The Reapers.SO many reapers, Father John,So many reapers and no little son,To meet you when the day is done,With little stiff legs to waddle and run?Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!Father John.O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!And go not down to the river,Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,Lure you down to the river,Lest your white feet grow muddy,Your red hair too ruddyWith the river-mud so red;But when you are wedGo down to the river.O maiden Mary, be very wary,And dwell among the corn!See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,Her hair is thin and white,But she is a housewife good and wary,And a great steel key hangs brightFrom her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;She is good and old like the autumn corn.Maiden Mary.This is knight Roland, Father John,Stark in his arms from a field half-won;Ask him if he has seen your son:Roland, lay your sword on the corn,The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.Knight Roland.Why does she kiss me, Father John?She is my true love truly won!Under my helm is room for one,But the molten lead-streams trickle and runFrom my roof-tree, burning under the sun;No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,There was no waste of the golden corn.Father John.Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,To march with the banner of Father John!The Reapers.We will win a house for Roland his son,And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,As red as the reddest of golden corn.Omnes.Father John, you have got a son,Seven feet high when his helm is onPennon of Roland, banner of John,Star of Mary, march well on.
The Reapers.
SO many reapers, Father John,So many reapers and no little son,To meet you when the day is done,With little stiff legs to waddle and run?Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!
SO many reapers, Father John,So many reapers and no little son,To meet you when the day is done,With little stiff legs to waddle and run?Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!
Father John.
O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!And go not down to the river,Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,Lure you down to the river,Lest your white feet grow muddy,Your red hair too ruddyWith the river-mud so red;But when you are wedGo down to the river.O maiden Mary, be very wary,And dwell among the corn!See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,Her hair is thin and white,But she is a housewife good and wary,And a great steel key hangs brightFrom her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;She is good and old like the autumn corn.
O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!And go not down to the river,Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,Lure you down to the river,Lest your white feet grow muddy,Your red hair too ruddyWith the river-mud so red;But when you are wedGo down to the river.O maiden Mary, be very wary,And dwell among the corn!See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,Her hair is thin and white,But she is a housewife good and wary,And a great steel key hangs brightFrom her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;She is good and old like the autumn corn.
Maiden Mary.
This is knight Roland, Father John,Stark in his arms from a field half-won;Ask him if he has seen your son:Roland, lay your sword on the corn,The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.
This is knight Roland, Father John,Stark in his arms from a field half-won;Ask him if he has seen your son:Roland, lay your sword on the corn,The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.
Knight Roland.
Why does she kiss me, Father John?She is my true love truly won!Under my helm is room for one,But the molten lead-streams trickle and runFrom my roof-tree, burning under the sun;No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,There was no waste of the golden corn.
Why does she kiss me, Father John?She is my true love truly won!Under my helm is room for one,But the molten lead-streams trickle and runFrom my roof-tree, burning under the sun;No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,There was no waste of the golden corn.
Father John.
Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,To march with the banner of Father John!
Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,To march with the banner of Father John!
The Reapers.
We will win a house for Roland his son,And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,As red as the reddest of golden corn.
We will win a house for Roland his son,And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,As red as the reddest of golden corn.
Omnes.
Father John, you have got a son,Seven feet high when his helm is onPennon of Roland, banner of John,Star of Mary, march well on.
Father John, you have got a son,Seven feet high when his helm is onPennon of Roland, banner of John,Star of Mary, march well on.
HO! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?The clink of arms is good to hear,The flap of pennons fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?The leopards and lilies are fair to see;St. George Guienne! right good to hear:Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?I stood by the barrier,My coat being blazon'd fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?Clisson put out his head to see,And lifted his basnet up to hear;I pull'd him through the bars tome,Sir Giles; le bon des barrières.
HO! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?The clink of arms is good to hear,The flap of pennons fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?The leopards and lilies are fair to see;St. George Guienne! right good to hear:Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?I stood by the barrier,My coat being blazon'd fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?Clisson put out his head to see,And lifted his basnet up to hear;I pull'd him through the bars tome,Sir Giles; le bon des barrières.
HO! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
The clink of arms is good to hear,The flap of pennons fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
The leopards and lilies are fair to see;St. George Guienne! right good to hear:Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
I stood by the barrier,My coat being blazon'd fair to see;Ho! is there any will ride with me,Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
Clisson put out his head to see,And lifted his basnet up to hear;I pull'd him through the bars tome,Sir Giles; le bon des barrières.
ASHIP with shields before the sun,Six maidens round the mast,A red-gold crown on every one,A green gown on the last.The fluttering green banners thereAre wrought with ladies' heads most fair,And a portraiture of GuenevereThe middle of each sail doth bear.A ship which sails before the wind,And round the helm six knights,Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,They pass by many sights.The tatter'd scarlet banners there,Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.Those six knights sorrowfully bear,In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
ASHIP with shields before the sun,Six maidens round the mast,A red-gold crown on every one,A green gown on the last.The fluttering green banners thereAre wrought with ladies' heads most fair,And a portraiture of GuenevereThe middle of each sail doth bear.A ship which sails before the wind,And round the helm six knights,Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,They pass by many sights.The tatter'd scarlet banners there,Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.Those six knights sorrowfully bear,In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
ASHIP with shields before the sun,Six maidens round the mast,A red-gold crown on every one,A green gown on the last.
