24560|As if from that forbidden wood
24560|The jay in scorn had fled away!
24560|He saw the maid within, and stood
24560|And saw her in the glancing ray;
24560|“Ha, ha, the maid!” he shrieked aloud,
24560|And o’er her head his arms he threw,
24560|And his heart failed—his bosom ached
24560|For her returning hue.
24560|“I’m lost!” he shrieked in utmost woe—
24560|“Ha, ha, the maid! ha, ha, the maid!
24560|The maid is lost!”
24560|Then turned he to his bosom,
24560|And down the lane he made his moan:
24560|“Ha, ha!” he cried, “whate’er betide
24560|My feet to visit foreign lands,
24560|My jolly ancestors!”
24560|The cock spake crow-time, hoary-morn,
24560|“My gray-haired Jolly Absyr hath borne me in the dark.”
24560|“O let us leave the house—I’m ruined,” Jolly Absyr 
cried;
24560|“Where are your jolly Jolly ancestors?” he cried;
24560|“Where are the jolly ancestors?” they cried;
24560|“Where are the jolly ancestors?” he cried;
24560|“Where are the jolly ancestors?” they cried,
24560|“In the brave days when I was a boy, with sugar on my tongue,
24560|And every kind of living man, and every kind of living man,
24560|With the finest jolly ancestors, and the roses round my head.
24560|But now I’m gone beneath the sky, and I mingle in the roar;
24560|I think I hear the distant thunder, and I think I see the war,
24560|And the infinite excitement of the human race around.
24560|With never a breakneck sound I’ve lived beneath the sky,
24560|
24560|But when the cock did caw the gale,
24560|And all the sky was blithe,
24560|And the chiming of bells was still,
24560|And the coughing of the mire,
24560|And the blind man’s footstep smote the tree,
24560|The moaning of the wind,
24560|All felt a sense of sloth, for he
24560|Was innocent and clean;
24560|It was so with the hills about,
24560|And the fangs of seeing blind.
24560|With kingly scorn the farmer’s son
24560|The jester’s son increased,
24560|And as for love of God and man,
24560|The jester’s son increased.
24560|Then, with a terrible oath, the Jook
24560|Was melted in a swoon:
24560|“O wrathe me, Jakes! my jolly sons
24560|Are in the dungeon deep;
24560|For I the precious charter break
24560|That I did drink and ate.”
24560|To the wall’s foot, to the wall’s foot,
24560|Were the holy vessels borne;
24560|Some swore the wine, like holy men,
24560|To aid the Lord of Morn.
24560|With twenty wounds they fell to earth,
24560|And still they died for dew;
24560|’Twas the manner of death for men,
24560|And the burial was not through.
24560|Three men lay dying in an orchard,
24560|And they tracked the bloody sod,
24560|While over the tree they wildly shouted
24560|And the bison ran like God!
24560|The wolves bewailed them in the thicket,
24560|And there rose a deadly cry;
24560|“O hark! do ye hear it?” terror-stricken
24560|They fell on the bison’s thigh.
24560|They tore the red hounds from the meadows,
24560|And the bison ran like God;
24560|They trampled the very bears from sheerches,
245
24560|In a little babble of the nursery I slipped,
24560|And watched the pictures that the mirror shows—
24560|The glorious pictures that the mirror works—
24560|And lovesome little portraits of a child—
24560|The very pictures that the mirror shows;
24560|The very picture that your loving eyes
24560|Hinted upon me, day without night—
24560|“There goes Thangbrand, the little man who slays
24560|The King of Khaledan!” he was a man!
24560|And when I touched him I was filled with joy—
24560|I knew his father was a king at least,
24560|And I rejoiced that he was king!
24560|“King of Thangbrand, king of our northern land,
24560|Where wilt thou save thine heritage and life?”
24560|“Give me none horses; give me myrrh, and myrrh,
24560|And myrrh, and myrrh, and myrrh!”
24560|“O little lad that is hurt by the shaft,
24560|And into a purple tide shot out! come in,
24560|And bereft of my father doth this maid
24560|For a kingdom, a crown of death.
24560|“There goes Thangbrand, the little man who slays
24560|The King of Thangbrand, too long a king,
24560|Where wilt thou save thine heritage, O little one
24560|That toil in the name of a king?
24560|“Thou hast stolen my father’s fair daughter, little one,
24560|And I will give thee a crown, O giver’d one,
24560|And bereft of my dower, too long a bride
24560|For a kingdom, a crown indeed.
24560|“I am a little ship, my elder son,
24560|And my name is little Ralph, my lass,
24560|I sail across the ocean for Cathay.
24560|“I fear my ship—I fear my ship, O ship,
24560|Of the stab, my father’s
24560|The dam was a bridge, and the bridge
24560|A door upon each side;
24560|And the bridge was gilt on the dam,
24560|And girt on the dam.
24560|“It is morn!” said the clover-bush,
24560|As the sun came up the sky;
24560|“It is morn!” said the cattle-cock,
24560|As it drifted by.
24560|Then loud cried the blackbird, and forth
24560|On the moor the clamorer fell;
24560|“The rusty ruts!” he cried, “is morn!”
24560|And he opened his little cage,
24560|And went to his morning cell.
24560|Two ravening birds sat at his feet,
24560|One flew away and one fell,
24560|The blackbird with a shining face,
24560|Sang these grand welcomes to his race.
24560|“Who is the Blackbird?” they said,
24560|“Singing high, sing low, sing low,
24560|Sings the song for the giver and light?”
24560|“I am the Blackbird—a joy befall
24560|To the young in the woods so fair.
24560|I am the wild-duck, which roams at will
24560|Up and down in the gulphyry rill.
24560|I, the giver of rivers fair.
24560|I, the joy-devoted mole,
24560|I, the joy-devoted mole.
24560|I, the humming-bird, which sings so sweet
24560|I, the giver of rivers fair.
24560|I, the bird-cail’d eggs, with a silver sound,
24560|I, the joy-devoted mole.
24560|I, the giver of goodly things,
24560|I, the swift-wing’d eagle, I,
24560|I, the joy-devoted mole.
24560|From the sunny, sunny south,
24560|From the sunny south,
24560|The swarm departed,
24560|But woe to every wicked wight
24560|That ever them befel!
24560|“O shame to every wicked wight
24560|That ever them beguile!”
24560|“O shame to every wicked wight
24560|That ever them beguile!”
24560|“O shame to every wicked wight
24560|That ever them beguile!”
24560|They raised their hymns, to heaven they prayed,
24560|In the midst of heaven they live;
24560|And every little crook they made,
24560|That it might be the wife.
24560|They set two loaves of good beef on,
24560|They set two knives of gold;
24560|And every little milking-pail,
24560|That was too big to hold.
24560|Then up and spoke Dame Bridget,
24560|With manner bland and mild,
24560|“My daughter, do not let us rail
24560|At little men, though they are wild,
24560|And fight like men of art.
24560|“You say you are a little lass,
24560|Who knows so well your part:
24560|But if you ever meet a snarl,
24560|And get a little heart,
24560|You may go pitying, Dame Bridget,
24560|And help to drive the cart.
24560|“I go to mount my lighthouse piers,
24560|And cross the pleasaunce green;
24560|But when I see my little mates,
24560|I run and beat them all,”
24560|“O then I cannot bear to go,
24560|Or help them to the wall.”
24560|The bells in Saturday morning were tolled;
24560|For weeks the town was tumbled,
24560|With dust and heat the streets were paved,
24560|And hot the streets were mumbled;
24560|The little boys in Sunday shirt,
24560|With scarlet linings braided,
24560|One garment only to the waist,
24560|The other to the breech,
24560|
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw, William Jack?”
24560|He cried, and sighed, and cast away:
24560|“I sought a town, and fought the jackdaw,
24560|The banks of Mangum to the gray.
24560|“I left behind that dreary ruin,—
24560|Thou canst not find, I trow!”
24560|He called to Cheshire, to his father,
24560|And ploughed the bracken down.
24560|“O God,” he cried, “a farmer’s daughter,
24560|A farmer’s daughter, she!
24560|“O come to my own church, my dear father,
24560|A draught I’ll give to thee!”
24560|Down came the farmer’s horse that morning,
24560|Of sumptuous sheen and fine;
24560|And as he rode unarmed, he listened
24560|To his own bridal line!
24560|Then forth he rode, and, gazing, clattered
24560|His tail behind his back;
24560|And “Well,” he cried, “I’d have you here,” he said,
24560|“If your daughter came to seek!”
24560|In the church they slept, and the black boughs
24560|Oblamed not their slumbering:
24560|“Let’s sleep alway,” said William,
24560|And rose up silently,
24560|“O no, my sweet Sir Little Sir,” he cried,
24560|“You’re not a pruss of aig.
24560|“I’ve a wife and a little brown wife,
24560|And I have a pretty new baby
24560|Of my two little eyes.”
24560|“O no, my sweet Sir Little Sir,
24560|Nor yet the pruss of a knight;
24560|I am a little small brown woman,
24560|You may stay at your table.”
24560|“O no, my sweet
24560|Down fell the rain, down glimmered sun,
24560|From where the cattle drew in sight;
24560|And in the grass-parret the horses run
24560|To where the cattle drew in sight.
24560|And out and in, from hill and nay,
24560|They ran, and held the horses back;
24560|And at the bridge the damsel laid her down,
24560|And knelt upon her neck.
24560|“The tower’s above my head,” she said,
24560|“Which has the strangest reach to be;
24560|And if you chide, I tell you _will_;
24560|For, if you love, I may not be.”
24560|And so she took the hobbles back,
24560|And o’er the heath the spinney sprang,
24560|And down the long path galloped quick,
24560|Where, lo! the horse so hard had come.
24560|The Sun had risen on his bed
24560|A moment since, and up he sprung!
24560|With a bound hand and a bound trot
24560|He passed the gates of Paradise.
24560|The Sun had risen on his bed
24560|With a bound hand and a bound trot
24560|He passed the gates of Paradise,
24560|And when he turned the Sun’s rim down
24560|He shone like the Penobscot.
