FAR…

FAR

310 TOM O' BEDLAM

The moon's my constant mistress, And the lovely owl my marrow; The flaming drake, And the night-crow, make Me music to my sorrow.

I know more than Apollo; For oft, when he lies sleeping, I behold the stars At mortal wars, And the rounded welkin weeping.

The moon embraces her shepherd, And the Queen of Love her warrior; While the first does horn The stars of the morn, And the next the heavenly farrier.

With a heart of furious fancies, Whereof I am commander: With a burning spear, And a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander;

With a Knight of ghosts and shadows, I summoned am to Tourney: Ten leagues beyond The wide world's end; Methinks it is no journey.

311 THE NIGHT-PIECE

Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee, The Shooting Starres attend thee; And the Elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o' th'-Wispe mis-light thee; Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee: But on, on thy way Not making a stay, Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.

Let not the darke thee cumber; What though the Moon does slumber? The Starres of the night Will lend thee their light, Like Tapers cleare without number....

ROBERT HERRICK

312 MY PLAID AWA'

"My plaid awa', my plaid awa', And ore the hill and far awa', And far awa' to Norrowa, My plaid shall not be blown awa'."

The elphin knight sits on yon hill, Ba, ba, lilli ba, He blowes it east, he blowes it west, He blowes it where he lyketh best ... "My plaid awa', my plaid awa', And ore the hill and far awa'."

313 BUCKEE BENE

Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene, Is the way now fair and clean? Is the goose ygone to nest, And the fox ygone to rest? Shall I come away?

314 WHAT'S IN THERE?

Faht's in there? Gold and money. Fahr's[124] my share o't? The moosie ran awa' wi't. Fahr's the moosie? In her hoosie. Fahr's her hoosie? In the wood. Fahr's the wood? The fire brunt it. Fahr's the fire? The water quencht it. Fahr's the water? The broon bull drank it. Fahr's the broon bull? Back a Burnie's hill. Fahr's Burnie's hill? A' claid wi' snaw. Fahr's the snaw? The sun meltit it. Fahr's the sun? Heigh, heigh up i' the air!"

315 THE WEE WEE MAN

As I was wa'king all alone, Between a water and a wa', And there I spy'd a Wee Wee Man, And he was the least that ere I saw.

His legs were scarce a shathmont's length And thick and thimber was his thigh; Between his brows there was a span, And between his shoulders there was three.

He took up a meikle stane, And he flang't as far as I could see; Though I had been a Wallace wight, I couldna' liften't to my knee.

"O Wee Wee Man, but thou be strang! O tell me where thy dwelling be?" "My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower; O will you go with me and see?"

On we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we came to yon bonny green; We lighted down for to bait our horse, And out there came a lady fine.

Four and twenty at her back, And they were a' clad out in green; Though the King of Scotland had been there, The warst o' them might hae been his queen.

On we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we came to yon bonny ha', Whare the roof was o' the beaten gould, And the floor was o' the cristal a'.

When we came to the stair-foot, Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma', But in the twinkling of an eye, My Wee Wee Man was clean awa'.

316 I SAW A PEACOCK

I saw a peacock with a fiery tail I saw a blazing comet drop down hail I saw a cloud wrappèd with ivy round I saw an oak creep on along the ground I saw a pismire swallow up a whale I saw the sea brim full of ale I saw a Venice glass five fathom deep I saw a well full of men's tears that weep I saw red eyes all of a flaming fire I saw a house bigger than the moon and higher I saw the sun at twelve o'clock at night I saw the Man that saw this wondrous sight.

317 GIRAFFE AND TREE

Upon a dark ball spun in Time Stands a Giraffe beside a Tree: Of what immortal stuff can that The fading picture be?

So, thought I, standing by my love Whose hair, a small black flag, Broke on the universal air With proud and lovely brag:

It waved among the silent hills, A wind of shining ebony In Time's bright glass, where mirrored clear Stood the Giraffe beside a Tree.

WALTER J. TURNER

318 THE WATER LADY

Alas, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see! I saw a maiden on a stream, And fair was she!

I stayed awhile, to see her throw Her tresses back, that all beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet.

I stayed a little while to view Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.

I stayed to watch, a little space, Her parted lips if she would sing; The waters closed above her face With many a ring.

And still I stayed a little more, Alas! she never comes again; I throw my flowers from the shore, And watch in vain.

I know my life will fade away, I know that I must vainly pine, For I am made of mortal clay, But she's divine!

THOMAS HOOD

319 THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

W. B. YEATS

320 THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS

They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate. (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few) You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods ... But there is no road through the woods!

RUDYARD KIPLING

321 THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE

One without looks in to-night Through the curtain-chink From the sheet of glistening white; One without looks in to-night As we sit and think By the fender-brink.

We do not discern those eyes Watching in the snow; Lit by lamps of rosy dyes We do not discern those eyes Wondering, aglow, Fourfooted, tiptoe.

THOMAS HARDY

322 DEER

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer. They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live, Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive, Treading as in jungles free leopards do, Printless as evelight, instant as dew. The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep Delicate and far their counsels wild, Never to be folded reconciled To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are; Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar, These you may not hinder, unconfined Beautiful flocks of the mind.

JOHN DRINKWATER

323 THE TWO SWANS

(A FAIRY TALE)

Immortal Imogen, crowned queen above The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear A fairy dream in honour of true love-- True above ills, and frailty, and all fear-- Perchance a shadow of his own career Whose youth was darkly prisoned and long twined By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near, And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.

I saw a tower builded on a lake, Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep-- That seemed a still intenser night to make, Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep,-- And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep, A monstrous Snake was warden:--round and round In sable ringlets I beheld him creep, Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground, Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned:

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars, Making the pale moon paler with affright; And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars-- That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright-- Nor slept, nor winked, but with a steadfast spite Watched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies; And that he might not slumber in the night, The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes, So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, Watching the lonely waters soon and late, And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate, Or company their grief with heavy tears:-- Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears They weep and pine away as if immortal years.

