

Years gone remembers me,

"A-sitting with my bread and butterDown ahind yon chitterin' mill;And this same Marinere"—(that's me),"Is that same leetle Will!—

"A-sitting with my bread and butter

Down ahind yon chitterin' mill;

And this same Marinere"—(that's me),

"Is that same leetle Will!—

"That very same wee leetle WillEating his bread and butter there,A-looking on the broad blue seaBetwixt his yaller hair!"

"That very same wee leetle Will

Eating his bread and butter there,

A-looking on the broad blue sea

Betwixt his yaller hair!"

'And here be I, my son, throwed upLike corpses from the sea,Ships, stars, winds, tempests, pirates past,Yet leetle Will I be!'

'And here be I, my son, throwed up

Like corpses from the sea,

Ships, stars, winds, tempests, pirates past,

Yet leetle Will I be!'

He said no more, that sailorman,But in a reverieStared like the figure of a shipWith painted eyes to sea.

He said no more, that sailorman,

But in a reverie

Stared like the figure of a ship

With painted eyes to sea.

THE PHANTOM'Upstairs in the large closet, child,This side the blue-room door,Is an old Bible, bound in leather,Standing upon the floor;'Go with this taper, bring it me;Carry it on your arm;It is the book on many a seaHath stilled the waves' alarm.'Late the hour, dark the night,The house is solitary,Feeble is a taper's lightTo light poor Ann to see.Her eyes are yet with visions brightOf sylph and river, flower and fay,Now through a narrow corridorShe takes her lonely way.Vast shadows on the heedless wallsGigantic loom, stoop low:Each little hasty footfall callsHollowly to and fro.In the dim solitude her heartRemembers tearlesslyWhite winters when her mother wasHer loving company.Now in the dark clear glass she seesA taper mocking hers,—A phantom face of light blue eyes,Reflecting phantom fears.Around her loom the vacant rooms,Wind the upward stairs,She climbs on into a lonelinessOnly her taper shares.Her grandmother is deaf with age;A garden of moonless treesWould answer not though she should cryIn anguish on her knees.So that she scarcely heeds—so fastHer pent-up heart doth beat—When, faint along the corridor,Falleth the sound of feet:—Sounds lighter than silk slippers makeUpon a ballroom floor, when sweetViolin and 'cello wakeMusic for twirling feet.O! in an old unfriendly house,What shapes may not concealTheir faces in the open day,At night abroad to steal?Even her taper seems with fearTo languish small and blue;Far in the woods the winter windRuns whistling through.A dreadful cold plucks at each hair,Her mouth is stretched to cry,But sudden, with a gush of joy,It narrows to a sigh.It is a wilding child which comesSwift through the corridor,Singing an old forgotten song,This ancient burden bore:—'Thorn, thorn, I wis,And roses twain,A red rose and a white,Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kissA lonely child good-night.'Swim fish, sing bird,And sigh again,I that am lost am lone,Bee in the blossom never stirredLocks hid beneath a stone!'—Her eye was of the azure fireThat hovers in wintry flame;Her raiment wild and yellow as furzeThat spouteth out the same;And in her hand she bore no flower,But on her head a wreathOf faded flag-flowers that did yetSmell sweetly after death.Clear was the light of lovelinessThat lit her face like rain;And sad the mouth that utteredHer immemorial strain.Gloomy with night the corridorIs now that she is gone,Albeit this solitary childNo longer seems alone.Fast though her taper dwindles down,Heavy and thick the tome,A beauty beyond fear to dimHaunts now her alien home.Ghosts in the world malignant, grim,Vex many a wood, and glen,And house, and pool,—the unquiet ghostsOf dead and restless men.But in her grannie's house this spirit—A child as lone as she—Pining for love not found on earth,Ann dreams again to see.Seated upon her tapestry-stool,Her fairy-book laid by,She gazes in the fire, knowingShe hath sweet company.

THE PHANTOM

'Upstairs in the large closet, child,This side the blue-room door,Is an old Bible, bound in leather,Standing upon the floor;

'Upstairs in the large closet, child,

This side the blue-room door,

Is an old Bible, bound in leather,

Standing upon the floor;

'Go with this taper, bring it me;Carry it on your arm;It is the book on many a seaHath stilled the waves' alarm.'

'Go with this taper, bring it me;

Carry it on your arm;

It is the book on many a sea

Hath stilled the waves' alarm.'

Late the hour, dark the night,The house is solitary,Feeble is a taper's lightTo light poor Ann to see.

Late the hour, dark the night,

The house is solitary,

Feeble is a taper's light

To light poor Ann to see.

Her eyes are yet with visions brightOf sylph and river, flower and fay,Now through a narrow corridorShe takes her lonely way.

Her eyes are yet with visions bright

Of sylph and river, flower and fay,

Now through a narrow corridor

She takes her lonely way.

Vast shadows on the heedless wallsGigantic loom, stoop low:Each little hasty footfall callsHollowly to and fro.

Vast shadows on the heedless walls

Gigantic loom, stoop low:

Each little hasty footfall calls

Hollowly to and fro.

In the dim solitude her heartRemembers tearlesslyWhite winters when her mother wasHer loving company.

In the dim solitude her heart

Remembers tearlessly

White winters when her mother was

Her loving company.

Now in the dark clear glass she seesA taper mocking hers,—A phantom face of light blue eyes,Reflecting phantom fears.

Now in the dark clear glass she sees

A taper mocking hers,—

A phantom face of light blue eyes,

Reflecting phantom fears.