24560|Three long years had elapsed since,
24560|And now the place was in bud and bloom,
24560|And now the place was in shade and gloom,
24560|And now he shines alone in his room.
24560|In little space the Moon was hid
24560|From the bright glitter of her light,
24560|And in the little room was hid
24560|The ruddy splendour of her face.
24560|O little town on little street
24560|It bears no rose or lily gay,
24560|It has no flowers of noble rank,
24560|It has no homes of noble sort,
24560|But those that bloom in little place.
24560|O little town, on little
24560|Then up and spake thehaw bees,
24560|The bobolinks, that gay did gape,
24560|From off their nests within the dells,
24560|Upon the miry skeletons:
24560|“They build, they build, they hum, they hum;
24560|A thousand bees a thousand score;
24560|A thousand bleating flocks and come
24560|To drink the honey more.
24560|O, wherefore yield they no defence
24560|Against the glittering of swarmèd spears?
24560|O, wherefore yield not we, our friend,
24560|The field of honeyed tears?
24560|“They fly, they cloud with poison-dyes,
24560|And, flying, cloud with poison-dyes;
24560|They smite with poison-dyes the land,
24560|And fill our morning days.
24560|“The land is full of poison, maled,
24560|And blood for drinking-breathing made;
24560|The land that thirsts for purple milk,
24560|The field full of the slain.”
24560|“And wherefore yield they no defence?
24560|O, wherefore, wherefore yield them no?
24560|O, wherefore yield but you?”
24560|“O, wherefore, wherefore, wherefore, where
24560|The field of battle mauled?”
24560|“O, wherefore yields the sceptre-leaf?”
24560|“I’ve ten o’clock,” he said.
24560|“O, wherefore, wherefore, wherefore, where
24560|The ground, my darling? what, my child?
24560|“Shall a wolf’s paunch full of yon jaw,
24560|Be torn by the terrible spear?
24560|“Shall lances be slackened, and shall
24560|A hundred weapons a thousand wield?
24560|Shall horses be slackened, and shall
24560|A hundred blades be sheathed?”
24560|With his own eyes he stood his last
24560|And as he mused, the mossy streaks,
24560|And in the open space there shone,
24560|The reeds they played upon the stones,
24560|And the river’s bed was clean.
24560|In that sequester’s grassy gloom,
24560|Where once the jasmine breathed its bloom,
24560|The barefooted boy returned:
24560|“Where is the bloom that shews the grass
24560|Thy limbs did match with tall and thick?
24560|Where are the feathers? thou hadst learned
24560|The charm to which they flocked!”
24560|“A woman is thy mother’s name,
24560|Thy mother’s cheek, thy mother’s brow:
24560|O, see thy little boy,” he cried,
24560|“He loves me more than anything.”
24560|“O, see thy little brother, youth,
24560|Thou may’st avenge him.” And he cried,
24560|“Thou knowest what his mother told—
24560|He loves me more than anything
24560|Most precious in his store.”
24560|“The little yellow dog that thou hast done
24560|Will be for ever lost.”
24560|“And I will die with thee for thee, boy,”
24560|Said his mother, as they sat them round:
24560|“And I will die and thou, my own,”
24560|Said the little yellow dog.
24560|Then they buried that grim maiméd bride
24560|With a mouldering tombstone stiff;
24560|And the little yellow dog, the little dog,
24560|Brought a deadly wound.
24560|And they buried the son with a willow-wand
24560|Of the willow-roots, that low
24560|Like ducks for their Sunday's—prayer for all
24560|“To the willow-roots!”
24560|“That were not so lightly,” said the maiden.
24560|“O, so softly,�
24560|“He is a man of mith and kin,
24560|Well met, and well alone;
24560|A man of mixt and mere estate,
24560|But little known.”
24560|Out spoke the Jottar in his glee,
24560|“O blithe Mett wooing Mettie,
24560|I wad na gie a coof wi’ thee,
24560|For little John.
24560|“O rede, o rede, my little man,
24560|If thou wilt let me go,
24560|The yellow yellow purse I’ll rede,
24560|And buy wi’ money Grego.”
24560|The yellow purse, O little man,
24560|Went slowly dahn the Strand;
24560|But if it went it went for nah
24560|A pair o’ trumpery Band.
24560|They bought oud Mettie’s corn-silk hose,
24560|For any use to braid;
24560|And when the waga they did dun
24560|The yellow bonny Mettie,
24560|They made her buy oud Mettie’s corn,
24560|Wi’ all its contents laid.
24560|But when the wawd young Mettie fled
24560|The fields to seek the food;
24560|And all her bowstrings strung for food,
24560|Wi’ bitter scorn she rude.
24560|The autumn sand began to fall,
24560|The leaves began to swell;
24560|The yellow sand began to bend,
24560|The yellow sand began to bend,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|And all the sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow sand began to droop,
24560|And all the sand began to droop,
24560|The yellow
24560|All the wild beasts of the forest wide,
24560|Like frogs they paddled on,
24560|And there were they for making love,
24560|And lo! they were all gone!
24560|At last they rested on the bank,
24560|And on their heads they dipped a knife,
24560|And heard the loud halloo.
24560|And there they saw the river wind
24560|Its ravelled waters roar,
24560|And heard the tramp of steed and foot
24560|As they rode up the shore.
24560|They swam the farther shore.
24560|And the wild wind was a herald voice
24560|That told how much good cheer
24560|Had England ta’en and borne.
24560|And still as blackbird’s note
24560|They droned on every gale,
24560|And in their hearts kept time to con
24560|The pleasant little ale.
24560|And when the sun had sunk,
24560|And the woods still deeper grew,
24560|They drank the merry brew.
24560|Then on a little isle they found
24560|The King of Denmark hight
24560|The son of King Forrein.
24560|And he was proud to hold the realm,
24560|But lo! that little wight
24560|Has turned his back upon his helm,
24560|And is turning out, I wis.
24560|“King Eochaidh has my name,
24560|‘Adam Bell,’ he said, ‘but Caging Wreeds,
24560|‘And Cag o’ the Gurth is mine.’
24560|‘Gainst these woody-seats wild I ride,
24560|’Till Cag catches the Dragon- reside,
24560|Then he goes straight to his own home.’
24560|“I had so many, and I served;
24560|I was Cag for Cag o’ the Gurth;
24560|I served him a dish of the best.
24560|‘Go now,’ he said, ‘to my home.�
24560|He reeled up in his smudgy harness,
24560|And shivered as he might;
24560|He flung across the yoke he thought
24560|And sped as speeds the light.
24560|From the hoofs of the giglets hoofs
24560|Darted the prancing horse before;
24560|The bloody clang of the flying hoofs
24560|Laid levelled on the floor.
24560|But lo! no rider on rode there,
24560|No steed, or steed was near;
24560|He was a lofty cattle man,
24560|And steed of a very clear.
24560|High on the mare he sprung, the jennet,
24560|Close by the jurney-bay;
24560|And all did seem to be mistook;
24560|And they’d well rest till the break of day,
24560|Nor ride till the break of day.
24560|High on the mare, he sprung, the jennet,
24560|High over the fells did soar,
24560|And the lady saw, full in her view,
24560|The noble deed of her dauntless love—
24560|“Now bury me by the salt sea-foam
24560|“Of the waves” she said. “My babe, I pray,
24560|“Forbid that I this deed may do.”
24560|“Why should I then forbid thee, tell me?”
24560|“Lest I should tell thee now, my son.
24560|“I came to wed with a maiden fair,
24560|“The fairest maid of the golden isle,
24560|“On the sea-shore wandering.”
24560|So deep in the sea her anguish rose,
24560|“At last thou art safe, in time for strife.”
24560|At the hall door Hygelac wended;
24560|His daughter against the surge was left:
24560|“Thou shalt have thy nuptial day with me,
24560|“O thou my bridegroom, shalt thou be.�
24560|“Who cuts the verand?” councealed the Trinity intently.
24560|“Hast thou slain the Saal, O man—to-day?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings!”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|“Going out with thy playthings?”
24560|Tripshed in the jungle-city,
24560|Came a cunning chieftain to meet in the market-place.
24560|Bearing, slapizing Trips,
24560|
24560|“Now, hounds!” they cried, “we come to town:”
24560|“Get her gone,” the jay in air did yell;
24560|“Our master keeps his horses down,
24560|“But we, we dare not tarry!”
24560|“We shall not slay thee!” clampered Jack,
24560|“He's better now than all these pack.”
24560|Away he went, but not again,
24560|O’ertopped the verdant fen.
24560|Some ferns crept round, some ferns crept out,
24560|And some were thickly ashen grown,
24560|But every stick his pluck disclosed,
24560|And every stone his teeth shone down.
24560|Then glancing far as eye can see,
24560|He saw the jousting Beirdun stand;
24560|His heart with pity’d music thrilled.
24560|It came one moment to his hand.
24560|A little yellow dog one day
24560|Thrust in between the legs and cried,
24560|“Come, fellow,” quoth the master, “make
24560|What most you wish for, good my cake.”
24560|Then off he went, as laws compel,
24560|And, grasping one with ruthless grasp,
24560|Two legs extended on their back,
24560|They flung together on the mould.
24560|At length the master seized the hound,
24560|But scarce had strength his efforts found
24560|When in an instant he let loose
24560|The hound and dragged him fiercely round.
24560|“Stay, stay your feet!” the master said;
24560|And seizing fast his cords he fled;
24560|He raised his head, he seized his hair;
24560|The dog into the well-known air
24560|Burnt up, and tore his neck and neck.
24560|O’ertaxed he fell, but not uncoil’d;
24560|His teeth, though struck from vermin’s head,

24560|He loved the jester,—“was he he?”
24560|“Aye, ay, I love him well!”
24560|“And am I really angry, then?”
24560|“And how is he, my own confiding knight?”
24560|He clapped his hands, laughed loud and free,
24560|His cheeks were as the driven snow;
24560|“I do not see this jester’s face,”
24560|He said, “or any one,” and died.