No gentle bird with gold upon its wing Will perch upon the grate--the gentle bird Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring Freedom's sweet keynote and commission-word Learned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred-- Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest! Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard, He leave a widow on her lonely nest, To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, Will seek the fruitful perils of the place, To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark That bear that serpent-image on their face. And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base, Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win His captive lady from the strict embrace Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within His sable folds--like Eve enthralled by the old Sin.

But there is none--no knight in panoply, Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat: No little speck--no sail--no helper nigh, No sign--no whispering--no plash of boat:-- The distant shores show dimly and remote, Made of a deeper mist,--serene and grey,-- And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float Over the gloomy wave, and pass away, Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.

And bright and silvery the willows sleep Over the shady verge--no mad winds tease Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep Their sprinkling leaves--half fountains and half trees: There lilies be--and fairer than all these, A solitary Swan her breast of snow Launches against the wave that seems to freeze Into a chaste reflection, still below, Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.

And forth she paddles in the very noon Of solemn midnight, like an elfin thing Charmed into being by the argent moon-- Whose silver light for love of her fair wing Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping Her dainty plumage:--all around her grew A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring; And all behind, a tiny little clue Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.

And sure she is no meaner than a fay Redeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, By old ordainment:--silent as she lay, Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake, And cut her leafy slough and so forsake The verdant prison of her lily peers, That slept amidst the stars upon the lake-- A breathing shape--restored to human fears, And new-born love and grief--self-conscious of her tears.

And now she clasps her wings around her heart, And near that lonely isle begins to glide, Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start Turns her impatient head from side to side In universal terrors--all too wide To watch; and often to that marble keep Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.

And well she may, to spy that fearful thing All down the dusky walls in circlets wound; Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring Girding the marble casket round and round? His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound, Terribly darkeneth the rocky base; But on the top his monstrous head is crowned With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.

Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall, No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, So he may never see beneath the wall That timid little creature, all too bright, That stretches her fair neck, slender and white, Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night With song--but, hush--it perishes in sighs, And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!

She droops--she sinks--she leans upon the lake, Fainting again into a lifeless flower; But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake Her spirit from its death, and with new power She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower Of tender song, timed to her falling tears-- That wins the shady summit of that tower, And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears, Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.

And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest, Subdued like Argus by the might of sound-- What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest To magic converse with the air, and bound The many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned:-- So on the turret-top that watchful Snake Pillows his giant head, and lists profound, As if his wrathful spite would never wake, Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake!

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies, To drink that dainty flood of music down-- His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs-- And whilst his hollow ear entrancèd lies, His looks for envy of the charmèd sense Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes, Stung into pain by their own impotence, Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.

Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird! Sweet was that midnight miracle of song, Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong-- Hinting a piteous tale--perchance how long Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake, What time disguised thy leafy mates among-- And no eye knew what human love and ache Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.

Therefore no poet will ungently touch The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew Trembles like tears; but ever hold it such As human pain may wander through and through, Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue-- Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed, By magic spells. Alas! who ever knew Sorrow in all its shades, leafy and plumed, Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?

And now the wingèd song has scaled the height Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair, And soon a little casement flashing bright Widens self-opened into the cool air-- That music like a bird may enter there And soothe the captive in his stony cage; For there is nought of grief, or painful care, But plaintive song may happily engage From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.

And forth into the light, small and remote, A creature, like the fair son of a king, Draws to the lattice in his jewelled coat Against the silver moonlight glistening, And leans upon his white hand listening To that sweet music that with tenderer tone Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan, Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!

And while he listens, the mysterious song, Woven with timid particles of speech, Twines into passionate words that grieve along The melancholy notes, and softly teach The secrets of true love,--that trembling reach His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun He missions like replies, and each to each Their silver voices mingle into one, Like blended streams that make one music as they run.

"Ah, Love! my hope is swooning in my heart,--" "Ay, sweet! my cage is strong and hung full high--" "Alas! our lips are held so far apart, Thy words come faint,--they have so far to fly!--" "If I may only shun that serpent-eye!--" "Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep;--" "Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die!--" "Alas, alas! that word has made me weep! For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep!"

"My marble keep! it is my marble tomb--" "Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath--" "Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom;--" "But I will come to thee and sing beneath, And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath;--" "Nay, I will find a path from these despairs." "Ah! needs then thou must tread the back of death, Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs.-- Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!"

Full sudden at these words, the princely youth Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth, But numbed to dulness by the fairy skill Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill For intense fear) that charmed him as he lay-- Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will, Held some short throbs by natural dismay, Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.

Now dimly seen--now toiling out of sight, Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall; Now fair and spangled in the sudden light, And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall: Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pall Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe; Slowly he winds adown--dimly and small, Watched by the gentle Swan that sings below, Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.

But nine times nine the Serpent folds embrace The marble walls about--which he must tread Before his anxious foot may touch the base: Long is the dreary path, and must be sped! But Love, that holds the mastery of dread, Braces his spirit, and with constant toil He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread, Impatient plunges from the last long coil: So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!

The song is hushed, the charm is all complete, And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake: But scarce their tender bills have time to meet, When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake-- His steely scales a fearful rustling make, Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell The sable storm;--the plumy lovers quake-- And feel the troubled waters pant and swell, Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.

His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, His horrible pursuit--his red eyes glare The waters into blood--his eager breath Grows hot upon their plumes:--now, minstrel fair! She drops her ring into the waves, and there It widens all around, a fairy ring Wrought of the silver light--the fearful pair Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.