Around her loom the vacant rooms,Wind the upward stairs,She climbs on into a lonelinessOnly her taper shares.

Around her loom the vacant rooms,

Wind the upward stairs,

She climbs on into a loneliness

Only her taper shares.

Her grandmother is deaf with age;A garden of moonless treesWould answer not though she should cryIn anguish on her knees.

Her grandmother is deaf with age;

A garden of moonless trees

Would answer not though she should cry

In anguish on her knees.

So that she scarcely heeds—so fastHer pent-up heart doth beat—When, faint along the corridor,Falleth the sound of feet:—

So that she scarcely heeds—so fast

Her pent-up heart doth beat—

When, faint along the corridor,

Falleth the sound of feet:—

Sounds lighter than silk slippers makeUpon a ballroom floor, when sweetViolin and 'cello wakeMusic for twirling feet.

Sounds lighter than silk slippers make

Upon a ballroom floor, when sweet

Violin and 'cello wake

Music for twirling feet.

O! in an old unfriendly house,What shapes may not concealTheir faces in the open day,At night abroad to steal?

O! in an old unfriendly house,

What shapes may not conceal

Their faces in the open day,

At night abroad to steal?

Even her taper seems with fearTo languish small and blue;Far in the woods the winter windRuns whistling through.

Even her taper seems with fear

To languish small and blue;

Far in the woods the winter wind

Runs whistling through.

A dreadful cold plucks at each hair,Her mouth is stretched to cry,But sudden, with a gush of joy,It narrows to a sigh.

A dreadful cold plucks at each hair,

Her mouth is stretched to cry,

But sudden, with a gush of joy,

It narrows to a sigh.

It is a wilding child which comesSwift through the corridor,Singing an old forgotten song,This ancient burden bore:—

It is a wilding child which comes

Swift through the corridor,

Singing an old forgotten song,

This ancient burden bore:—

'Thorn, thorn, I wis,And roses twain,A red rose and a white,Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kissA lonely child good-night.

'Thorn, thorn, I wis,

And roses twain,

A red rose and a white,

Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kiss

A lonely child good-night.

'Swim fish, sing bird,And sigh again,I that am lost am lone,Bee in the blossom never stirredLocks hid beneath a stone!'—

'Swim fish, sing bird,

And sigh again,

I that am lost am lone,

Bee in the blossom never stirred

Locks hid beneath a stone!'—

Her eye was of the azure fireThat hovers in wintry flame;Her raiment wild and yellow as furzeThat spouteth out the same;

Her eye was of the azure fire

That hovers in wintry flame;

Her raiment wild and yellow as furze

That spouteth out the same;

And in her hand she bore no flower,But on her head a wreathOf faded flag-flowers that did yetSmell sweetly after death.

And in her hand she bore no flower,

But on her head a wreath

Of faded flag-flowers that did yet

Smell sweetly after death.

Clear was the light of lovelinessThat lit her face like rain;And sad the mouth that utteredHer immemorial strain.

Clear was the light of loveliness

That lit her face like rain;

And sad the mouth that uttered

Her immemorial strain.

Gloomy with night the corridorIs now that she is gone,Albeit this solitary childNo longer seems alone.

Gloomy with night the corridor

Is now that she is gone,

Albeit this solitary child

No longer seems alone.

Fast though her taper dwindles down,Heavy and thick the tome,A beauty beyond fear to dimHaunts now her alien home.

Fast though her taper dwindles down,

Heavy and thick the tome,

A beauty beyond fear to dim

Haunts now her alien home.

Ghosts in the world malignant, grim,Vex many a wood, and glen,And house, and pool,—the unquiet ghostsOf dead and restless men.

Ghosts in the world malignant, grim,

Vex many a wood, and glen,

And house, and pool,—the unquiet ghosts

Of dead and restless men.

But in her grannie's house this spirit—A child as lone as she—Pining for love not found on earth,Ann dreams again to see.

But in her grannie's house this spirit—

A child as lone as she—

Pining for love not found on earth,

Ann dreams again to see.

Seated upon her tapestry-stool,Her fairy-book laid by,She gazes in the fire, knowingShe hath sweet company.

Seated upon her tapestry-stool,

Her fairy-book laid by,

She gazes in the fire, knowing

She hath sweet company.

THE MILLER AND HIS SONA twangling harp for Mary,A silvery flute for John,And now we'll play the livelong day,'The Miller and his Son.''The Miller went a-walkingAll in the forest high,He sees three doves a-flittingAgainst the dark blue sky:'Says he, "My son, now followThese doves so white and free,That cry above the forest,And surely cry to thee.""I go, my dearest Father,But O! I sadly fear,These doves so white will lead me far,But never bring me near."'He kisses the Miller,He cries, "Awhoop to ye!"And straightway through the forestFollows the wood-doves three.'There came a sound of weepingTo the Miller in his Mill;Red roses in a thicketBloomed over near his wheel;'Three stars shone wild and brightlyAbove the forest dim:But never his dearest sonReturns again to him.'The cuckoo shall call "Cuckoo!"In vain along the vale,The linnet, and the blackbird,The mournful nightingale;'The Miller hears and sees not,A-thinking of his son;His toppling wheel is silent;His grinding done.'"Ye doves so white," he weepeth,"Ye roses on the tree,Ye stars that shine so brightly,Ye shine in vain for me!"'I bade him follow, follow,He said, "O Father dear,These doves so white will lead me farBut never bring me near!"'A twangling harp for Mary,A silvery flute for John,And now we'll play the livelong day,'The Miller and his Son.'