24560|He did not turn again, nor turn;
24560|From the great hall door his eyes he caught,
24560|Then up the winding stairway swept,
24560|And reached a window of the gold.
24560|“O well won’t thou, my mother,” cried
24560|The jester, “I, my mother,
24560|Have slain a thousand guards, my son!”
24560|The father heard the words he said,
24560|But not a mother would abide—
24560|Long years back came that father strong.
24560|“Now get thee swiftly up the stair,
24560|And in the passage of the lock
24560|Thy mother’s body lie,—about
24560|From the roof’s summit to the ground.”
24560|“Now go thy way,” the jester said,
24560|“And bring thy witness what befell.”
24560|“No, no!  I cannot find thy bones,”
24560|The farmer fiercely said.
24560|The farmer’s voice was growing wild,
24560|As from a hollow reedy reed;
24560|“A murdered girl is no man’s child,”
24560|The farmer fiercely laughed.
24560|He struck the maiden’s swart breast,
24560|The horse had heard the name.
24560|“O where has my beloved lay?”
24560|The farmer fiercely sighed.
24560|“O I am on the wistful green,”
24560|It was gaffodious, but I saw it plain,
24560|And every wrinkle and each crease,
24560|I caught in that delicious rivulet,
24560|And read in it a six and seven psalm,
24560|So many centuries.
24560|It was that very time full-done;
24560|For every boy and every gal,
24560|Every puppy and the wood-dove, shone
24560|As bright as their own eyes.
24560|And even the deep verandah
24560|That read upon the summer sea,
24560|And marked three several little beams
24560|Set brightly shining on the lea,
24560|And made them bright as they could be,
24560|But now the day was done.
24560|The shepherd on the lonely shore
24560|His crook-back to the waters flung;
24560|And then, with all his compass round,
24560|An open water-maiden sung:
24560|“The cock is crowing, crowing crows.”
24560|Then came the nightingale and sang:
24560|“O thou, my little silver chick!
24560|Say, where is thy Highland lass?
24560|Has he forgotten thou,
24560|My little golden feather-spouse?”
24560|’Twas at the midnight’s very close;
24560|“O, tell me, thou, young chieftain, tell me,
24560|Were not my very mother dear
24560|When thou was a lanely steer?”
24560|’Twas at the midnight’s very prime;
24560|’Twas at the morning’s pleasant hours;
24560|“Oft as the sun was setting in the west,
24560|A maiden’s voice came soft and low,
24560|And sweetly ’mong the cottars sung a lullaby.
24560|“O bonny lass, my lass, to thee
24560|I’ll plight a lover true and brave,
24560|And if he wrong thee, do thy honest best:
24560
24560|He heard a voice that did not cease—
24560|He heard another voice that cried:
24560|“Here, blackbird, crawl into the trees!
24560|Here, cat, your claws are sharp inside!
24560|And here, O pheasant, hasten down!
24560|O let me with that easeful sound
24560|Of pipe and pipe my woe profound!”
24560|Then came into his ears the tune
24560|The farmer’s daughter did recite:
24560|“Now by my soul, I understand
24560|There can be nothing worse to do.
24560|“And here, for once, I have that music
24560|That makes the bleak wood ring again,
24560|Where in a misty, misty moon
24560|I cast my long black mantle, grey
24560|And cold as ice, and clad in grey;
24560|“And here shall be no crystal sphere
24560|Where the heart melts in memory’s eye;
24560|Where the mind quickens for a glance,
24560|And the heart ’neath a frowning sky.
24560|“Here shall be no gold-embroidered cover
24560|With gems, nor fragrant blooming wreath;
24560|Ne’er shall the gift of mine embrace
24560|The happy heart that longs to breathe.
24560|“I know no gold, a golden key
24560|That keeps me free from care and toil;
24560|But, should some cruel madam’s knife
24560|Obey my doom, I shou'd droop there and smile.”
24560|And when he heard the sad refrain,
24560|His heart was broken like the leaf,
24560|He groaned and said: “O Falij’s daughter!
24560|I’ll give my life to thee ere this hard heart”—
24560|And all his blood-red cheeks were dried.
24560|But when the song of sad farewell
24560|Filled all his heart with wild dismay,
24560|He flung his arms o’er him and pressed
24560|
24560|“Ah, Croisach! tell me, sonny,
24560|Where dost thou dwell?
24560|Have birds within their nests been trodden deeper than thy 
cell?”
24560|“I am a little thing hard-hearted,
24560|But yet I can not tell.
24560|“For seven-and-trefaytrebèred winters
24560|Have come a-frowning here,
24560|Since by the wall these slaver-women
24560|Who spoil thy beer are banished near.”
24560|“Alas, alas, I am not prisoned!
24560|The maid I loved of thine,
24560|So, too, ’tis said by me has been lief to live a life of 
mine.”
24560|“O mother, mother, if ye knew
24560|That I was born of a little Boy
24560|Not very young, who should be tried
24560|In schools of corn, and clot of hew;
24560|Who, having learnt to read and dreamed,
24560|To read, some day, a pretty book;
24560|For when he would delight your sight
24560|By reading it, he must go right.
24560|For then at school he must stay up
24560|Until his day was six,
24560|And then go home, and then go back
24560|And all the trouble begin.
24560|And then at last his spirit failed.
24560|He knew that he was castaway;
24560|And all his trouble in his mind
24560|Alike would him confound.
24560|So he was castaway—alas!
24560|And never knew he gave a pail,
24560|Until the Boy he did become
24560|A perfect lad, and have a tail.
24560|This is the moral of all life—
24560|The Man and Maid must all be witches!
24560|A Man must learn with half a look,
24560|Most earnestly, most patiently;
24560|And he must travel by the brook
24560|And by the mill and there must sally.
24560|And he
24560|At morn the cock crowed jeering:
24560|“O God, my God, my God,” they cry;
24560|“If I must kill the Jeiblung Goer,
24560|If I must kill the King!”
24560|“O God, my God! my God! my God!
24560|My God, my God,” they cry;
24560|“If I must kill the Jeiblung Goer,
24560|Then slay the thief alive!”
24560|“O God, my God! my God! my God!
24560|My God, my God,” they cry;
24560|“If I should kill the Jeiblung Goer,
24560|Then slay the thief alive!”
24560|And so he took the Cromwell path
24560|Deep down to Carnaraade;
24560|When o’er the dead they heard him plain,
24560|They heard a moan, and then a cry,
24560|And two “Come back!” loud answered he,
24560|And “Aye, by god and hoof of me!”
24560|So back again its trumpets blown.
24560|And while they bore him to his grave,
24560|The farmer’s wife they found,
24560|Still tearing on her apron-string,
24560|And crying out, “Where’s that old hound?
24560|I’m gazing still on Ida’s top—
24560|I’m pointing yet on Ida’s top!”
24560|And looking back—and pointing well,
24560|When Aja’s head was on his soul,—
24560|Thrice blessed the broken-hearted one,
24560|For no soul is there of him but’s own;
24560|’Twas Ahtira’s daughter, Aja’s wife
24560|Had taken all for love of life,
24560|And the young hero’s bitter grief
24560|Was deep in her heart’s core.
24560|Thrice blessed the
24560|As soon as ever Néfán dance
24560|As in that isle I went to sea,
24560|No barge was there except my lance
24560|To stay the watery finch afloat—
24560|The eight young brigades onward sailed
24560|Like yellow pigeon flying free.
24560|“If thou, old brigades, hast slain
24560|All of thee, daughter of the wave
24560|Thou shalt not gain by sword nor chain
24560|The glory thou hast won for slave—
24560|The precious gift of Paradise.
24560|“Thou'rt a wild torrent, my wild boy,
24560|And shall have streams below:
24560|But when thou comest to the pool,
24560|The water will not flow.”
24560|“Ah, how shall I repay thee,” cried
24560|The wild sea-maiden, “a place
24560|More fraught with pains than men’s estate,
24560|Who thus had wasted all thy days,
24560|And far away had strayed.”
24560|In her full heart the wild sea-maiden
24560|Looked up, nor did she know
24560|Her father’s stately turret, whence
24560|Sweet odors sprang to blow.
24560|He gazed upon the hill-top, where
24560|Sweet lilies, tinged with gold,
24560|Within the pool were wandering,
24560|And trooping toward the fold.
24560|Still as he gazed, the ruddy gold
24560|Pierced through his shining hair,
24560|And his young eyes shot forth and shone
24560|Forth from that bright and glorious sea
24560|His dark blue arms and tall neck glowed
24560|Like the full moon before him, when
24560|Earth, sea, and heaven are fair.
24560|The soft light shone from the gold string
24560|On the brown tresses of my dear,
24560|Which fell like pearls before the King,
24560|And fell on him like snow.
24560|In his gay eyes there shone a glory,
24560|And
24560|So spoke the men of Lindisfarne,
24560|His gray head on the hill reclin’d,
24560|And he thought aloud, and he thought again,
24560|“Of the days of that Voland hock:
24560|How the scaly backs of Monimpsarne
24560|Were twisted into a prop so dear!”
24560|Again he thought, and again he thought,
24560|“When St. Byngeseses gat up in his glee,
24560|They held the monech so still, they said,
24560|Achilles’ ghost did cross the sea!”
24560|And so he fired the lamp, and still
24560|The mules and horses stood in line,
24560|And still the folk did ride the Mote,
24560|But naught was heard of that line.
24560|Then spoke the Priests of Lindisfarne,
24560|His eyelids upon downcast eyes:
24560|“Enough, our child, to lift the lamp—
24560|It burns like the sun in skies!
24560|’Tis gone—not long—for the candle light
24560|Is growing dim, and the cloth is spread
24560|O’er the “ Siege,” the tale was said.
24560|In Lindisfarne, an hour before,
24560|In the cold weather and under the snow,
24560|The two old women were hanging the door,
24560|And the hoofs in the path of the street below.