The fluttering green banners thereAre wrought with ladies' heads most fair,And a portraiture of GuenevereThe middle of each sail doth bear.
A ship which sails before the wind,And round the helm six knights,Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,They pass by many sights.
The tatter'd scarlet banners there,Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.Those six knights sorrowfully bear,In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
MY lady seems of ivoryForehead, straight nose, and cheeks that beHollow'd a little mournfully.Beata mea Domina!Her forehead, overshadow'd muchBy bows of hair, has a wave suchAs God was good to make for me.Beata mea Domina!Not greatly long my lady's hair,Nor yet with yellow colour fair,But thick and crispèd wonderfully:Beata mea Domina!Heavy to make the pale face sad,And dark, but dead as though it hadBeen forged by God most wonderfullyBeata mea Domina!Of some strange metal, thread by thread,To stand out from my lady's head,Not moving much to tangle me.Beata mea Domina!Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.The lashes a clear shadow throwWhere I would wish my lips to be.Beata mea Domina!Her great eyes, standing far apart,Draw up some memory from her heart,And gaze out very mournfully;Beata mea Domina!So beautiful and kind they are,But most times looking out afar,Waiting for something, not for me.Beata mea Domina!I wonder if the lashes longAre those that do her bright eyes wrong,For always half tears seem to beBeata mea Domina!Lurking below the underlid,Darkening the place where they lie hid:If they should rise and flow for me!Beata mea Domina!Her full lips being made to kiss,Curl'd up and pensive each one is;This makes me faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!Her lips are not contented now,Because the hours pass so slowTowards a sweet time: (pray for me),Beata mea Domina!Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?But this at least I know full well,Her lips are parted longingly,Beata mea Domina!So passionate and swift to move,To pluck at any flying love,That I grow faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!Yea! there beneath them is her chin,So fine and round, it were a sinTo feel no weaker when I seeBeata mea Domina!God's dealings; for with so much careAnd troublous, faint lines wrought in there,He finishes her face for me.Beata mea Domina!Of her long neck what shall I say?What things about her body's sway,Like a knight's pennon or slim treeBeata mea Domina!Set gently waving in the wind;Or her long hands that I may findOn some day sweet to move o'er me?Beata mea Domina!God pity me though, if I miss'dThe telling, how along her wristThe veins creep, dying languidlyBeata mea Domina!Inside her tender palm and thin.Now give me pardon, dear, whereinMy voice is weak and vexes thee.Beata mea Domina!All men that see her any time,I charge you straightly in this rhyme,What, and wherever you may be,Beata mea Domina!To kneel before her; as for me,I choke and grow quite faint to seeMy lady moving graciously.Beata mea Domina!
MY lady seems of ivoryForehead, straight nose, and cheeks that beHollow'd a little mournfully.Beata mea Domina!Her forehead, overshadow'd muchBy bows of hair, has a wave suchAs God was good to make for me.Beata mea Domina!Not greatly long my lady's hair,Nor yet with yellow colour fair,But thick and crispèd wonderfully:Beata mea Domina!Heavy to make the pale face sad,And dark, but dead as though it hadBeen forged by God most wonderfullyBeata mea Domina!Of some strange metal, thread by thread,To stand out from my lady's head,Not moving much to tangle me.Beata mea Domina!Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.The lashes a clear shadow throwWhere I would wish my lips to be.Beata mea Domina!Her great eyes, standing far apart,Draw up some memory from her heart,And gaze out very mournfully;Beata mea Domina!So beautiful and kind they are,But most times looking out afar,Waiting for something, not for me.Beata mea Domina!I wonder if the lashes longAre those that do her bright eyes wrong,For always half tears seem to beBeata mea Domina!Lurking below the underlid,Darkening the place where they lie hid:If they should rise and flow for me!Beata mea Domina!Her full lips being made to kiss,Curl'd up and pensive each one is;This makes me faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!Her lips are not contented now,Because the hours pass so slowTowards a sweet time: (pray for me),Beata mea Domina!Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?But this at least I know full well,Her lips are parted longingly,Beata mea Domina!So passionate and swift to move,To pluck at any flying love,That I grow faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!Yea! there beneath them is her chin,So fine and round, it were a sinTo feel no weaker when I seeBeata mea Domina!God's dealings; for with so much careAnd troublous, faint lines wrought in there,He finishes her face for me.Beata mea Domina!Of her long neck what shall I say?What things about her body's sway,Like a knight's pennon or slim treeBeata mea Domina!Set gently waving in the wind;Or her long hands that I may findOn some day sweet to move o'er me?Beata mea Domina!God pity me though, if I miss'dThe telling, how along her wristThe veins creep, dying languidlyBeata mea Domina!Inside her tender palm and thin.Now give me pardon, dear, whereinMy voice is weak and vexes thee.Beata mea Domina!All men that see her any time,I charge you straightly in this rhyme,What, and wherever you may be,Beata mea Domina!To kneel before her; as for me,I choke and grow quite faint to seeMy lady moving graciously.Beata mea Domina!