Bending their course over the pale grey lake, Against the pallid East, wherein light played In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake Circled them round continually, and bayed Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade The sanctuary ring: his sable mail Rolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and made A shining track over the waters pale, Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail.

And so they sailed into the distance dim, Into the very distance--small and white, Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim Over the brooklets--followed by the spite Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright Worried them on their course, and sore annoy, Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light, And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy, Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!

Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers The Oriental sun began to rise, Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies; Wherewith that sable Serpent far away Fled, like a part of night--delicious sighs From waking blossoms purified the day, And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

THOMAS HOOD

324 THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER

It was intill a pleasant time, Upon a simmer's day, The noble Earl of Mar's daughter Went forth to sport and play.

As thus she did amuse hersell, Below a green aik tree, There she saw a sprightly doo[125] Set on a tower sae hie.

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true, If ye'll come down to me, Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd Instead o' simple tree:

"I'll put gowd hingers[126] roun' your cage, And siller roun' your wa'; I'll gar[127] ye shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'."

But she hadnae these words well spoke, Nor yet these words well said, Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower And lighted on her head.

Then she has brought this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha', And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'.

When day was gane, and night was come, About the evening tide This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side.

"From whence came ye, young man?" she said; "That does surprise me sair; My door was bolted right secure, What way hae ye come here?"

"O had[128] your tongue, ye lady fair, Lat a' your folly be; Mind ye not on your turtle-doo Last day ye brought wi' thee?"

"O tell me mair, young man," she said, "This does surprise me now; What country hae ye come frae? What pedigree are you?"

"My mither lives on foreign isles, She has nae mair but me; She is a queen o' wealth and state, And birth and high degree.

"Likewise well skilled in magic spells, As ye may plainly see, And she transformed me to yon shape, To charm such maids as thee.

"I am a doo the live-lang day, A sprightly youth at night; This aye gars me appear mair fair In a fair maiden's sight.

"And it was but this verra day That I came ower the sea; Your lovely face did me enchant; I'll live and dee wi' thee."

"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, Nae mair frae me ye'se gae"; "That's never my intent, my luve, As ye said, it shall be sae...."

325 THE BROOMFIELD HILL

Brome, brome on hill, The gentle brome on hill, hill, Brome, brome on Hive hill, The gentle brome on Hive hill, The brome stands on Hive hill-a....

"O where were ye, my milk-white steed, That I hae coft[129] sae dear, That wadna' watch and waken me When there was maiden here?"

"I stampèd wi' my foot, master, And gard my bridle ring, But na kin thing wald waken ye, Till she was past and gane."

"And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk, That I did love sae dear, That wadna' watch and waken me When there was maiden here."

"I clappèd wi' my wings, master, And aye my bells I rang, And aye cryed, Waken, waken, master, Before the ladye gang."

"But haste and haste, my guide white steed, To come the maiden till, Or a' the birds of gude green wood Of your flesh shall have their fill."

"Ye need no burst your gude white steed Wi' racing o'er the howm;[130] Nae bird flies faster through the wood, Than she fled through the broom."

326 THE CHANGELING

Toll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother, Waste no sighs; There are my sisters, there is my little brother Who plays in the place called Paradise, Your children all, your children for ever; But I, so wild, Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never, Never, I know, but half your child!

In the garden at play, all day, last summer, Far and away I heard The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer, The dearest, clearest call of a bird. It lived down there in the deep green hollow, My own old home, and the fairies say The word of a bird is a thing to follow, So I was away a night and a day.

One evening, too, by the nursery fire, We snuggled close and sat round so still, When suddenly as the wind blew higher, Something scratched on the window-sill, A pinched brown face peered in--I shivered; No one listened or seemed to see; The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered, Whoo--I knew it had come for me! Some are as bad as bad can be! All night long they danced in the rain, Round and round in a dripping chain, Threw their caps at the window-pane, Tried to make me scream and shout And fling the bedclothes all about: I meant to stay in bed that night, And if only you had left a light They would never have got me out!

Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see, Or answer when you spoke to me, Because in the long, still dusks of Spring You can hear the whole world whispering; The shy green grasses making love, The feathers grow on the dear grey dove, The tiny heart of the redstart beat, The patter of the squirrel's feet, The pebbles pushing in the silver streams, The rushes talking in their dreams, The swish-swish of the bat's black wings, The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings, Humming and hammering at your ear, Everything there is to hear In the heart of hidden things. But not in the midst of the nursery riot, That's why I wanted to be quiet, Couldn't do my sums, or sing, Or settle down to anything. And when, for that, I was sent upstairs I did kneel down to say my prayers; But the King who sits on your high church steeple Has nothing to do with us fairy people!

'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother, Learned all my lessons and liked to play, And dearly I loved the little pale brother Whom some other bird must have called away. Why did they bring me here to make me Not quite bad and not quite good, Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite, to take me Back to Their wet, wild wood? Now, every night I shall see the windows shining, The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam, While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us are whining In the hollow by the stream. Black and chill are Their nights on the wold; And They live so long and They feel no pain: I shall grow up, but never grow old, I shall always, always be very cold, I shall never come back again!

CHARLOTTE MEW

327 THE HOST OF THE AIR

O'Driscoll drove with a song The wild duck and the drake From the tall and the tufted reeds Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark At the coming of night tide, And dreamed of the long dim hair Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed A piper piping away, And never was piping so sad, And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls Who danced on a level place And Bridget his bride among them, With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him, And many a sweet thing said, And a young man brought him red wine And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve, Away from the merry bands, To old men playing at cards With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom, For these were the host of the air; He sat and played in a dream Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men And thought not of evil chance, Until one bore Bridget his bride Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms, The handsomest young man there, And his neck and his breast and his arms Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll scattered the cards And out of his dream awoke: Old men and young men and young girls Were gone like a drifting smoke;

But he heard high up in the air A piper piping away, And never was piping so sad, And never was piping so gay.