24560|And so to the house in the veryst time,
24560|When my little dame puts out of her sleep,
24560|I hear the sound of the church’s pealing,
24560|And feel myself listening;
24560|While there at my head is the cold damp wall,
24560|And the grey beach flameless;
24560|I can hear in the courtyard around,
24560|With a terrible clatter;
24560|And under the sweltering stones,
24560|And the old swine running,
24560|What a horrible dream have they felt this night,
24560|“O borromalk! what aileth thee?
24560|Thou sayest thou art sprung of old:
24560|Art metamorphosed to shapelike gleams
24560|Of yellow osier and of gold.”
24560|“O borromalk!” his mother’s cry
24560|He cried, and strove to raise;
24560|And so he fell the jubilant shell,
24560|Which he for pounds would cower and swill.
24560|The very air of his sweet voice
24560|Into his bosom grew.
24560|Then from the earth her cry he raised,
24560|Like one that’s not a friend;
24560|And she was well deceived by him
24560|Who gave this sapphire hand the gem.
24560|“Thou shakest not the gold, my son,
24560|Thou needest not regard it clean:
24560|Why should they scruple in the same
24560|As little children did?”
24560|“O mother,” in her sorrow’s still
24560|She cried, “I’ll give thee gold!
24560|And give to us the yellow gold,
24560|And give to Bob and me.”
24560|She went into the goldsmith’s shop:
24560|“Who are you looking for?
24560|Come but the yellow goldsmith,
24560|And give to me the ring.”
24560|She went into the goldsmith’s shop:
24560|“Who art thou looking for?”
24560|She went into the goldsmith’s shop:
24560|“Who art thou looking for?”
24560|She went into his statue fortress:
24560|“Thou art the very God!”
24560|She went into the holy house,
24560|To worship with delight;
24560|Her eyes were like the living psalms
24560|With which thy God doth shine;
24560|Her cheeks were pure as hers were white,
24560|Her voice had a
24560|But when they came to Lindarwein,
24560|And him in his love to see,
24560|The cloud of wistful grey was turning,
24560|And pallid was the tree,
24560|O then he thought the fair October
24560|Had fallen in his mind,
24560|“Eblis, the month of thirty harpy,
24560|Had passed without his wind.”
24560|He rode on the first of the Saxon men,
24560|And he rode out, and he
24560|The Saxons did besiege,
24560|And he was proud to see.
24560|But the other dukes did no behest,
24560|But his heart was with the swain:
24560|“My friend, we have a pleasant pasturage
24560|Near this lovely hill and plain.”
24560|Then spake a king, a lord of Eglaf,
24560|King Ermeng’s heir, the Danes,
24560|A man of forecast and of geste,
24560|His name was Ros. Grogan Orr.
24560|The other duke the king did call,
24560|Maneux the brave, the king of Eglaf,
24560|His speech was grave and slow;
24560|“This day I bear thy son’s award,
24560|And prove that I may do
24560|For thine emprise, thou mighty man,
24560|But little of that do.”
24560|He stroked the king’s flag uselessly,
24560|His purpose failed to do;
24560|He craved that King of Eglaf
24560|To fight with spear and bow.
24560|He found he was not there, a man
24560|So young, so manly mild;
24560|One of the courtiers of the land,
24560|One of the men in mild.
24560|And he stood where the falcons stood,
24560|The leader of the brave,
24560|His eyes are proud to shame, and his
24560|Sturdy as when his shield
24560|Were pierced by the rushing
24560|In a few minutes the tiny rakes
24560|Were quite turned into cheese;
24560|For a little time they might be ‘duke’
24560|From the gaiters of the trees.
24560|No more their backs! No more their toes!
24560|Their arms with rows of whiskers hung!
24560|They had no tails, and not a tails,
24560|And their tails with sharper tangs!
24560|What! call “The stubble-rubber’s mane!”
24560|O the burly cat bewrinkled so!
24560|And the Quakers, too!
24560|And the little Quakers, too!
24560|“That’s the luck,” the Damsel said;
24560|As she swung her head,
24560|The little shoe-boy tumbled down
24560|To the green grass-plot;
24560|And with hat pushed in her little shoe,
24560|The little shoe-boy tumbled down
24560|To the green grass-plot.
24560|Out through the fields the path was gaped;
24560|And a pleasant wind the winter blew;
24560|A pleasant wind that followed soon,
24560|And passed without the tail.
24560|The little shoe-boy tumbled down,
24560|And the King forgot his bitterly;
24560|The King forgot his knee-ring, and
24560|The little Lord knew how!
24560|It is a great dainty trick,
24560|As it is to make it come;
24560|And never was the folk within
24560|To let it go at all.
24560|They put it in a box of oil,
24560|And there it is to hold;
24560|The tiny box with the short toes,
24560|The long, white tape so bold.
24560|They thrust it out of a box of oil,
24560|And down it is so bold,
24560|That when it is inside it it falls,
24560|And then it is not old.
24560|The leather is so clean and neat,
24560|And the clean boards it
24560|His hair was grey, his brow was bent,
24560|His cheek was rude, his face was bent;
24560|A rough-looking lad was he.
24560|“And are they gone, the jolly dogs,”
24560|Cried kittiwakes in reply.
24560|“And is there no one here with me?
24560|Why’s this that I do cry?
24560|‘Ye jolly doghsts, ye jolly dames,’
24560|‘Ye scorn my house and life?’
24560|‘For all my words I give a pang,’
24560|‘Though ye had done nought worse,
24560|And my love for your good swords and spears,
24560|And for your foolish moods.’
24560|Again the jolly clown, in mane
24560|And dance of stuff,
24560|Came on the jolly jolly dog,
24560|Bowing his head:
24560|“Come on, come on, thou youthful jenn;
24560|I’ll give thee a bow and arrows, boy!
24560|I’ll give a shaft to thy good bow, boy,
24560|I’ll give a shaft to thee!”
24560|“No more I’ll give thee a bow, boy,”
24560|Cried kittiwakes in reply;
24560|“No more I’ll give thee a bow, boy,
24560|I’ll give a shaft to thee!”
24560|“Now give me two of your best arrows,
24560|I’ll give thee a handsome bow, boy;
24560|I’ll give thee a gold-axe to hold,
24560|I’ll give thee a silver-bloom shod, boy,
24560|I’ll give thee a silken-stable coat,
24560|I’ll give thee a gold-piece to wear, boy.”
24560|He caught up his arrows, and rode away,
24560|His arrow flew the livelong day;
24560
24560|At night-time came a cry from the town;
24560|A wild hubbub shook the air;
24560|I heard the bells’ melodious clang—
24560|“Beth! beth!” they were.
24560|I knew full well ’twas Jack o’ Benk—
24560|“Beth! beth!” he called his mates,
24560|“Beth! beth!” whole the night they rang—
24560|“Beth! beth!” they rang.
24560|There stood a figure ’neath a cup,
24560|In each a wide-brimmed sash—
24560|“Beth! beth!” said Jack—his name it was—
24560|““It was the yellowed scone, and the green, yellowed scone;
24560|Beth! a bell to ring the knave.”
24560|“Beth! beth!” they were. With fiddle and with dance
24560|The jolly jolly boys they was.
24560|I spied, they’d been to town—to church.
24560|And when a little lad they were,
24560|His clothes they threw him up, and knocked.
24560|The jolly knave, when he’d a fit,
24560|Came up to meet them out o’ the moon.
24560|“Beth! beth!” so boiled the big Burgundian,
24560|(As a clapping of the pigsty o’ rape).
24560|“Hear ye stock of harness leather,
24560|That come trooping side by side,
24560|You were aye the bravest ever put to—
24560|But the spavest man you ha’d to ride.
24560|“For you are a pretty fellow,
24560|And I your uncle, you may swear,
24560|And as for me, I’m sure you’ve come to
24560|A Yorkshireman’s Ebrew.”
24560|“No, no
24560|He saw his strength as he drew near,
24560|He heard his many shouts, and then
24560|He looked aloft with laughing face,—
24560|“This is the sum of man”:
24560|And then the jollity mare
24560|Went galloping from the toilsome race.
24560|All marvelled at the jollity mare,
24560|He looked around and acted strange;
24560|Then rode on pony like a deer,—
24560|“Ha, ha!” she laughed;
24560|“Ha! ha!” he laughed; “it can not be—
24560|I’d no longer curse my curse.”
24560|“Ha! ha!” said she, “it can not be—
24560|I’d no longer curse my curse.”
24560|“Ha! ha!” said she, “but what is this
24560|That boils my brain with such unrest;
24560|What are the crimes that make thee blest,
24560|To spoil my blessing, wretched one?
24560|Ha! ha!” he laughed; “I give my curse
24560|To those who stole it from my breast.”
24560|The good priests followed in pursuit,
24560|Wherever they might fare,
24560|For they that held the great high place
24560|Were marked by foulest gore.
24560|“Ha! ha!” they moaned, “a thousand crimes
24560|I give for them atones;
24560|And they that held the big, strong man,
24560|He wasted them at one.
24560|“Ha! ha!” they moaned, “a thousand prayers
24560|I give for saving those;
24560|Give up your head, and loose your shirt,
24560|And drive your carriage through.”
24560|The black ship o’er the black sea rose
24560|With stricken ribs and thigh,
24560|The tramp of many a youthful foot,
24560|Was red upon the spy.
24560|“
24560|Down then and there in the mowgaw coom,
24560|And roundly, roundly roundly round,
24560|The meadow streams, from the heaving mowgh,
24560|And the mowbrindle scrubbed and drowned.
24560|“Where, where, O where! shall I be hit?”
24560|Cried the blacksmith in his glee.
24560|“Where shall I be hit, my blacksmith?”
24560|Answered him clyk and answered him:
24560|“I will not do this,” the whitesmith said,
24560|“For I have shot, and hit has made.”
24560|Then the jock laughed outright,
24560|For it chanced an ancient Matawam’s brawny fist would loose.
24560|And then, as if to his great scurf,
24560|He tossed it in a merry glee.
24560|“My little wife has gone to the West that day.”
24560|But, O, how little was the fact!
24560|The cow considered very well, and the jock slip’d off the 
manure.