MY lady seems of ivoryForehead, straight nose, and cheeks that beHollow'd a little mournfully.Beata mea Domina!
Her forehead, overshadow'd muchBy bows of hair, has a wave suchAs God was good to make for me.Beata mea Domina!
Not greatly long my lady's hair,Nor yet with yellow colour fair,But thick and crispèd wonderfully:Beata mea Domina!
Heavy to make the pale face sad,And dark, but dead as though it hadBeen forged by God most wonderfullyBeata mea Domina!
Of some strange metal, thread by thread,To stand out from my lady's head,Not moving much to tangle me.Beata mea Domina!
Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.The lashes a clear shadow throwWhere I would wish my lips to be.Beata mea Domina!
Her great eyes, standing far apart,Draw up some memory from her heart,And gaze out very mournfully;Beata mea Domina!
So beautiful and kind they are,But most times looking out afar,Waiting for something, not for me.Beata mea Domina!
I wonder if the lashes longAre those that do her bright eyes wrong,For always half tears seem to beBeata mea Domina!
Lurking below the underlid,Darkening the place where they lie hid:If they should rise and flow for me!Beata mea Domina!
Her full lips being made to kiss,Curl'd up and pensive each one is;This makes me faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!
Her lips are not contented now,Because the hours pass so slowTowards a sweet time: (pray for me),Beata mea Domina!
Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?But this at least I know full well,Her lips are parted longingly,Beata mea Domina!
So passionate and swift to move,To pluck at any flying love,That I grow faint to stand and see.Beata mea Domina!
Yea! there beneath them is her chin,So fine and round, it were a sinTo feel no weaker when I seeBeata mea Domina!
God's dealings; for with so much careAnd troublous, faint lines wrought in there,He finishes her face for me.Beata mea Domina!
Of her long neck what shall I say?What things about her body's sway,Like a knight's pennon or slim treeBeata mea Domina!
Set gently waving in the wind;Or her long hands that I may findOn some day sweet to move o'er me?Beata mea Domina!
God pity me though, if I miss'dThe telling, how along her wristThe veins creep, dying languidlyBeata mea Domina!
Inside her tender palm and thin.Now give me pardon, dear, whereinMy voice is weak and vexes thee.Beata mea Domina!
All men that see her any time,I charge you straightly in this rhyme,What, and wherever you may be,Beata mea Domina!
To kneel before her; as for me,I choke and grow quite faint to seeMy lady moving graciously.Beata mea Domina!
PRAY but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;Think but one thought of me up in the stars.The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:Patient and colourless, though Heaven's goldWaits to float through them along with the sun.Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,The heavy elms wait, and restless and coldThe uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.Speak but one word to me over the corn,Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
PRAY but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;Think but one thought of me up in the stars.The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:Patient and colourless, though Heaven's goldWaits to float through them along with the sun.Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,The heavy elms wait, and restless and coldThe uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.Speak but one word to me over the corn,Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
PRAY but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;Think but one thought of me up in the stars.The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:Patient and colourless, though Heaven's goldWaits to float through them along with the sun.Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,The heavy elms wait, and restless and coldThe uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.Speak but one word to me over the corn,Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
WEARILY, drearily,Half the day long,Flap the great bannersHigh over the stone;Strangely and eerilySounds the wind's song,Bending the banner-poles.While, all alone,Watching the loophole's spark,Lie I, with life all dark,Feet tether'd, hands fetter'dFast to the stone,The grim walls, square letter'dWith prison'd men's groan.Still strain the banner-polesThrough the wind's song,Westward the banner rollsOver my wrong.
WEARILY, drearily,Half the day long,Flap the great bannersHigh over the stone;Strangely and eerilySounds the wind's song,Bending the banner-poles.While, all alone,Watching the loophole's spark,Lie I, with life all dark,Feet tether'd, hands fetter'dFast to the stone,The grim walls, square letter'dWith prison'd men's groan.Still strain the banner-polesThrough the wind's song,Westward the banner rollsOver my wrong.
WEARILY, drearily,Half the day long,Flap the great bannersHigh over the stone;Strangely and eerilySounds the wind's song,Bending the banner-poles.
While, all alone,Watching the loophole's spark,Lie I, with life all dark,Feet tether'd, hands fetter'dFast to the stone,The grim walls, square letter'dWith prison'd men's groan.
Still strain the banner-polesThrough the wind's song,Westward the banner rollsOver my wrong.
THE END
Printed byBallantyne, Hanson & Co.Edinburgh & London
Transcriber's Note:Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation remains as printed.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.
Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation remains as printed.