THE MILLER AND HIS SON

A twangling harp for Mary,A silvery flute for John,And now we'll play the livelong day,'The Miller and his Son.'

A twangling harp for Mary,

A silvery flute for John,

And now we'll play the livelong day,

'The Miller and his Son.'

'The Miller went a-walkingAll in the forest high,He sees three doves a-flittingAgainst the dark blue sky:

'The Miller went a-walking

All in the forest high,

He sees three doves a-flitting

Against the dark blue sky:

'Says he, "My son, now followThese doves so white and free,That cry above the forest,And surely cry to thee."

'Says he, "My son, now follow

These doves so white and free,

That cry above the forest,

And surely cry to thee."

"I go, my dearest Father,But O! I sadly fear,These doves so white will lead me far,But never bring me near."

"I go, my dearest Father,

But O! I sadly fear,

These doves so white will lead me far,

But never bring me near."

'He kisses the Miller,He cries, "Awhoop to ye!"And straightway through the forestFollows the wood-doves three.

'He kisses the Miller,

He cries, "Awhoop to ye!"

And straightway through the forest

Follows the wood-doves three.

'There came a sound of weepingTo the Miller in his Mill;Red roses in a thicketBloomed over near his wheel;

'There came a sound of weeping

To the Miller in his Mill;

Red roses in a thicket

Bloomed over near his wheel;

'Three stars shone wild and brightlyAbove the forest dim:But never his dearest sonReturns again to him.

'Three stars shone wild and brightly

Above the forest dim:

But never his dearest son

Returns again to him.

'The cuckoo shall call "Cuckoo!"In vain along the vale,The linnet, and the blackbird,The mournful nightingale;

'The cuckoo shall call "Cuckoo!"

In vain along the vale,

The linnet, and the blackbird,

The mournful nightingale;

'The Miller hears and sees not,A-thinking of his son;His toppling wheel is silent;His grinding done.

'The Miller hears and sees not,

A-thinking of his son;

His toppling wheel is silent;

His grinding done.

'"Ye doves so white," he weepeth,"Ye roses on the tree,Ye stars that shine so brightly,Ye shine in vain for me!"

'"Ye doves so white," he weepeth,

"Ye roses on the tree,

Ye stars that shine so brightly,

Ye shine in vain for me!"

'I bade him follow, follow,He said, "O Father dear,These doves so white will lead me farBut never bring me near!"'

'I bade him follow, follow,

He said, "O Father dear,

These doves so white will lead me far

But never bring me near!"'

A twangling harp for Mary,A silvery flute for John,And now we'll play the livelong day,'The Miller and his Son.'

A twangling harp for Mary,

A silvery flute for John,

And now we'll play the livelong day,

'The Miller and his Son.'

DOWN-ADOWN-DERRYDown-adown-derry,Sweet Annie Maroon,Gathering daisiesIn the meadows of Doone,Sees a white fairySkip buxom and freeWhere the waters go brawlingIn rills to the sea;Singing down-adown-derry.Down-adown-derry,Sweet Annie MaroonThrough the green grassesRuns fleetly and soon,And lo! on a lilyShe sees one reclineWhose eyes in her wee faceLike the water-sparks shine;Singing down-adown-derry.Down-adown-derry,And shrill was her tune:—'Come to my water-house,Annie Maroon,Come in your pink gown,Your curls on your head,To wear the white samiteAnd rubies instead';Singing down-adown-derry.'Down-adown-derry,Lean fish of the sea,Bring lanthorns for feastingThe gay Faërie;And it's dancing on sand 'tisThat's smoother than wool;—Foam-fruit and wild honeyTo pleasure you full';Singing down-adown-derry.Down-adown-derry,Sweet Annie MaroonLooked large on the fairyCurled wan as the moon;And all the grey ripplesTo the Mill racing by,With harps and with timbrelsDid ringing reply;Singing down-adown-derry.'Down-adown-derry,'Sang the Fairy of Doone,Piercing the heart ofSweet Annie Maroon;And lo! when like rosesThe clouds of the sunFaded at dusk, goneWas Annie Maroon;Singing down-adown-derry.Down-adown-derry,The daisies are few;Frost twinkles powd'ryIn haunts of the dew;Only the robinPerched on a white thorn,Can comfort the heart ofA father forlorn;Singing down-adown-derry.Down-adown-derry,There's snow in the air;Ice where the lilyBloomed waxen and fair;He may call o'er the water,Cry—cry through the Mill,But Annie Maroon, alas!Answer ne'er will;Singing down-adown-derry.

DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY

Down-adown-derry,Sweet Annie Maroon,Gathering daisiesIn the meadows of Doone,Sees a white fairySkip buxom and freeWhere the waters go brawlingIn rills to the sea;Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

Sweet Annie Maroon,

Gathering daisies

In the meadows of Doone,

Sees a white fairy

Skip buxom and free

Where the waters go brawling

In rills to the sea;

Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,Sweet Annie MaroonThrough the green grassesRuns fleetly and soon,And lo! on a lilyShe sees one reclineWhose eyes in her wee faceLike the water-sparks shine;Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

Sweet Annie Maroon

Through the green grasses

Runs fleetly and soon,

And lo! on a lily

She sees one recline

Whose eyes in her wee face

Like the water-sparks shine;

Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,And shrill was her tune:—'Come to my water-house,Annie Maroon,Come in your pink gown,Your curls on your head,To wear the white samiteAnd rubies instead';Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

And shrill was her tune:—

'Come to my water-house,

Annie Maroon,

Come in your pink gown,

Your curls on your head,

To wear the white samite

And rubies instead';

Singing down-adown-derry.