W. B. YEATS

328 THE LOVE-TALKER

I met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen, He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men, His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter far Than the crooning of old Kevin's pipes beyond in Coolnagar.

I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free-- My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me; I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold, And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold.

I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind, But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind, The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about, We two clung together--with the world shut out.

Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low, The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow, The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer, Oh, pitiful their calling--and his whispers in my ear!

His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare; I cried my mother's name, but no help was there; I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan, A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone.

Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune-- "Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon." My mother's face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall, But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all.

I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still, The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill, I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay-- Pray for the soul of Mairė Og at dawning of the day!

ETHNA CARBERY

329 MARIANA

With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the garden-wall. The broken sheds looked sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, "The day is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The clustered marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarlèd bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding grey. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creaked; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"

The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, "I am very dreary, He will not come," she said; She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, Oh God, that I were dead!"

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

330 KEITH OF RAVELSTON

The murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, "Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!"

Ravelston, Ravelston, The merry path that leads Down the golden morning hill, And thro' the silver meads;

Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine, The song that sang she!

She sang her song, she kept her kine, She sat beneath the thorn When Andrew Keith of Ravelston Rode thro' the Monday morn.

His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, His belted jewels shine! Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

Year after year, where Andrew came, Comes evening down the glade, And still there sits a moonshine ghost Where sat the sunshine maid.

Her misty hair is faint and fair, She keeps the shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

I lay my hand upon the stile, The stile is lone and cold, The burnie that goes babbling by Says naught that can be told.

Yet, stranger! here, from year to year, She keeps her shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

Step out three steps, where Andrew stood-- Why blanch thy cheeks for fear? The ancient stile is not alone, 'Tis not the burn I hear!

She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

SYDNEY DOBELL

331 UNWELCOME

We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.

O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast, The loudest voice was still. The jest died away on our lips as they passed, And the rays of July struck chill.

The cups of red wine turned pale on the board, The white bread black as soot. The hound forgot the hand of her lord, She fell down at his foot.

Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies, Ere I sit me down again at a feast, When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.

MARY COLERIDGE

332 ON YES TOR

Beneath our feet, the shuddering bogs Made earthquakes of their own, For greenish-grizzled furtive frogs And lizards lithe and brown;

And high to east and south and west, Girt round the feet with gorse, Lay, summering, breast by giant breast, The titan brood of tors;

Golden and phantom-pale they lay, Calm in the cloudless light, Like gods that, slumbering, still survey The obsequious infinite.

Plod, plod, through herbage thin or dense; Past chattering rills of quartz; Across brown bramble-coverts, whence The shy black ouzel darts;

Through empty leagues of broad, bare lands, Beneath the empty skies, Clutched in the grip of those vast hands, Cowed by those golden eyes,

We fled beneath their scornful stare, Like terror-hunted dogs, More timid than the lizards were, And shyer than the frogs.

EDMUND GOSSE

333 THE WITCHES' SONG

"I have beene all day looking after A raven feeding upon a quarter; And, soone as she turned her back to the south, I snatched this morsell out of her mouth."...

"I last night lay all alone O' the ground, to heare the madrake grone; And pluckt him up, though he grew full low: And, as I had done, the cocke did crow."...

"And I ha' been plucking (plants among) Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane; And twise by the dogges was like to be tane."...

"Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows, Hornèd poppie, cypresse boughes, The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes, And juice that from the larch-tree comes, The basiliske's bloud, and the viper's skin; And now our orgies let's begin."

BEN JONSON

334 THE RAVEN

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door; Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door:-- Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:" Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore: Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; 'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,-- "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered, Till I scarcely more than muttered,--"Other friends have flown before; On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted, On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore: Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore!

EDGAR ALLAN POE

335 THE WITCH'S BALLAD

O, I hae come from far away, From a warm land far away, A southern land across the sea, With sailor-lads about the mast, Merry and canny, and kind to me.

And I hae been to yon town To try my luck in yon town; Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too. Right braw we were to pass the gate, Wi' gowden-clasps on girdles blue.

Mysie smiled wi' miminy mouth, Innocent mouth, miminy mouth; Elspie wore a scarlet gown. Nort's grey eyes were unco' gleg.[131] My Castile comb was like a crown.

We walk'd abreast all up the street, Into the market up the street; Our hair with marigolds was wound, Our bodices with love-knots laced, Our merchandise with tansy bound.

Nort had chickens, I had cocks; Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks; Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,-- For a wee groat or a pound We lost nae time wi' gives and takes.

--Lost nae time for well we knew, In our sleeves full well we knew, When the gloaming came that night, Duck nor drake, nor hen nor cock Would be found by candle-light.

And when our chaffering all was done, All was paid for, sold and done, We drew a glove on ilka hand, We sweetly curtsied, each to each. And deftly danced a saraband.

The market-lassies looked and laughed, Left their gear, and looked and laughed; They made as they would join the game, But soon their mithers, wild and wud,[132] With whack and screech they stopped the same.

Sae loud the tongues o' randies[133] grew, The flytin'[134] and the skirlin' grew, At all the windows in the place, Wi' spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl, Was thrust out every hand and face.

And down each stair they thronged anon, Gentle, semple, thronged anon; Souter[135] and tailor, frowsy Nan, The ancient widow young again, Simpering behind her fan.

Without a choice, against their will, Doited,[136] dazed, against their will, The market lassie and her mither, The farmer and his husbandman, Hand in hand dance a' thegither.

Slow at first, but faster soon, Still increasing, wild and fast, Hoods and mantles, hats and hose, Blindly doffed and cast away, Left them naked, heads and toes.

They would have torn us limb from limb, Dainty limb from dainty limb; But never one of them could win Across the line that I had drawn With bleeding thumb a-widdershin.