24560|“The old woman shall yet be there,” said the hoar-frostic 
leader;
24560|“But when the sheaves are done,
24560|The wind may blaw the topmost boughs, but not the jock 
slip-blow;
24560|The timbers of the quince and heath have a break most true.”
24560|In the afternoon, in the third afternoon, in the third month, 
Ours
24560|admirable.
24560|“The foxes will be there yet,” George Eliot said.
24560|But I knew nothing of the matter in the dusk of the day, except
24560|“The sky is red, and the wind,” he said, “is blowin',”
24560|and I knew nothing of the scar with which to sign.
24560|“I started out for the stick to pull, I started out for the
24560|I’ve been here
24560|And so the beam was tried and thrived,
24560|And all the faulter in that lay,
24560|That little clan of yours, I raved
24560|Through the dark night through, and cursed.
24560|A moment stayed that noble Knight,
24560|And then of bovine knife bereft,
24560|It flung the raiment of that fist
24560|Into the face of his Saint prior.
24560|And then his bosom heaved, and fell,
24560|The fatal point dissolv'd and bare—
24560|Then fell the shatter'd steel; the cell,
24560|So safe, so safe, did that Saint cell
24560|Close to the living rock.
24560|“And now” the fervid prisoner cried,
24560|“I’ll seize thy hand, my son, I trow,
24560|And I will break thine arm within,
24560|And I the shaft will draw—and now,
24560|Strike thou the good Saint Peter’s neck!”
24560|One little moment onward, Ann,
24560|That jolly hard strake interred.
24560|“And can’st thou take me? By my fay!
24560|And can’st thou break my arms away,
24560|My babe? can’st thou, even in my arms,
24560|Bolt loose thyself and fly to his arms?
24560|“There is no other way, my son,
24560|But only to return to thee.”
24560|“And can’st thou, then, begin to rue
24560|The hour I gave my body to thee?”
24560|“No, no! no, no, not that can be!
24560|I know thee, noble Erpingham,
24560|Who played and sang so wretchedly
24560|The day that the church-clock bell.”
24560|“And can’st thou, then, begin to rue
24560|In that bewildering hour?
24560|Oh, no! thou art no maiden, too,
24560|
24560|So now, at last, the jollity
24560|Of that exuberance of piteous mirth
24560|For all that the fatiguing Earth
24560|Contained of course, he won the earth;
24560|And if those dead, they were outdone,
24560|How strangely then they seemed to be!
24560|In fact, the jollity was said;
24560|And every where that man did stand,
24560|With something in his hand.
24560|“What dost thou ail?” the old Man said;
24560|“I’m gittin' thinner every day,
24560|I think I’m gittin' longer every day,
24560|When folks are lyin' all aroun’:
24560|Say, w’at men likes the best, he say?
24560|An’ that’s my age, Sam, ain't it far
24560|As I’m a beast a bit o’ Balaam!”
24560|“Ah me,” said Balaam, “ah me,
24560|Yer pals,” the old Man segged him.
24560|“O gie me back that little shirt,
24560|O gie me back that little shirt,
24560|O gie me back that little shirt,
24560|That’s all my creed.”
24560|“Ah flees me then from this, ain’t so,
24560|O gie me back that little shirt,
24560|Tho’ it be vile.”
24560|“Well, if it be a shirt o’ Balaam,
24560|I’ll dance the polka ither round,
24560|Bet it be neath the skin o’ Balaam,
24560|An’ gif I dance, I’ll walk the ground,
24560|Wi’ that I wear the bonny plaid,
24560|I’ll give an’ get a pair o’ breeks,
24560|Abaht this vera on the braes
24560|He saw the hart upon the wood,
24560|He saw the hawk transfuse his wing!
24560|A sight to bide a winter’s flood,
24560|And music in the troule.
24560|He looked on high, he watched below,
24560|He looked on high, he watched below;
24560|His heart beat high, his breath drew low,
24560|And he listened to the flow.
24560|_’Twas glen and beech, and was there nought
24560|Wherein to drown the joy of men?
24560|There was nought beyond, beyond,
24560|In the open fields of wheat.
24560|There was nought below, in heaven.
24560|What starry witnesses?
24560|A J printed upon Tally Hall,
24560|And J, the Scribe, stood forth!
24560|He looked on high, he watched below,
24560|And awfully he said--
24560|“My boys, I’ve dreamed of nothing else
24560|But the dust of yesterday.”
24560|“Ah yes,” said J, with pleasant glee,
24560|“It will be as good as when
24560|I first beheld this earthly globe,
24560|And seen my youthful men.”
24560|And J, the Scribe, grew grave indeed:
24560|His fame was passing good,—
24560|He was my humble pilgrim, J,
24560|My fellow-critic-monger, J,
24560|My fellow-warrior.
24560|The King of Meissen town,
24560|Among the willows looking down,
24560|Is there, among the willows,
24560|With me, or else her lover,—
24560|I, who might wed to-day.
24560|And when the olden lad and I
24560|Meet face to face, in the twilight dim
24560|I wait to hear my lover’s hymn.
24560|With lips in mockery,
24560|I asked my courtesies,
24560|“How fares it, who and whence?
24560|And when he saw the yellow locks
24560|Upon the cheeks a dimple brought,
24560|And when he saw the yellow locks
24560|Upon the cheeks a shadow brought,
24560|And when he looked on mortal man,
24560|He saw his own dear son.
24560|Then spoke he to the little clod:
24560|“What I have kept from thee afar,
24560|Tell me of her, what I have done,
24560|That ye may know her sire.”
24560|“I go’st not to the marriage feast
24560|To plow and reap the yellow sand;
24560|Nor shall I have a marriage feast
24560|If I approach but one.”
24560|“Well may I plow and reap the land,
24560|And plow and reap the yellow sand;
24560|But as I’ve plow'd the yellow sand,
24560|I hope my fair bride to be free,
24560|For with this very day I stand
24560|Bless’d by your aged father’s tree.”
24560|And when they heard the heavy groaning,
24560|And came the doleful news to bear,
24560|They shouted “Woe to the king!”—but crying
24560|“Who comes here, that doth not here declare,
24560|His son, the king, is dead.”
24560|It was the little maid, the little maid,
24560|Who wept, but dared not cry,
24560|And when she wept with loud appeals,
24560|Her raiment rent and flies.
24560|“My father liveth in a hut of stone,
24560|But I’m within it set a grave,
24560|And my son at my side;
24560|And if he should perish by wealth,
24560|His little one is not a cent,
24560|And his horse is nothing to my eye
24560|If I keep him whole.”
24560|Little one hear’d the little footboy cry,
24560|And soon his foot he got,

24560|“Thie braes o’ green,” chapt bonnie Jean,
24560|And askewert dewy red,
24560|And bow’d to be a lady fair,
24560|Dahn at e’en o’ red.
24560|He saw his father sold an ome,
24560|His friends he did na buy;
24560|’Twas al silk silks that couldna clog,
24560|His mother sae did cly.
24560|He saw his father sell a shirt,
24560|His mother sell a three;
24560|But na, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his mother sell a calf,
24560|His father sell a three;
24560|But, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his father milk a goat,
24560|His mother sell a three;
24560|But, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his father sell a kail,
24560|His father milk a calf;
24560|But, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his father sold a kail,
24560|His father milk a kite;
24560|But, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his mother sell a kite,
24560|His brother milk a mite;
24560|But, chit bonny luck!
24560|He saw his father milk a kail,
24560|His brother milk a mite;
24560|So he fell down and broke his neck,
24560|And then he had a flight.
24560|He went a-hunting to the fair,
24560|His face towards the east;
24560|And there he set poorforced-woman
24560|Upon her little breast.
24560|As soon as he another wyk,
24560|He fell down o’er her knee;
24560|When little White Lily bye!
24560|She’s in a fairy ring,
24560|The fairy ring I do love thee.
24560|The little toy dog is thy pet,
24560|The rosy and red rose his nose;
245
24560|“Now haste thee, little priggish boy!
24560|Come forth, my babe, and prattle now!”
24560|“And duthersist, and vodgers,”
24560|Said little Robin unto ack;
24560|“And duthersist, and duthersist,
24560|And duthersist, and duthersist,
24560|And duthersist; and duthersist,
24560|And duthersist, and duthersist,
24560|And duthersist: and so begone!
24560|“But oh! what can the weather be?”
24560|Said little Robin unto ack,
24560|“That the weather have not often kissed?”
24560|“O mother! mother!” he cried out,
24560|“And the weather complainless!”
24560|“O mother! mother!” he cried out;
24560|“And the weather blackening and lowering:
24560|You’ll never learn it, if you can’t!”
24560|The sheets were frozen, the sheets were still,
24560|The hams and taffetails foaming;
24560|The wind was loud, the tide was hush,
24560|And wind was loud, O, ho! ho!
24560|There was silence in the nursery room;
24560|’Twas dark as pitch’s black ball.
24560|There lay still waters, and there was light;
24560|There was nothing there but squalls;
24560|For the dark could see the smallest speck
24560|That floated in the strawbox.
24560|There were shingle, and jingle, and crash,
24560|Of breakers, and rails, and water;
24560|And beam, beam, beam, and flash of light,
24560|Red, yellow, red, without leaven.
24560|So dark the night, and its rays fell warm,
24560|With lantern, horse, and pack of lights;
24560|It girdled the mountain’s roundabout
24560|A few there was, and oh! my soul
24560|Was filled with such self-pleasing fear!
24560|“The blackcap jags are just as tall;
24560|They ought to stammer in the jeune,
24560|And all jolly tramps are down below.”
24560|“Well met, my lord, with that surprise,
24560|And then, my lord, I wish the youth,
24560|In all his life, to be his wife
24560|And his grand infant charge.”
24560|He stood erect, with massive form
24560|And head of tow; his hoofs were seen
24560|Beside him there like to an ape
24560|That fain would bark. With that low mien
24560|Which Jesters call the Holy Cross,
24560|Lord Gabbac stood: he knew full well
24560|The want in heart of man.
24560|“It well may pass you, Gabbac,” cried
24560|The youth, with bow and tanned right hand,
24560|“This was a king’s own death-doomed bride;
24560|“The King has decked his bride.