'Down-adown-derry,Lean fish of the sea,Bring lanthorns for feastingThe gay Faërie;And it's dancing on sand 'tisThat's smoother than wool;—Foam-fruit and wild honeyTo pleasure you full';Singing down-adown-derry.

'Down-adown-derry,

Lean fish of the sea,

Bring lanthorns for feasting

The gay Faërie;

And it's dancing on sand 'tis

That's smoother than wool;—

Foam-fruit and wild honey

To pleasure you full';

Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,Sweet Annie MaroonLooked large on the fairyCurled wan as the moon;And all the grey ripplesTo the Mill racing by,With harps and with timbrelsDid ringing reply;Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

Sweet Annie Maroon

Looked large on the fairy

Curled wan as the moon;

And all the grey ripples

To the Mill racing by,

With harps and with timbrels

Did ringing reply;

Singing down-adown-derry.

'Down-adown-derry,'Sang the Fairy of Doone,Piercing the heart ofSweet Annie Maroon;And lo! when like rosesThe clouds of the sunFaded at dusk, goneWas Annie Maroon;Singing down-adown-derry.

'Down-adown-derry,'

Sang the Fairy of Doone,

Piercing the heart of

Sweet Annie Maroon;

And lo! when like roses

The clouds of the sun

Faded at dusk, gone

Was Annie Maroon;

Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,The daisies are few;Frost twinkles powd'ryIn haunts of the dew;Only the robinPerched on a white thorn,Can comfort the heart ofA father forlorn;Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

The daisies are few;

Frost twinkles powd'ry

In haunts of the dew;

Only the robin

Perched on a white thorn,

Can comfort the heart of

A father forlorn;

Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,There's snow in the air;Ice where the lilyBloomed waxen and fair;He may call o'er the water,Cry—cry through the Mill,But Annie Maroon, alas!Answer ne'er will;Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,

There's snow in the air;

Ice where the lily

Bloomed waxen and fair;

He may call o'er the water,

Cry—cry through the Mill,

But Annie Maroon, alas!

Answer ne'er will;

Singing down-adown-derry.

THE SUPPERA wolf he pricks with eyes of fireAcross the night's o'ercrusted snows,Seeking his prey,He pads his wayWhere Jane benighted goes,Where Jane benighted goes.He curdles the bleak air with ire,Ruffling his hoary raiment through,And lo! he seesBeneath the treesWhere Jane's light footsteps go,Where Jane's light footsteps go.No hound peals thus in wicked joy,He snaps his muzzle in the snows,His five-clawed feetDo scamper fleetWhere Jane's bright lanthorn shows,Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows.Now his greed's green doth gaze unseenOn a pure face of wilding rose,Her amber eyesIn fear's surpriseWatch largely as she goes,Watch largely as she goes.Salt wells his hunger in his jaws,His lust it revels to and fro,Yet small beneathA soft voice saith,'Jane shall in safety go,Jane shall in safety go.'He lurched as if a fiery lashHad scourged his hide, and through and through,His furious eyesO'erscanned the skies,But nearer dared not go,But nearer dared not go.He reared like wild Bucephalus,His fangs like spears in him uprose,Ev'n to the townJane's flitting gownHe grins on as she goes,He grins on as she goes.In fierce lament he howls amain,He scampers, marvelling in his throesWhat brought him thereTo sup on air,While Jane unarmèd goes,While Jane unarmèd goes.

THE SUPPER

A wolf he pricks with eyes of fireAcross the night's o'ercrusted snows,Seeking his prey,He pads his wayWhere Jane benighted goes,Where Jane benighted goes.

A wolf he pricks with eyes of fire

Across the night's o'ercrusted snows,

Seeking his prey,

He pads his way

Where Jane benighted goes,

Where Jane benighted goes.

He curdles the bleak air with ire,Ruffling his hoary raiment through,And lo! he seesBeneath the treesWhere Jane's light footsteps go,Where Jane's light footsteps go.

He curdles the bleak air with ire,

Ruffling his hoary raiment through,

And lo! he sees

Beneath the trees

Where Jane's light footsteps go,

Where Jane's light footsteps go.

No hound peals thus in wicked joy,He snaps his muzzle in the snows,His five-clawed feetDo scamper fleetWhere Jane's bright lanthorn shows,Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows.

No hound peals thus in wicked joy,

He snaps his muzzle in the snows,

His five-clawed feet

Do scamper fleet

Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows,

Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows.

Now his greed's green doth gaze unseenOn a pure face of wilding rose,Her amber eyesIn fear's surpriseWatch largely as she goes,Watch largely as she goes.

Now his greed's green doth gaze unseen

On a pure face of wilding rose,

Her amber eyes

In fear's surprise

Watch largely as she goes,

Watch largely as she goes.

Salt wells his hunger in his jaws,His lust it revels to and fro,Yet small beneathA soft voice saith,'Jane shall in safety go,Jane shall in safety go.'

Salt wells his hunger in his jaws,

His lust it revels to and fro,

Yet small beneath

A soft voice saith,

'Jane shall in safety go,

Jane shall in safety go.'

He lurched as if a fiery lashHad scourged his hide, and through and through,His furious eyesO'erscanned the skies,But nearer dared not go,But nearer dared not go.

He lurched as if a fiery lash

Had scourged his hide, and through and through,

His furious eyes

O'erscanned the skies,

But nearer dared not go,

But nearer dared not go.