But there was Jeff the provost's son, Jeff the provost's only son; There was Father Auld himsel', The Lombard frae the hostelry, And the lawyer Peter Fell.

All goodly men we singled out, Waled[137] them well, and singled out, And drew them by the left hand in; Mysie the priest, and Elspie won The Lombard, Nort the lawyer carle, I mysel' the provost's son.

Then, with cantrip[138] kisses seven, Three times round with kisses seven, Warped and woven there spun we Arms and legs and flaming hair, Like a whirlwind on the sea.

Like a wind that sucks the sea, Over and in and on the sea, Good sooth it was a mad delight; And every man of all the four Shut his eyes and laughed outright.

Laughed as long as they had breath, Laughed while they had sense or breath; And close about us coiled a mist Of gnats and midges, wasps and flies, Like the whirlwind shaft it rist.

Drawn up I was right off my feet, Into the mist and off my feet; And, dancing on each chimney-top, I saw a thousand darling imps Keeping time with skip and hop.

And on the provost's brave ridge-tile, On the provost's grand ridge-tile, The Blackamoor first to master me I saw, I saw that winsome smile, The mouth that did my heart beguile, And spoke the great Word over me, In the land beyond the sea.

I called his name, I called aloud, Alas! I called on him aloud; And then he filled his hand with stour,[139] And threw it towards me in the air; My mouse flew out, I lost my pow'r!

My lusty strength, my power were gone; Power was gone, and all was gone. He will not let me love him more! Of bell and whip and horse's tail He cares not if I find a store.

But I am proud if he is fierce! I am as proud as he is fierce; I'll turn about and backward go, If I meet again that Blackamoor, And he'll help us then, for he shall know I seek another paramour.

And we'll gang once more to yon town, Wi' better luck to yon town; We'll walk in silk and cramoisie, And I shall wed the provost's son My lady of the town I'll be!

For I was born a crowned king's child, Born and nursed a king's child, King o' a land ayont the sea, Where the Blackamoor kissed me first, And taught me art and glamourie.

Each one in her wame shall hide Her hairy mouse, her wary mouse, Fed on madwort and agramie,-- Wear amber beads between her breasts, And blind-worm's skin about her knee.

The Lombard shall be Elspie's man, Elspie's gowden husband-man; Nort shall take the lawyer's hand; The priest shall swear another vow; We'll dance again the saraband!

WILLIAM BELL SCOTT

336 ANNAN WATER

Annan Water's wading deep, "And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny; And I am loath she should wet her feet, Because I love her best of ony."

He's loupen on his bonny gray, He rode the right gate[140] and the ready;[141] For all the storm he wadna stay, For seeking of his bonny lady.

And he has ridden o'er field and fell, Through moor, and moss, and many a mire; His spurs of steel were sair to bide, And from her four feet flew the fire.

"My bonny gray, now play your part! If ye be the steed that wins my dearie, With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye, And never spur shall make you wearie."

The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare; But when she wan the Annan Water, She should not have ridden the ford that night Had a thousand marks been wadded at her.

"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat, Put off your boat for golden money!" But for all the gold in fair Scotland, He dared not take him through to Annie.

"O I was sworn so late yestreen, Not by a single oath, but mony! I'll cross the drumly stream to-night, Or never could I face my honey."

The side was steep, and the bottom deep, From bank to brae the water pouring; The bonny gray mare she swat for fear, For she heard the Water-Kelpy roaring.

He spurred her forth into the flood, I wot she swam both strong and steady; But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail, And he never saw his bonny lady!

337 SONG

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh: The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea, The lark, his lay who thrilled all day, Sits hushed his partner nigh: Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy?--

The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier; The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know-- But where is County Guy?

SIR WALTER SCOTT

338 DEADMAN'S DIRGE

Prayer unsaid, and Mass unsung, Deadman's dirge must still be rung: Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound! Mermen chant his dirge around!

Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair, Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair: Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go! Mermen swing them to and fro!

In the wormless sand shall he Feast for no foul glutton be: Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime! Mermen keep the tone and time!

We must with a tombstone brave Shut the shark out from his grave: Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll! Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!

Such a slab will we lay o'er him, All the dead shall rise before him: Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom! Mermen lay him in his tomb!

GEORGE DARLEY

339 BOATS AT NIGHT

How lovely is the sound of oars at night And unknown voices, borne through windless air, From shadowy vessels floating out of sight Beyond the harbour lantern's broken glare To those piled rocks that make on the dark wave Only a darker stain. The splashing oars Slide softly on as in an echoing cave And with the whisper of the unseen shores Mingle their music, till the bell of night Murmurs reverberations low and deep That droop towards the land in swooning flight Like whispers from the lazy lips of sleep. The oars grow faint. Below the cloud-dim hill The shadows fade and now the bay is still.

EDWARD SHANKS

340 A VOICE SINGS

Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, Lest a blacker charm compel! So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell.

And at evening evermore, In a chapel on the shore, Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly, Yellow tapers burning faintly, Doleful masses chaunt for thee, Miserere Domine!

Hark, the cadence dies away On the quiet moonlight sea: The boatmen rest their oars; and say, Miserere Domine!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

341 THE WANDERING SPECTRE

Wae's me, wae's me, The acorn's not yet Fallen from the tree That's to grow the wood, That's to make the cradle, That's to rock the bairn, That's to grow a man, That's to lay me.

342 LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT

On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose. Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened, Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose. Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those. And now upon his western wing he leaned, Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened, Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows. Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars With memory of the old revolt from Awe, He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank. Around the ancient track marched rank on rank, The army of unalterable law.

GEORGE MEREDITH

343 THERE WAS A KNIGHT

There was a knicht riding frae the east, Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree. Who had been wooing at monie a place, As the doo[142] flies owre the mulberry tree.