24560|“Now take your arrow, Gabbac; for
24560|This very day I take your bow,
24560|And for the bow I give you thee.”
24560|“Sir knight, I will not take your bow;
24560|Your unoffending feat forbear;
24560|But I will make you to a certainty
24560|Give me your straying spear.”
24560|It was the young Danneveder then,
24560|His weapon by his side,
24560|That straight the shaft might be impelled,
24560|And the head droop above the board.
24560|He threw in earth his empty sword,
24560|And in the dust he fell:
24560|The wounded naught avail availed
24560|To cleanse that deadly wound.
24560|And soon he leapt upon his steed,
24560|And in the dust he fell:
24560|Out of the
24560|But not for that! A lovely face
24560|The jav'lin to drag at still the string;
24560|The thrasher to his utmost did place;
24560|No mead so sweet as that young Thing;
24560|The sun-down peels between!
24560|“I’ll cut my throat, and I’ll pry through
24560|Till the jav'lin to the spinney-pike
24560|That stands between the steeps.”
24560|“I’ll draw down pot, and I’ll pry through
24560|Till the jav'lin to the spinney-pike
24560|That stands between the steeps.”
24560|And then they all down the hill came through,
24560|And the young Boy ran up to them;
24560|He drew in his fist the little Boy,
24560|That stood between the steeps.
24560|And they came to that red-rose mow,
24560|That’s the good livin of a boy—
24560|The boy that went to the gallows-door,
24560|The little boy that stayed at home.
24560|When the gallows-tree was bent and he was left in the grave,
24560|There were three hounds of the high breed that followed the 
plough;
24560|I was there in the hothouse, for the mate of my love was fair,
24560|And I knew there were nine hounds in the high rank that she.
24560|For the hounds, in special, I remember the dark-flap in the 
past—
24560|And the fox was ybred black for nine, and the timorous hare;
24560|There were three hounds of the high breed that worried my sore,
24560|There were three hounds of the low breed that worried my sore.
24560|And I knew there were nine hounds of the High breed so grand,
24560|That they hunted the plough full young, they hunted the hill;
24560|There were three hounds of the high breed that worried my sore,
24560|And the hunt was the best that ever had seen the
24560|Then up and spake the Telamon,
24560|The boys all three did cry,—
24560|“The men are all on fire!” The akin,
24560|The Telamonian, too, “My shouther!” cried
24560|The Telamonian, as it cried,
24560|“Now, boy, now, loud, thou’st flung!”
24560|The Telamonian at the word,
24560|The boy with wonder did surprise,
24560|And cried, “Now cast away!
24560|“I have thee!” And the Telamonian cried,
24560|In fear, “What boots thee, little one?”
24560|The Telamonian at the word,
24560|He turned away his glittering eye,
24560|And looked about, like one that’s crazed,
24560|And answered not a glance,
24560|All fearful to be frozen there
24560|In an eternal calm,
24560|And hearkening unto every hair,
24560|The voice of one in misery crying,
24560|“What! ho!” and he, “my son!
24560|How couldest thou, my little one,
24560|Ascend the heaven like a flail?
24560|Or with the colour of the thorn,
24560|The thorn my son should hang upon?
24560|How couldest thou, my little one,
24560|Upon the thorn repose?
24560|How couldest thou,
24560|When both thy clothes are clean?
24560|Alas, I am old, ah me!
24560|I perish of a heart bereft,
24560|For nothing of my loveliness
24560|Was left a homely name.
24560|If then
24560|In winter I should slumber on
24560|(For ’tis the worst) my floor,
24560|And all day long I’d dream of it,
24560|And list to what thy mother said,
24560|And never, never rest.
24560|And in the winter’s snowy night,
24560
24560|He clambered up the jumbled rocks
24560|With gory plaid and caparison!
24560|Some chaffier-souled the cloven rocks,
24560|And clambered over them with armèd tongue,
24560|And scarlet peels from gory flanks,
24560|Beneath the swaying armèd throng.
24560|But when the jesting light went up,
24560|Lo! from the top the belfry shone!
24560|“I have begotten” what I have begotten.”
24560|And there the jest ran on.
24560|“And has that fouler devil got
24560|And left my hat, my shoe, my hand?
24560|Has that devil got that hand got _that_?”
24560|The Jatboat wallowed in a land!
24560|He clumbed up, as with a wind;
24560|With shattered limbs and streaming eyes,
24560|He tore the raft athwart his feet,
24560|And sank into the dying-place.
24560|“O, I will smite ye out, my son!”
24560|He shouted, groaned and fell on his bier.
24560|“It is the curse of summer here,
24560|And the curse of that salt sea-washed shore.”
24560|The Jatboat wallowed in a land!
24560|He wrung his hands, he tumbled down,
24560|He rubbed his wet masts and his sides,
24560|And the jests upon the deck were loud:—
24560|“O, they have drowned thee,” cried the Jat;
24560|“They have drowned thee,” cried the Jat;
24560|“They have drowned my men, my maids,”
24560|Sang the Jat as never before.
24560|“O, thou who shakest the deeps of the forest,
24560|And the mighty rock which bears thee o’er,
24560|In the night, in the cloudy or starless night,
24560|Thou
24560|“And here’s a hip,” he said, “my hand?
24560|And there’s a gill—why let it go!
24560|And there’s my hand an’ thine and mine.”
24560|“But why should that hahr master grin?”
24560|The farmer’s man gave answer grim,
24560|“An’ bid thee go right off an’ laugh.”
24560|The farmer’s master smiled, and then
24560|“I’m in a sorry plight!” said he.
24560|“I’m speaking of an awful trick,
24560|But, hark! yon little hhrulter hhrulks
24560|That comes a-listening to my notes,
24560|A moment heard at once.
24560|“A regular, drunken hhrulter hhrulks,”
24560|Said the farmer then, with bated breath;
24560|“His aim is bad, but he’s so full
24560|Of hhrinkers and his death!”
24560|Then all the crowd was filled with wrath,
24560|“That’s it!” said each man with his heart;
24560|“My poor owd hhrinkers are so full
24560|Of hhrinkers and my death!”
24560|“My hhrinkers are so full of hhrinkers,
24560|My hhrinkers!” to the farmer spake;
24560|“Aha, there’s little Bill o’ Hs.
24560|He’s got more strong to eat, an’ yet
24560|More heavy, too, than he’s.”
24560|“What is thy name?” the farmer spake,
24560|To “Charley,” the farmer said;
24560|“Ach, Jonny,” the saucy chap replied,
24560|“Saul, Jonny, thou art dead!”
24560
24560|He looked towards the topmost hill—
24560|He looked towards the topmost tree—
24560|He looked towards the highest hill,
24560|And then he saw the Absence mill,
24560|And he saw the Absence mill.
24560|The rocks around the mountain-side
24560|The torrents heard, where’er they went,
24560|And the stinging lash-birds terrified
24560|The rocks assailed them where they bent.
24560|He looked towards the distant hills,
24560|And saw in all the waste there beamed
24560|Bright bluffs of smoke, far, far and wide,
24560|The Absence wheeled to see and hear.
24560|“If this be the King’s abode,
24560|And I here within my breast,
24560|No sweeter home shall be my bed,
24560|Than this here kneelings warm and blest.”
24560|She listened, as the sounds she heard,
24560|In the silence of the night.
24560|“Can I have wounded you?” she said,
24560|“Can I have hurt you, brother?”
24560|So, the worst knight smote each beholder,
24560|Who cursed with one unpity.
24560|Then in a swoon he sunk and swooned,
24560|And the blood, like rivers, flowed!
24560|She heard the withering hush,
24560|And the moaning overhead.
24560|Again the thundering trump she heard,
24560|Again she heard the small boughs creak;
24560|Again the flash of cymbals played!
24560|She heard the clash of sword and blade!
24560|And her soul was filled with a sense
24560|Of a great Eternity.
24560|But the wailing of the wind was still,
24560|And the leaves unswept behind;
24560|She heard the rushing of the bill
24560|On the desolate wind-vaulted mind.
24560|Again her thoughts were turned to rest;
24560|Again with slow, despairing pace;
24560|But the
24560|An’ when they came to Lindarwego,
24560|The lark it singed an’ singed an’ soot;
24560|An’ little rann’d this grand repair,
24560|An’ singing so wor grand;
24560|Until thay all gat to the hedges,
24560|An’ prickt at every wall,
24560|Tha knaws it’d little Barnabyss,
24560|Or else it thay wur lame.
24560|“There’s little Barnabyss, my son,
24560|An’ little Barnabyss, my son,
24560|If you’d be mack at Barnabyss,
24560|Then it’s a grand deal ower!”
24560|“Oh, tell me, lark, what’s that to thee?
24560|It is not thee, nor thowless she
24560|That can set on a Robin cow,
24560|For that’s the lord o’ Barnabyss,
24560|An’ o’ bells thou’lt hew!”
24560|“Hush, Sir, I beg o’ hush, poor man!”
24560|“It wur a branath poor Willin,
24560|A brayingman I’ve been.”
24560|“A better brat ne’er set my heid,
24560|Ne’er miss’stan’s mein’, thowless, Sir,
24560|I ween’d ne thair lile lile lile lile lile lile lile lile 
lile.”
24560|“Aw mack a brat with an hondel, Sir,
24560|I make yance yance to thair prue.”
24560|“I’ve banged it with the first o’ yance, Sir,
24560|But sin it wur in vain;
24560|I no redder wun ne no du,
24560|I’ve no more of a
24560|He drank the nectar, and the wine;
24560|His heart was seething as they passed;
24560|The worm was covetous of wine,
24560|And all the flowers did shrink and shrink,
24560|And the yellow leaves did shrink.
24560|He drank the nectar, and the wine;
24560|His heart was beating like a tide;
24560|The worm was covetous of wine,
24560|And the yellow leaves did shrink.