He reared like wild Bucephalus,His fangs like spears in him uprose,Ev'n to the townJane's flitting gownHe grins on as she goes,He grins on as she goes.

He reared like wild Bucephalus,

His fangs like spears in him uprose,

Ev'n to the town

Jane's flitting gown

He grins on as she goes,

He grins on as she goes.

In fierce lament he howls amain,He scampers, marvelling in his throesWhat brought him thereTo sup on air,While Jane unarmèd goes,While Jane unarmèd goes.

In fierce lament he howls amain,

He scampers, marvelling in his throes

What brought him there

To sup on air,

While Jane unarmèd goes,

While Jane unarmèd goes.

THE ISLE OF LONEThree dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,And the name of the isle was Lone,And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,Lallerie, Muziomone.Alliolyle was green of een,Lallerie light of locks,Muziomone was mild of mien,As ewes in April flocks.Their house was small and sweet of the sea,And pale as the Malmsey wine;Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,And their nightcaps white were nine.Their beds were of the holly-wood,Their combs of the tortoiseshell,Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,Frozen dark and snell.So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,The moon for company,And hear the parrot scream to the billow,And the billow roar reply.—Sulphur parrots, and parrots red,Scarlet, and flame, and green;And five-foot apes that jargonèdIn feathery-tufted treen.And oh, or ever the dawning shedOn dreams a narrow flame,Three gaping dwarfs gat out of bedAnd gazed upon the same.At dawn they fished, at noon they snaredYoung foxes in the dells,At even on dew-berries they fared,And blew in their twisted shells.Dark was the sea they gambolled in,And thick with silver fish,Dark as green glass blown clear and thinTo be a monarch's dish.They sate to sup in a jasmine bower,Lit pale with flies of fire,Their bowls the hue of the iris-flower,And lemon their attire.Sweet wine in little cups they sipped,And golden honeycombInto their bowls of cream they dipped,Whipt light and white as foam.Alliolyle, where the salt sea flows,Taught three old apes to sing,And there to the moon, like a full-blown rose,They capered in a ring.But down to the shore skipped Lallerie,His parrot on his thumb,And the twain they scritched in mockery,While the dancers go and come.So, alas! in the evening, rosy and still,Light-haired LallerieBitterly quarrelled with AlliolyleBy the yellow-sanded sea.The rising moon swam sweet and largeBefore their furious eyes,And they rolled and rolled to the coral margeWhere the surf for ever cries.Too late, too late, comes Muziomone:Clear in the clear green seaAlliolyle lies not alone,But clasped with Lallerie.He blows on his shell plaintive notes;Ape, parraquito, beeFlock where a shoe on the salt wave floats,—The shoe of Lallerie.He fetches nightcaps, one and nine,Grey apes he dowers three,His house as fair as the Malmsey wineSeems sad as cypress-tree.Three bowls he brims with honeycombTo feast the bumble bees,Saying, 'O bees, be this your home,For grief is on the seas!'He sate him lone in a coral grot,At the flowing of the tide;When ebbed the billow, there was not,Save coral, aught beside.So hairy apes in three white beds,And nightcaps, one and nine,On moonlit pillows lay three headsBemused with dwarfish wine.A tomb of coral, the dirge of bee,The grey apes' guttural groanFor Alliolyle, for Lallerie,For thee, O Muziomone!

THE ISLE OF LONE

Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,And the name of the isle was Lone,And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,Lallerie, Muziomone.

Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,

And the name of the isle was Lone,

And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,

Lallerie, Muziomone.

Alliolyle was green of een,Lallerie light of locks,Muziomone was mild of mien,As ewes in April flocks.

Alliolyle was green of een,

Lallerie light of locks,

Muziomone was mild of mien,

As ewes in April flocks.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,And pale as the Malmsey wine;Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their house was small and sweet of the sea,

And pale as the Malmsey wine;

Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,

And their nightcaps white were nine.

Their beds were of the holly-wood,Their combs of the tortoiseshell,Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,Frozen dark and snell.

Their beds were of the holly-wood,

Their combs of the tortoiseshell,

Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,

Frozen dark and snell.

So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,The moon for company,And hear the parrot scream to the billow,And the billow roar reply.—

So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,

The moon for company,

And hear the parrot scream to the billow,

And the billow roar reply.—

Sulphur parrots, and parrots red,Scarlet, and flame, and green;And five-foot apes that jargonèdIn feathery-tufted treen.

Sulphur parrots, and parrots red,

Scarlet, and flame, and green;

And five-foot apes that jargonèd

In feathery-tufted treen.

And oh, or ever the dawning shedOn dreams a narrow flame,Three gaping dwarfs gat out of bedAnd gazed upon the same.

And oh, or ever the dawning shed

On dreams a narrow flame,

Three gaping dwarfs gat out of bed

And gazed upon the same.

At dawn they fished, at noon they snaredYoung foxes in the dells,At even on dew-berries they fared,And blew in their twisted shells.

At dawn they fished, at noon they snared

Young foxes in the dells,

At even on dew-berries they fared,

And blew in their twisted shells.

Dark was the sea they gambolled in,And thick with silver fish,Dark as green glass blown clear and thinTo be a monarch's dish.

Dark was the sea they gambolled in,

And thick with silver fish,

Dark as green glass blown clear and thin

To be a monarch's dish.

They sate to sup in a jasmine bower,Lit pale with flies of fire,Their bowls the hue of the iris-flower,And lemon their attire.