He cam' unto a widow's door, And speird[143] whare her three dochters were.

"The auldest ane's to a washing gane, The second's to a baking gane."

"The youngest ane's to a wedding gane, And it will be nicht or[144] she be hame."

He sat him doun upon a stane, Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.

The auldest ane she let him in, And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.

The second ane she made his bed, And laid saft pillows unto his head.

The youngest ane was bauld[145] and bricht, And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.--

"Gin ye will answer me questions ten, The morn ye sall me made my ain:--

"O what is higher nor[146] the tree? And what is deeper nor the sea?

"Or what is heavier nor the lead? And what is better nor the bread?

"Or what is whiter nor the milk? Or what is safter nor the silk?

"Or what is sharper nor a thorn? Or what is louder nor a horn?

"Or what is greener nor the grass? Or what is waur[147] nor a woman was?"

"O heaven is higher nor the tree, And hell is deeper nor the sea.

"O sin is heavier nor the lead, The blessing's better nor the bread.

"The snaw is whiter nor the milk, And the down is safter nor the silk.

"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn, And shame is louder nor a horn.

"The pies are greener nor the grass, And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."

As sune as she the fiend did name, Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree, He flew awa' in a blazing flame, As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.

344 THE FALSE KNIGHT UPON THE ROAD

"O whare are ye gaun?" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "I'm gaun to the scule." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"What is that upon your back?" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "Atweel[148] it is my bukes." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"What's that ye've got in your arm?" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "Atweel it is my peit."[149] Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"Wha's aucht[150] they sheep?" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "They're mine and my mither's." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"How monie o' them are mine?" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "A' they that hae blue tails." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"I wiss ye were on yon tree:" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "And a gude ladder under me." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"And the ladder for to break:" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "And you for to fa' down." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"I wiss ye were in yon sie:" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "And a gude bottom[151] under me." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

"And the bottom for to break:" Quo' the fause knicht upon the road: "And ye to be drowned." Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.

345 CHRISTABEL

'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock; Tu-whit!----Tu-whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothèd knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke, The sighs she heaved were soft and low, And naught was green upon the oak But moss and rarest mistletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly, The lovely lady, Christabel! It moaned as near, as near can be, But what it is she cannot tell.-- On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.

The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek-- There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Jesu, Maria, shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: The neck that made that white robe wan-- Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandaled were, And wildly glittered here and there The gems entangled in her hair....

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

346 THE FRUIT PLUCKER

Encinctured with a twine of leaves, That leafy twine his only dress, A lovely Boy was plucking fruits, By moonlight, in a wilderness. The moon was bright, the air was free, And fruits and flowers together grew On many a shrub and many a tree: And all put on a gentle hue, Hanging in the shadowy air Like a picture rich and rare. It was a climate where, they say, The night is more beloved than day. But who that beauteous Boy beguiled, That beauteous Boy to linger here? Alone, by night, a little child, In place so silent and so wild-- Has he no friend, no loving mother near?

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

347 THE HAUNTED PALACE

In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace-- Radiant palace--reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago), And every gentle air that dallied In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid A wingèd odour went away.

Wanderers, in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tunèd law, Round about a throne, where sitting (Porphyrogene), In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home, the glory, That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out for ever, And laugh--but smile no more.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

348 THE HOUSE OF RICHESSE

NEIGHBOURING THE GATE OF HELL INTO WHICH MAMMON LED THE ELFIN KNIGHT

... That houses forme within was rude and strong, Like an huge cave, hewne out of rocky clift, From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong, Embost with massy gold of glorious gift, And with rich metall loaded every rift, That heavy ruine they did seeme to threat; And over them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web, and spred her subtile net, Enwrappèd in fowle smoke and clouds more blacke then jet.

Both roofe, and floore, and wals were all of gold, But overgrowne with dust and old decay, And hid in darkenesse, that none could behold The hew thereof: for vew of chearefull day Did never in that house it selfe display, But a faint shadow of uncertain light; Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away: Or as the Noone cloathèd with clowdy night, Does shew to him that walkes in feare and sad affright.

In all that rowme was nothing to be seene, But huge great yron chests and coffers strong, All bard with double bends,[152] that none could weene Them to efforce by violence or wrong; On every side they placèd were along. But all the ground with sculs was scatterèd, And dead mens bones, which round about were flong, Whose lives, it seemèd, whilome there were shed, And their vile carcases now left unburièd....

EDMUND SPENSER

349 THE OLD CITY

Thou hast come from the old city, From the gate and the tower, From King and priest and serving man And burnished bower, From beggar's whine and barking dogs, From prison sealed-- Thou hast come from the old city Into the field.

The gables in the old city Are stooping awry, They gloom upon the muddy lanes And smother the sky, And nightly through those mouldy lanes, Moping and slow, They who builded the old city The cold ghosts go.

There is plague in the old city, And the priests are sped To graveyard and vault To bury the dead; Brittle bones and dusty breath To death must yield-- Fly, fly, from the old city Into the field!

RUTH MANNING-SANDERS

350 THE TWO SPIRITS

First Spirit. O Thou, who plumed with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware! A shadow tracks the flight of fire-- Night is coming! Bright are the regions of the air, And among the winds and beams It were delight to wander there-- Night is coming!

Second Spirit. The deathless stars are bright above; If I would cross the shade of night, Within my heart is the lamp of love, And that is day! And the moon will smile with gentle light On my golden plumes where'er they move; The meteors will linger round my flight; And make night day.

First Spirit. But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain; See, the bounds of the air are shaken-- Night is coming! The red swift clouds of the hurricane Yon declining sun have overtaken, The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain-- Night is coming!