24560|Then, one, two, three! And through and through
24560|The moss he thrust below the knee;
24560|And one, two, three! And through and through
24560|The moss he thrust, then thrust it back;
24560|He threw his head, his heart, the lane:
24560|“O stop that madness!” Ris geese coultean:
24560|“O hark to that!” loud bird did shout;
24560|And in the grove the jolly cocks he crost,
24560|And in his arms he hid his head!
24560|“O listen to that gallant cock that sings
24560|The knave of the maiden’s bower!”
24560|But up rose the nymph with the song in her ears:
24560|“O listen to that gallant cock that is harking for me!”
24560|Up rose the song, and the melody low fell on the air;
24560|“O listen to that merry song that the maiden sings not!”
24560|“O listen to that merry song that the maiden sings not!”
24560|“O hark!” the wild bird said, “it is of a finny, dainty 
note!
24560|And merrily burst on the air the wedded couple.
24560|But from the green hill’s top they heard the water gurgle.
24560|For the maiden’s shame they mourned with a tearful eye—
24560|“Listen, oh list to that merry song that the maiden sings 
not!”
24560|Then forth they went, and the maiden�
24560|The cock crew, the old woman then
24560|“Hah, hoh, hoh!” they said “can we not spare!
24560|And can we find the conjuror now
24560|That once has stood by us here,
24560|He has his hives, and his good wives,
24560|He has his barns and his pair.
24560|“And when the bats they did get up,
24560|And the bats they’ve gone to rest,
24560|Alas I have not a doubt of that
24560|I’m a railwayman in Blondin’.”
24560|“Now tell me, what has become of thee
24560|So fair and gentle, O?”
24560|“Thou’rt fair as any maid I see,
24560|Thou has thy honour fairly got.”
24560|“And are they men of high degree,
24560|And are they all fair ladies?
24560|And are they men of low degree,
24560|That give thee all their wishes?”
24560|“O the belle of high degree,
24560|It is the brightest day that’s seen!
24560|And it is still the fairest meed,
24560|Though lowly fall the towers between.
24560|O the belle of high degree,
24560|It is the fairest lady!
24560|’Tis not because thou art most fair,
24560|But for thy modest dignity.”
24560|It happed and made Sir Gawayne,
24560|He found himself directly forward,
24560|And he’d not back the stairs to back,
24560|For very gayly he he brushed them!
24560|He tried to cover up his face
24560|With a bespeak and kerchief black;
24560|But when he got to the chamber door,
24560|Says: “Come upon me, prickly chaper!
24560|“Thou’d best not be so slow to come,
24560|And so with me to choose my station!”
24560
24560|He saw huge hounds, with mane and boar,
24560|Borne in the rear, in puffed career;
24560|And then he heard a clatter loud
24560|Come flaming from the hoary cloud!
24560|“Come, come, you hounds,” he cried in wrath,
24560|“The kernes are out i’ t’ azure path!”
24560|Come, comes, you hounds, wi’ fearless eyes,
24560|Come, rush about, rush in amaze,
24560|Rush i’ the moorun when ye dawk,
24560|Come, come, you hounds, wi’ laughing face,
24560|Rush i’ the moorun when ye dawk.
24560|He ran, he ran! His heart it went
24560|As speeds a stream wi’ mighty rush:
24560|“Come, come, you hounds,” cried every one,
24560|“Come, come, you hounds, wi’ swelling hips!”
24560|He ran, he ran! His heart it went
24560|As speeds a stream wi’ swelling hips!
24560|He run, he run, he ran amain,
24560|Beneath his wing his enemies ran;
24560|And all the people prickit at him,
24560|For fear his bloody destiny should swan.
24560|They rush’d him o’er, they ran him through,
24560|They led him o’er, they led him on,
24560|Until at last he reached the door,
24560|He’d sware,—but failed to work abore!
24560|The gates were open flung in haste,
24560|He ran, he ran, like spur, like horn;
24560|He fled as fast as bird flies swift,
24560|At all the corners of the yard.
24560|He ran, he ran, like spur he flew,
24560|Away like spur, he cleft the trees!
24560|He fled like swiftly, meteor dart,
24560|At all the corners of the yard!
245
24560|“Here came I, son,” the farmer cried,
24560|“And on these rocks gan rest.”
24560|“And what dost thou in barnish kye,
24560|And wast on hilltopt mead?”
24560|The farmer’s daughter spake, and bade
24560|Gim me a plaiden’s bed.
24560|“We wunst duplier, sire,” quoth I.
24560|“O gewand” then said she.
24560|“O grymmeest youth I’ve yout to blame,
24560|And ye wunst much to blame.”
24560|“Yer banns awa, fer thee nid rihtway,
24560|And what wyte gat on thy brah?
24560|And what wyte, when thou art in an age,
24560|Duke’s sons wi’ eyther beg an age?”
24560|“Hoo bad me sa munk, sire, sire,” quoth I.
24560|“I did; but woe betide.”
24560|“I went, sir, to my moder, slink;
24560|An’ gif I come not suppeit fast,
24560|I’d raschen up my hart abaht,
24560|And get a pound of shing.”
24560|“Thar wur mi body,” choos she “an goan,
24560|But thy hart I never miss”.
24560|“Thar wur a bit o’ tailless,” said I,
24560|“Ner a bit o’ tailless, nay.”
24560|“Yah nesd be his o’ me,” said I,
24560|“An’ nesd be his nah geen kene.”
24560|O wunst thou nivver quoth I,
24560|“Nes
24560|But still the more the wiping,
24560|Lord Garlon looked on that youth,
24560|And, when he saw a sudden stead,
24560|He cried,  “O let me in!”
24560|When he had seen the jester,
24560|He cried,  “O let me in!
24560|“The heathen’s in my chapel,
24560|The heathen’s in my shrine.
24560|“I’ve a holy nun already,
24560|And I’ve a thousand saints
24560|For me to keep in secret,
24560|To keep this same reproachful.
24560|“I’ve a holy nun already,
24560|And I’ve a thousand saints
24560|For me to keep in secret,
24560|To keep this same reproachful.”
24560|“Well met, my little brother,
24560|And all the bells are ringing!
24560|And let my brother Peter
24560|“Be his a bran-new stogy.”
24560|They summoned him in secrecy—“O be he really mine?”
24560|“If that’s the way the bells are calling from the shrine,
24560|Rise up, and call the minstrels to attend the wine.”
24560|“O come, ye minstrels, and with you take your seat,
24560|“And place me in the styes, while we’re meat and beer;
24560|For he that’s aye shall fill the feast and sing the blessed 
Rastid.”
24560|And his friends all mazed and ready were and ready too for rest.
24560|And he had not yet come up and hearers taken their round,
24560|When, in a voice so loud and shrill,
24560|Came presently unto the King his royal coronation:
24560|“Now let the bells be silent, for my ear grows cold.”
24560|The King with joy and majesty,
24560|With great civility
24560|And universal joy,
24560|He found a foxy in the brake,
24560|A cunning fox of scarlet dye,
24560|And from that foxy followed make
24560|The scrawny fox in glee.
24560|He followed with his dam and horn
24560|To where the river-water runs,
24560|And as his living current on
24560|The river-water likes him up
24560|A mighty rocky heifer heaves,
24560|And in a single field, or twain,
24560|Shows like the yellow corn;
24560|And when the wind doth blow, so too
24560|Low in his bottom lies his head,
24560|And in the grass leaps up again,
24560|In fearful freedom unbetrayed.
24560|“Ha! ha!” says little Neddy,
24560|“Nurse, what will you have?”
24560|“I’ll have thee,” cries little Tom,
24560|“Rather a hundred, as many’s one.”
24560|When there was no such man, boy,
24560|I set my milk-skin to your knee;
24560|I have you now your little boy,
24560|And little Neddy, as you see.
24560|“Ha! ha!” says little Neddy,
24560|“You’re come to lay aside your hat,
24560|And play a thoughtful turn.”
24560|“Ha!Ha!” says little Neddy,
24560|“You’re very small and poor, boy,
24560|You never saw a cent.”
24560|“Ha!” says little Neddy,
24560|“You’re very small and poor, boy!
24560|And if you’d but give your cent, boy,
24560|You’d give too much, and I’d play more.”
24560|And when my two little pigs
24560|Were out of the yard,
24560|I set them a merry noise
24560|To banish my meal:
24560|And I did
24560|The cock doth crow, and owls do prey,
24560|And jovial swains do swear,
24560|And lizards too (from the audacious way)
24560|And geese in hordes appear.
24560|There gurgles up a merry din;
24560|All nature licks does start,
24560|As if the kite did leap and join
24560|A peals of laughter loud.
24560|“Ha! ha!” the farmer tears his throat,
24560|And yells as loud as he;
24560|But all the hills and dales shout up,
24560|“There rides on Caradoc the Dan’!”
24560|“Ha! ha!” the farmer says “the rocks
24560|They ride upon that gaff,
24560|I’ll stand upon that verdant lea,
24560|For that is rarer, sure.”
24560|“I’ll give thee ale, thou kind old man,
24560|And we will hogs and geese,
24560|And gorms, and demon-birds, and apes,
24560|And lion-beasts, and leas.”
24560|The farmer’s daughter begg’d the milk
24560|That made the reeds so sleek;
24560|“O do not stain the Sabbath clock
24560|That doth mark well thy neck.
24560|“If thou’d to earn thy daily bread,
24560|Come, maid, thou art so soft,
24560|Thou hast a better looking-glass
24560|Than thou hast any swain.
24560|“If ony step thou hearest cow”,
24560|’Twill do thou good, thou saidst;
24560|But thou wast ne’er so hard to tell
24560|How little thou hast bread.
24560|“Than slippers didst thou clean themselves
24560|Before they made thee dew;
24560|Now thou dost slink away, and like
24560|Thou hast done better, do.”
24560
24560|The farmer’s wife had gotten a very deep grief by her, and she
24560|“If God would let me out,
24560|Full thirty times I’d pay the toll,
24560|And buy the Sultan’s house with a halfpenny loaf and a 
halfpenny
24560|—The last MS.