They sate to sup in a jasmine bower,

Lit pale with flies of fire,

Their bowls the hue of the iris-flower,

And lemon their attire.

Sweet wine in little cups they sipped,And golden honeycombInto their bowls of cream they dipped,Whipt light and white as foam.

Sweet wine in little cups they sipped,

And golden honeycomb

Into their bowls of cream they dipped,

Whipt light and white as foam.

Alliolyle, where the salt sea flows,Taught three old apes to sing,And there to the moon, like a full-blown rose,They capered in a ring.

Alliolyle, where the salt sea flows,

Taught three old apes to sing,

And there to the moon, like a full-blown rose,

They capered in a ring.

But down to the shore skipped Lallerie,His parrot on his thumb,And the twain they scritched in mockery,While the dancers go and come.

But down to the shore skipped Lallerie,

His parrot on his thumb,

And the twain they scritched in mockery,

While the dancers go and come.

So, alas! in the evening, rosy and still,Light-haired LallerieBitterly quarrelled with AlliolyleBy the yellow-sanded sea.

So, alas! in the evening, rosy and still,

Light-haired Lallerie

Bitterly quarrelled with Alliolyle

By the yellow-sanded sea.

The rising moon swam sweet and largeBefore their furious eyes,And they rolled and rolled to the coral margeWhere the surf for ever cries.

The rising moon swam sweet and large

Before their furious eyes,

And they rolled and rolled to the coral marge

Where the surf for ever cries.

Too late, too late, comes Muziomone:Clear in the clear green seaAlliolyle lies not alone,But clasped with Lallerie.

Too late, too late, comes Muziomone:

Clear in the clear green sea

Alliolyle lies not alone,

But clasped with Lallerie.

He blows on his shell plaintive notes;Ape, parraquito, beeFlock where a shoe on the salt wave floats,—The shoe of Lallerie.

He blows on his shell plaintive notes;

Ape, parraquito, bee

Flock where a shoe on the salt wave floats,—

The shoe of Lallerie.

He fetches nightcaps, one and nine,Grey apes he dowers three,His house as fair as the Malmsey wineSeems sad as cypress-tree.

He fetches nightcaps, one and nine,

Grey apes he dowers three,

His house as fair as the Malmsey wine

Seems sad as cypress-tree.

Three bowls he brims with honeycombTo feast the bumble bees,Saying, 'O bees, be this your home,For grief is on the seas!'

Three bowls he brims with honeycomb

To feast the bumble bees,

Saying, 'O bees, be this your home,

For grief is on the seas!'

He sate him lone in a coral grot,At the flowing of the tide;When ebbed the billow, there was not,Save coral, aught beside.

He sate him lone in a coral grot,

At the flowing of the tide;

When ebbed the billow, there was not,

Save coral, aught beside.

So hairy apes in three white beds,And nightcaps, one and nine,On moonlit pillows lay three headsBemused with dwarfish wine.

So hairy apes in three white beds,

And nightcaps, one and nine,

On moonlit pillows lay three heads

Bemused with dwarfish wine.

A tomb of coral, the dirge of bee,The grey apes' guttural groanFor Alliolyle, for Lallerie,For thee, O Muziomone!

A tomb of coral, the dirge of bee,

The grey apes' guttural groan

For Alliolyle, for Lallerie,

For thee, O Muziomone!

THE SLEEPING BEAUTYThe scent of bramble sweets the air,Amid her folded sheets she lies,The gold of evening in her hair,The blue of morn shut in her eyes.How many a changing moon hath litThe unchanging roses of her face!Her mirror ever broods on itIn silver stillness of the days.Oft flits the moth on filmy wingsInto his solitary lair;Shrill evensong the cricket singsFrom some still shadow in her hair.In heat, in snow, in wind, in flood,She sleeps in lovely loneliness,Half folded like an April budOn winter-haunted trees.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY

The scent of bramble sweets the air,Amid her folded sheets she lies,The gold of evening in her hair,The blue of morn shut in her eyes.

The scent of bramble sweets the air,

Amid her folded sheets she lies,

The gold of evening in her hair,

The blue of morn shut in her eyes.

How many a changing moon hath litThe unchanging roses of her face!Her mirror ever broods on itIn silver stillness of the days.

How many a changing moon hath lit

The unchanging roses of her face!

Her mirror ever broods on it

In silver stillness of the days.

Oft flits the moth on filmy wingsInto his solitary lair;Shrill evensong the cricket singsFrom some still shadow in her hair.

Oft flits the moth on filmy wings

Into his solitary lair;

Shrill evensong the cricket sings

From some still shadow in her hair.

In heat, in snow, in wind, in flood,She sleeps in lovely loneliness,Half folded like an April budOn winter-haunted trees.

In heat, in snow, in wind, in flood,

She sleeps in lovely loneliness,

Half folded like an April bud

On winter-haunted trees.

THE HORNHark! is that a horn I hear,In cloudland winding sweet—And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,And silver-shod light feet?Is it the elfin laughter ofFairies riding faint and high,'Neath the branches of the moon,Straying through the starry sky?Is it in the globèd dewSuch sweet melodies may fall?Wood and valley—all are still,Hushed the shepherd's call.Hark! is that a horn I hearIn cloudland winding sweet?Or gloomy goblins marching outTheir captain Puck to greet?

THE HORN

Hark! is that a horn I hear,In cloudland winding sweet—And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,And silver-shod light feet?

Hark! is that a horn I hear,

In cloudland winding sweet—

And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,

And silver-shod light feet?