Second Spirit. I see the light, and I hear the sound; I'll sail on the flood of the tempests dark, With the calm within and the light around Which makes night day: And then, when the gloom is deep and stark, Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound; My moon-like flight thou then may'st mark On high, far away.

Some say there is a precipice Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice 'Mid Alpine mountains; And that the languid storm pursuing That wingèd shape, for ever flies Round those hoar branches, aye renewing Its aëry fountains.

Some say, when nights are dry and clear, And the death-dews sleep on the morass, Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller, Which make night day; And a silver shape, like his early love, doth pass Up-borne by her wild and glittering hair, And when he awakes on the fragrant grass, He finds night day.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

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"LILY BRIGHT AND SHINE-A"

351 SILLY SWEETHEART

Silly Sweetheart, say not nay, Come away: All I tell is sweet and merry; Soon rings evensong, and soon Where was blossom hangs a berry; Where was darkness shines a moon. Prythee, Sweetheart, then I say, Come, come away.

O away, Come away: Maids there are with cheeks like roses, Thine are roses in the snow. Fie, the lass whose dainty nose is Tilted not as one I know. Nought heeds she, Alackaday! My, Come, come away.

O away, Come away: Honeycomb by bees made sweet is; Dew on apple, bloom on plum; Hearken, my heart's lightest beat is Drumming, drumming; haste and come Say not nay, then; Make no stay, then; Dance thy dainty foot and straying Come, come away!

352 HERE COMES A LUSTY WOOER

"Here comes a lusty wooer, My a dildin, my a daldin; Here comes a lusty wooer, Lily bright and shine-a."

"Pray who do you woo? My a dildin, my a daldin; Pray who do you woo? Lily bright and shine-a."

"Woo! Your fairest daughter! My a dildin, my a daldin; Woo! your fairest daughter! Lily bright and shine-a."

"There! there! she is for you, My a dildin, my a daldin; There! there! she is for you, Lily bright and shine-a."

353 THREE KNIGHTS FROM SPAIN

We are three Brethren come from Spain, All in French garlands; We are come to court your daughter Jane, And adieu to you, my darlings.

My daughter Jane!--she is too young, All in French garlands; She cannot bide your flattering tongue, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Be she young, or be she old, All in French garlands; 'Tis for a bride she must be sold, And adieu to you, my darlings.

A bride, a bride, she shall not be All in French garlands; Till she go through this world with me, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Then shall you keep your daughter Jane, All in French garlands; Come once, we come not here again, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Turn back, turn back, you Spanish Knights, All in French garlands; Scour, scour your spurs, till they be bright, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Sharp shine our spurs, all richly wrought, All in French garlands; In towns afar our spurs were bought And adieu to you, my darlings.

Smell my lilies, smell my roses, All in French garlands; Which of my maidens do you choose? And adieu to you, my darlings.

Not she. Not she. Thy youngest, Jane! All in French garlands; We ride--and ride not back again, And adieu to you, my darlings.

In every pocket a thousand pound, All in French garlands; On every finger a gay gold ring, And adieu to you, my darlings. And adieu to you, my darlings.

354 THE WHUMMIL BORE

Seven lang years I hae served the King, Fa fa fa fa lilly: And I never got a sight of his daughter but ane: With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle, Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

I saw her thro' a whummil bore, Fa fa fa fa lilly: And I ne'er got a sight of her no more. With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle, Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

Twa was putting on her gown, Fa fa fa fa lilly: And ten was putting pins therein. With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle. Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

Twa was putting on her shoon, Fa fa fa fa lilly: And twa was buckling them again. With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle. Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

Five was combing down her hair, Fa fa fa fa lilly: And I ne'er got a sight of her nae mair. With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle, Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

Her neck and breast was like the snow, Fa fa fa fa lilly: Then from the bore I was forced to go. With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle, Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.

355 HEY, WULLY WINE

Hey, Wully wine, and How, Wully wine, I hope for hame ye'll no' incline; Ye'll better light, and stay a' night, And I'll gie thee a lady fine.

I maun ride hame, I maun gang hame, And bide nae langer here; The road is lang, the mirk soon on, And howlets mak' me fear.

Light down, and bide wi' us a' night, We'll choose for ye a bonnie lass, Ye'll get your wield and pick o' them a' And the time it soon awa' will pass.

Wha will ye gie, if I wi' ye bide, To be my bonny bonny bride, And lie down lovely by my side?

I'll gie thee Kate o' Dinglebell, A bonny body like yersell.

I'll stick her high in yon pear-tree Sweet and meek, and sae is she: I' lo'ed her ance, but she's no' for me, Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.

I'll gie thee Rozie o' the Cleugh, I'm sure she'll please thee weel eneugh.

Up wi' her on the bare bane dyke, She'll be rotten or[153] I'll be ripe: She's made for some ither, and no' me, Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.

Then I'll gie ye Nell o' sweet Sprinkell, Owre Galloway she bears the bell.

I'll set her up in my bed-head, And feed her wi' new milk and bread; She's for nae ither, but just for me, Sae I thank ye for your courtesy.

356 DOWN IN YONDER MEADOW

Down in yonder meadow where the green grass grows, Pretty Pollie Pillicote bleaches her clothes. She sang, she sang, she sang, oh, so sweet, She sang, Oh, come over! across the street. He kissed her, he kissed her, he bought her a gown, A gown of rich cramasie out of the town. He bought her a gown and a guinea gold ring, A guinea, a guinea, a guinea gold ring; Up street, and down, shine the windows made of glass, Oh, isn't Pollie Pillicote a braw young lass? Cherries in her cheeks, and ringlets her hair, Hear her singing Handy, Dandy up and down the stair.

357 QUOTH JOHN TO JOAN

Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me: I prithee now, wilt? and I'll marry thee, My cow, my calf, my house, my rents, And all my lands and tenements: Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo.