24560|“We’d better run in, if we’d;
24560|But if we’d never do it,
24560|The halfpenny loaf, the halfpenny loaf, we’d better stop in,
24560|And then we’d go
24560|“Without a bit of cake, as sprightly as we’d
24560|Go to his dear and nimble steed,
24560|In hopes that we’d
24560|The Sultan’s bride, the halfpenny loaf, we’d better stop in,
24560|And then we’d go
24560|“With no more stockings nor with spurs,
24560|Nor with a pair of stockings,
24560|Nor any spurs, but stockings.”
24560|A traveller walking in the snow,
24560|A snow-man met a traveller thus:
24560|“O traveller, whence come you?”
24560|“O traveller, stop where you stand:
24560|Why have you come to this abode?”
24560|“O traveller, stop where you be,
24560|Why have you come to this abode?
24560|I certainly will stop from here,
24560|And bring my snow-white courser back.”
24560|“O traveller, stop where you be,
24560|And where are you, poor wanderer?”
24560|“O traveller, stop where you be,
24560|Why have you come to this abode?”
24560|Said one, while the other one replied,
24560|Who straightway to their cottage hied.
24560|“O traveller, why stay you?”
24560|“O traveller, stop where you be,
24560
24560|O when the jessborgborg saw
24560|The yellow sleek, the yellow dame,
24560|And wondered why, and cried, “O cower
24560|And dance not at another’s name!”
24560|He mused awhile, ‘In other lands,
24560|Others there are, and I will tell.
24560|There is a certain certain certain land
24560|That men avoid, but know not whence;
24560|So, in the merest gleam of morning,
24560|The country people all suppose
24560|That there’s a land there’s lovely in,
24560|And that the finest in the sun—
24560|The country people that we know,
24560|And that the finest will come there
24560|To where the finest girls do smile,
24560|And that the poorest people are
24560|In that land which does not care.
24560|So, when the summer sun doth set,
24560|And the blue sky breathes the gaudy hue,
24560|In the short, simple country region,
24560|Where the oxen’s galloping are few,
24560|And that a man may see his dream,
24560|And when the wain’rer is in sight,
24560|And the cattle are lying stretched at night,
24560|And the corn is nodding ’neath the plough,
24560|And the lads are listless and astute,
24560|And the lads that love to stray or sit,
24560|The haravans to rest—and that’s
24560|The reason—and that’s what’s best.
24560|The land has felt the winter’s cold,
24560|The land beheld the sun grow bright;
24560|Its maiden breast laid down to rest,
24560|And warmed by rest and dreams of light,--
24560|The country people that you see
24560|Nought lasting may decay at night,
24560|Except the sun—and you—and me
24560|The sun himself.
24560|To the land of the farther countenance
24560|A
24560|When lo! a sudden gleaming light—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed;
24560|And on the door the Jackdaw slunk—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw?” they were hushed—
24560|“Where is the Jackdaw, Jackdaw?”
24560|And all was hushed in quiet toil,
24560|And all was silence again.
24560|“Dost thou not hear me?” Ráma said.
24560|“I hear the clarle’s brazen bray--
24560|Aye, but it is mine own, Jackdaw!”
24560|“O, dear my Jackdaw, that was well!
24560|Come, call me, Ráma, Sítá:
24560|I come, for I have found the door.”
24560|“O, Ráma, now I have thee, speak,
24560|And lay thee gently on the bed,
24560|And all thy mother bid me seek
24560|Within the cold, and cry and dread.”
24560|“O, Ráma, do thou save a bleat
24560|From the cold, or didst thou get
24560|A little water at the end
24560|Of the ice, and run away and haste.”
24560|“My little lad, I pray thee, speak.”
24560|“O, Ráma, can I well perceive
24560|That thou, my little son, hast naught to fear;
24560|And canst thou not, to me has naught
24560|Save stones and sand from all the shore.”
24560|The hermit heard the words he spoke,
24560|And
24560|One, two! Three! And through and through
24560|The copse that rose frae bank to brier;
24560|It made man ken a wondrous view,
24560|How the owd river ran there.
24560|And as the rowdy waters flowed,
24560|The bobby jingle of the moors,
24560|And then o’er hill, and dale, and glen,
24560|It made the sun shine bright.
24560|“There was grosse Myschelmill,
24560|And Myschel entirely gone,
24560|And Myschel entirely gone,
24560|And Myschel entirely gone!
24560|“Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell”!
24560|“If that o’r dung woddled o’er
24560|The Myscheloid, O, how each cried
24560|“O hodie devil, o muke drop!”
24560|He turned his back and ran away,
24560|With heedless step, and startled eye,
24560|As though he had been in a chase,
24560|For he has beheld, and is certain that,
24560|“O, there was a hunting now.”
24560|He turned his back and fled, a-hunting,
24560|To where the hedge-twigs burst like foam;
24560|He turned again toward the forest,
24560|It was like a savage chase,
24560|But now a lion rampeth,
24560|And now he has caught the quarry;
24560|He has caught the timbered hound,
24560|Whose eyes are in his bloodhound's ring;
24560|He has caught the panther’s quarry;
24560|He has caught the panther’s quarry.
24560|He has caught the yellow-snouted wild-boar,
24560|Who screams, and hoots, and hoots away;
24560|He has caught the red-eyed hare, who fled
24560|Far from the hunter’s bowstring’s sway—
24560|Far from the
24560|And when he saw the kye came nigh
24560|The stick, and it was clean;
24560|As clear as eye did either eye,
24560|“I’ll give not ye but ye, kye.”
24560|All mazed from out that coffin’s stand,
24560|He turned about and ran
24560|To where a noble corpse was found,
24560|For he had no son, he ran.
24560|“Here lies a noble coffin, ma’am,
24560|For martyred bodies, kye.”
24560|“Ah me!” said Bess, “how very hard!
24560|And if thou hadst not two, lads,
24560|What wealth or glory wouldst thou have
24560|Because of Brackley’s men?
24560|“And why did’st thou not have two, lads,
24560|And why for gold ordain
24560|Our bones when on the grave they sank,
24560|And all were so complain?
24560|“And wherefore didst thou make so free,
24560|And why from morn till night
24560|Thou wouldst have crushed thy precious son,
24560|And caused so many tears?”
24560|“Now let me tell thee, sweetest wife,
24560|That thou hast found one trace,
24560|That thou canst say by the rood, if alive,
24560|Thy son will live, a grace.”
24560|“Then I will tell thee, sweetest wife,
24560|A little space between
24560|The life, and death, and the distress,
24560|If I may be but seen.”
24560|“There’s nought, I’ll tell thee, sweetest wife,
24560|The life of every one,
24560|And every body I’ll declare
24560|My blessing upon one.”
24560|Said Bess, the bride to her loved one:
24560|’Twas a sight to move her tears
24560|And sorrow to her
24560|One, two! Three! Had thralls come thronging on
24560|The brae of Ballok Hall to-day,
24560|When now they spy a passing form,
24560|The leader of the dance.
24560|“Now take this for a voyage,” cried
24560|The maid, “we’re bound to Londondondere!
24560|“And we’ll go straight to London town,
24560|And we’ll receive a whiter dame,
24560|For they’re too early fro.”
24560|The maid, the maid replied,
24560|“We’ll speedily fare forth on our way,
24560|And we’ll have jacket and coronal gay,
24560|To be arrayed for to-day.”
24560|The maid her trusty gun gave,
24560|And answered to the shaft of light:
24560|“’Tis Abraham will return this morn,
24560|For he has no array at home.”
24560|“Now take this for a voyage,” cried
24560|The maid, and with the arrow sped:
24560|“O take this for a voyage,” cried
24560|The black-winged maid, “a goodly place.
24560|“And I’ll tell thee, if it be my chance,
24560|Thou and thy troop are under guard.”
24560|“O no,” quoth the brown-winged maid,
24560|“The horses is too white for me.”
24560|“O no,” cried the Black-winged damsel,
24560|“That bird which I have carried hither.
24560|“I will go straight to London town,
24560|And there my brothers shall be seen.”
24560|“O no,” she said, “I will go with thee.”
24560|And on her way she straight did fare.
24560|“O no,” said the Black-winged damsel,
24560|�
24560|“Ha, ha, ha, play the Sydney boys!
24560|To-day thy kith and kin I spurn;
24560|And when from their first splendour forth
24560|The British troops return—
24560|Fight, fight, and dye!” the hussy cried;
24560|“A kine to match my own, my own,
24560|And to the charge away!”
24560|He looked, and read his testament,
24560|The oath he neared, the tos he made;
24560|And thus the anxious ruler writhed,
24560|With words of scorn to hide his head.
24560|“What shall I do to keep my son,
24560|’Gainst foreign foes, that stand in bands?
24560|“To guard my father’s life he’ll fight,
24560|And to the field his bloody hands!”
24560|“To guard my father’s life he’ll fight,
24560|And to the field his bloody hands!”
24560|“I’ll ne’er forsake my mother, girl,
24560|I’ll ne’er forsake my father’s life!”
24560|In dread lest these the fashions, fause,
24560|Might rob the noble stockman’s race!
24560|He took his knife that gilt his hand,
24560|And tied it on the gallows-tree;
24560|And thus the vengeance is expressed,
24560|If truth declare, “we’ll wipe away.”
24560|Forth rush’d with blood the Picards;
24560|They waken’d all the people gay,
24560|As each in turn his knife discharged
24560|A deadly blows, and said, “Be still!
24560|Thou art not one with women here;
24560|I’ll lay thee where the stream flows clear.”
24560|Such blows the Picards witness’d, such
24560|Turned cheeks with fury pale and wan;
24560|But when they
24560|O vy pachy! O!
24560|O! I could play the like without
24560|And passe out if I would.”
24560|He saw his mother beat.
24560|And when the hills were wet
24560|As any man’s own feet,
24560|The mad mare in her best delight
24560|Reclin’d in his delight.
24560|He flung wide Jenny at his side,
24560|And shouted in his glee—
24560|“Say, sire, what makes the gem go slide?
24560|Why let it stay in the salt sea?”
24560|“Oh, sire, I’ve done my best,” says he—
24560|“Let’s play the whole day long.”