Is it the elfin laughter ofFairies riding faint and high,'Neath the branches of the moon,Straying through the starry sky?

Is it the elfin laughter of

Fairies riding faint and high,

'Neath the branches of the moon,

Straying through the starry sky?

Is it in the globèd dewSuch sweet melodies may fall?Wood and valley—all are still,Hushed the shepherd's call.

Is it in the globèd dew

Such sweet melodies may fall?

Wood and valley—all are still,

Hushed the shepherd's call.

Hark! is that a horn I hearIn cloudland winding sweet?Or gloomy goblins marching outTheir captain Puck to greet?

Hark! is that a horn I hear

In cloudland winding sweet?

Or gloomy goblins marching out

Their captain Puck to greet?

CAPTAIN LEANOut of the East a hurricaneSwept down on Captain Lean—That mariner and gentlemanWill ne'er again be seen.He sailed his ship against the foesOf his own country dear,But now in the trough of the billowsAn aimless course doth steer.Powder was violets to his nostril,Sweet the din of the fighting-line,Now he is flotsam on the seas,And his bones are bleached with brine.The stars move up along the sky,The moon she shines so bright,And in that solitude the foamSparkles unearthly white.This is the tomb of Captain Lean,Would a straiter please his soul? I trow he sleeps in peace,Howsoever the billows roll!

CAPTAIN LEAN

Out of the East a hurricaneSwept down on Captain Lean—That mariner and gentlemanWill ne'er again be seen.

Out of the East a hurricane

Swept down on Captain Lean—

That mariner and gentleman

Will ne'er again be seen.

He sailed his ship against the foesOf his own country dear,But now in the trough of the billowsAn aimless course doth steer.

He sailed his ship against the foes

Of his own country dear,

But now in the trough of the billows

An aimless course doth steer.

Powder was violets to his nostril,Sweet the din of the fighting-line,Now he is flotsam on the seas,And his bones are bleached with brine.

Powder was violets to his nostril,

Sweet the din of the fighting-line,

Now he is flotsam on the seas,

And his bones are bleached with brine.

The stars move up along the sky,The moon she shines so bright,And in that solitude the foamSparkles unearthly white.

The stars move up along the sky,

The moon she shines so bright,

And in that solitude the foam

Sparkles unearthly white.

This is the tomb of Captain Lean,Would a straiter please his soul? I trow he sleeps in peace,Howsoever the billows roll!

This is the tomb of Captain Lean,

Would a straiter please his soul? I trow he sleeps in peace,

Howsoever the billows roll!

THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIORHis brow is seamed with line and scar;His cheek is red and dark as wine;The fires as of a Northern starBeneath his cap of sable shine.His right hand, bared of leathern glove,Hangs open like an iron gin,You stoop to see his pulses move,To hear the blood sweep out and in.He looks some king, so solitaryIn earnest thought he seems to stand,As if across a lonely seaHe gazed impatient of the land.Out of the noisy centuriesThe foolish and the fearful fade;Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,Time hath not dimmed nor death dismayed.

THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIOR

His brow is seamed with line and scar;His cheek is red and dark as wine;The fires as of a Northern starBeneath his cap of sable shine.

His brow is seamed with line and scar;

His cheek is red and dark as wine;

The fires as of a Northern star

Beneath his cap of sable shine.

His right hand, bared of leathern glove,Hangs open like an iron gin,You stoop to see his pulses move,To hear the blood sweep out and in.

His right hand, bared of leathern glove,

Hangs open like an iron gin,

You stoop to see his pulses move,

To hear the blood sweep out and in.

He looks some king, so solitaryIn earnest thought he seems to stand,As if across a lonely seaHe gazed impatient of the land.

He looks some king, so solitary

In earnest thought he seems to stand,

As if across a lonely sea

He gazed impatient of the land.

Out of the noisy centuriesThe foolish and the fearful fade;Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,Time hath not dimmed nor death dismayed.

Out of the noisy centuries

The foolish and the fearful fade;

Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,

Time hath not dimmed nor death dismayed.

HAUNTEDFrom out the wood I watched them shine,—The windows of the haunted house,Now ruddy as enchanted wine,Now dim as flittermouse.There went a thin voice piping airsAlong the grey and crooked walks,—A garden of thistledown and tares,Bright leaves, and giant stalks.The twilight rain shone at its gates,Where long-leaved grass in shadow grew;And black in silence to her matesA voiceless raven flew.Lichen and moss the lone stones greened,Green paths led lightly to its door,Keen from her lair the spider leaned,And dusk to darkness wore.Amidst the sedge a whisper ran,The West shut down a heavy eye,And like last tapers, few and wan,The watch-stars kindled in the sky.

HAUNTED

From out the wood I watched them shine,—The windows of the haunted house,Now ruddy as enchanted wine,Now dim as flittermouse.

From out the wood I watched them shine,—

The windows of the haunted house,

Now ruddy as enchanted wine,

Now dim as flittermouse.

There went a thin voice piping airsAlong the grey and crooked walks,—A garden of thistledown and tares,Bright leaves, and giant stalks.

There went a thin voice piping airs

Along the grey and crooked walks,—

A garden of thistledown and tares,

Bright leaves, and giant stalks.

The twilight rain shone at its gates,Where long-leaved grass in shadow grew;And black in silence to her matesA voiceless raven flew.

The twilight rain shone at its gates,

Where long-leaved grass in shadow grew;

And black in silence to her mates

A voiceless raven flew.

Lichen and moss the lone stones greened,Green paths led lightly to its door,Keen from her lair the spider leaned,And dusk to darkness wore.

Lichen and moss the lone stones greened,

Green paths led lightly to its door,

Keen from her lair the spider leaned,

And dusk to darkness wore.

Amidst the sedge a whisper ran,The West shut down a heavy eye,And like last tapers, few and wan,The watch-stars kindled in the sky.

Amidst the sedge a whisper ran,

The West shut down a heavy eye,

And like last tapers, few and wan,

The watch-stars kindled in the sky.

THE RAVEN'S TOMB'Build me my tomb,' the Raven said,'Within the dark yew-tree,So in the Autumn yewberriesSad lamps may burn for me.Summon the haunted beetle,From twilight bud and bloom,To drone a gloomy dirge for meAt dusk above my tomb.Beseech ye too the glowwormTo bear her cloudy flame,Where the small, flickering bats resort,Whistling in tears my name.Let the round dew a whisper make,Welling on twig and thorn;And only the grey cock at nightCall through his silver horn.And you, dear sisters, don your blackFor ever and a day,To show how sweet a ravenIn his tomb is laid away.'

THE RAVEN'S TOMB

'Build me my tomb,' the Raven said,'Within the dark yew-tree,So in the Autumn yewberriesSad lamps may burn for me.Summon the haunted beetle,From twilight bud and bloom,To drone a gloomy dirge for meAt dusk above my tomb.Beseech ye too the glowwormTo bear her cloudy flame,Where the small, flickering bats resort,Whistling in tears my name.Let the round dew a whisper make,Welling on twig and thorn;And only the grey cock at nightCall through his silver horn.And you, dear sisters, don your blackFor ever and a day,To show how sweet a ravenIn his tomb is laid away.'

'Build me my tomb,' the Raven said,

'Within the dark yew-tree,

So in the Autumn yewberries

Sad lamps may burn for me.

Summon the haunted beetle,

From twilight bud and bloom,

To drone a gloomy dirge for me

At dusk above my tomb.

Beseech ye too the glowworm

To bear her cloudy flame,

Where the small, flickering bats resort,

Whistling in tears my name.

Let the round dew a whisper make,

Welling on twig and thorn;

And only the grey cock at night

Call through his silver horn.

And you, dear sisters, don your black

For ever and a day,

To show how sweet a raven

In his tomb is laid away.'

THE CHRISTENINGThe bells chime clear,Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down;Come, little Ann, your baby brother dearLies in his christening-gown.His godparentsAre all across the fields stepped on before,And wait beneath the crumbling monuments,This side the old church door.Your mammie dearLeans frail and lovely on your daddie's arm;Watching her chick, 'twixt happiness and fear,Lest he should come to harm.All to be blestFull soon in the clear heavenly water, heSleeps on unwitting of't, his little breastHeaving so tenderly.I carried you,My little Ann, long since on this same quest,And from the painted windows a pale hueLit golden on your breast;And then you woke,Chill as the holy water trickled down,And, weeping, cast the window a strange look,Half smile, half infant frown.I scarce could hearThe larks a-singing in the green meadows,'Twas summertide, and budding far and nearThe hedges thick with rose.And now you're grownA little girl, and this same helpless miteIs come like such another bud half-blown,Out of the wintry night.Time flies, time flies!And yet, bless me! 'tis little changed am I;May Jesu keep from tears those infant eyes,Be love their lullaby!

THE CHRISTENING

The bells chime clear,Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down;Come, little Ann, your baby brother dearLies in his christening-gown.

The bells chime clear,

Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down;

Come, little Ann, your baby brother dear

Lies in his christening-gown.

His godparentsAre all across the fields stepped on before,And wait beneath the crumbling monuments,This side the old church door.

His godparents

Are all across the fields stepped on before,

And wait beneath the crumbling monuments,

This side the old church door.

Your mammie dearLeans frail and lovely on your daddie's arm;Watching her chick, 'twixt happiness and fear,Lest he should come to harm.

Your mammie dear

Leans frail and lovely on your daddie's arm;

Watching her chick, 'twixt happiness and fear,

Lest he should come to harm.

All to be blestFull soon in the clear heavenly water, heSleeps on unwitting of't, his little breastHeaving so tenderly.

All to be blest

Full soon in the clear heavenly water, he

Sleeps on unwitting of't, his little breast

Heaving so tenderly.

I carried you,My little Ann, long since on this same quest,And from the painted windows a pale hueLit golden on your breast;

I carried you,

My little Ann, long since on this same quest,

And from the painted windows a pale hue

Lit golden on your breast;

And then you woke,Chill as the holy water trickled down,And, weeping, cast the window a strange look,Half smile, half infant frown.

And then you woke,

Chill as the holy water trickled down,

And, weeping, cast the window a strange look,

Half smile, half infant frown.

I scarce could hearThe larks a-singing in the green meadows,'Twas summertide, and budding far and nearThe hedges thick with rose.

I scarce could hear

The larks a-singing in the green meadows,

'Twas summertide, and budding far and near

The hedges thick with rose.

And now you're grownA little girl, and this same helpless miteIs come like such another bud half-blown,Out of the wintry night.

And now you're grown

A little girl, and this same helpless mite

Is come like such another bud half-blown,

Out of the wintry night.

Time flies, time flies!And yet, bless me! 'tis little changed am I;May Jesu keep from tears those infant eyes,Be love their lullaby!

Time flies, time flies!

And yet, bless me! 'tis little changed am I;

May Jesu keep from tears those infant eyes,

Be love their lullaby!

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