I've corn and hay in the barn hard-by, And three fat hogs pent up in the sty, I have a mare and she is coal black, I ride on her tail to save my back. Then, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo.

I have a cheese upon the shelf, And I cannot eat it all myself; I've three good marks that lie in a rag, In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag. Then, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo.

To marry I would have thy consent, But faith I never could compliment; I can say nought but "Hoy, gee ho!" Words that belong to the cart and the plough. Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo.

358 MY MISTRESS IS AS FAIR AS FINE

My mistress is as fair as fine, Milk-white fingers, cherry nose. Like twinkling day-stars look her eyne, Lightening all things where she goes. Fair as Phoebe, though not so fickle, Smooth as glass, though not so brickle.

My heart is like a ball of snow Melting at her lukewarm sight; Her fiery lips like night-worms glow, Shining clear as candle-light. Neat she is, no feather lighter; Bright she is, no daisy whiter.

359 DIAPHENIA

Diaphenia, like the daffdowndilly, White as the sun, fair as the lily, Heigh ho, how I do love thee! I do love thee as my lambs Are belovèd of their dams-- How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me.

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, Fair sweet, how I do love thee! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power, For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd, When all thy praises are expressèd, Dear joy, how I do love thee! As the birds do love the Spring, Or the bees their careful king. Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!

HENRY CONSTABLE

360 AEGLAMOUR'S LAMENT

Here she was wont to go, and here, and here! Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow: The world may find the spring by following her; For other print her airy steps ne'er left: Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk; But like the soft west-wind she shot along; And where she went, the flowers took thickest root As she had sowed them with her odourous foot.

BEN JONSON

361 MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given; I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a better bargain driven.

His heart in me keeps me and him in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his because in me it bides.

His heart his wound receivèd from my sight, My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his heart did light, So still methought in me his heart did smart.

Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

362 A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickest fruit. My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

363 LIFE OF LIFE

"VOICE IN THE AIR, SINGING"

Life of Life! thy lips enkindle With their love the breath between them; And thy smiles before they dwindle Make the cold air fire; then screen them In those looks, where whoso gazes Faints, entangled in their mazes.

Child of Light! thy limbs are burning Through the vest which seeks to hide them; As the radiant lines of morning Through the clouds ere they divide them; And this atmosphere divinest Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

Fair are others; none beholds thee, But thy voice sounds low and tender Like the fairest, for it folds thee From the sight, that liquid splendour, And all feel, yet see thee never, As I feel now, lost for ever!

Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest Its dim shapes are clad with brightness, And the souls of whom thou lovest Walk upon the winds with lightness, Till they fail, as I am failing, Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

364 A SONNET OF THE MOON

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her, And he, as long as she is in his sight, With his full tide is ready her to honour:

But when the silver waggon of the Moon Is mounted up so high he cannot follow, The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan, And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart, Have all my joys attending on your will, My joys low-ebbing when you do depart, When you return, their tide my heart doth fill.

So as you come, and as you do depart, Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

CHARLES BEST

365 THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen, That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men: My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above; And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.

Alas, on that night when the horses I drove from the field That I was not near from terror my angel to shield! She stretched forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind, And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find.

O would that a freezing sleet-winged tempest did sweep, And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep; I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save-- With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave.

'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides, The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides: I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among, The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.

JEREMIAH JOHN CALLANAN

366 O WHAT IF THE FOWLER

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken? The roses of dawn blossom over the sea; Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken, And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken? The sun lifts his head from the lip of the sea-- Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken, And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken? The mountain grows white with the birds of the sea; But down in my garden forsaken, forsaken, I'll weep all the day by my red fuchsia tree!

CHARLES DALMON

367 WHITHER AWAY?

"Where are you going, Master mine?" "Mistress of mine, farewell! Pledge me a cup of golden wine! Light shall be dark and darkness shine Before I tell!"

"O go you by the firwoods blue? And by the Fairies' Trysting Tree?" "No, for the path is grown with rue And nightshade's purple fruit, since you Walked there with me!"

"O go you by the pastures high-- A grassy road and daisies fair?" "No, for I saw them fade and die On the bright evening, love, that I Sat with you there."

MARY COLERIDGE

368 BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly[154] rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by;-- "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And 't is a' for Barbara Allan."-- "O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a-drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing: "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan."

She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cryed, Woe to Barbara Allan!

"O mother, mother, make my bed! O make it saft and narrow! Since my love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow."

369 PROUD MAISIE

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me?" "When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye."

"Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?" "The grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly."

"The glowworm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing Welcome, proud lady."

SIR WALTER SCOTT

370 A LEAVE TAKING

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear. Let us go hence together without fear; Keep silence now, for singing-time is over, And over all old things and all things dear. She loves not you nor me as all we love her. Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know. Let us go seaward as the great winds go, Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here? There is no help, for all these things are so, And all the world is bitter as a tear. And how these things are, though ye strove to show, She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep. We gave love many dreams and days to keep, Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow, Saying, "If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap." All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow; And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep, She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love. She shall not hear us if we sing hereof, Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep. Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough. Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep; And though she saw all heaven in flower above, She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care. Though all the stars made gold of all the air, And the sea moving saw before it move One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair; Though all those waves went over us, and drove Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair, She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see. Sing all once more together; surely she, She, too, remembering days and words that were, Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we, We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there. Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me, She would not see.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

371 THE UNQUIET GRAVE

"The wind doth blow to-day, my love, And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true love, In cold grave she was lain.

"I'll do as much for my true love As any young man may; I'll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelvemonth and a day."

The twelvemonth and a day being up, The dead began to speak: "Oh who sits weeping on my grave, And will not let me sleep?"

"'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave, And will not let you sleep; For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips, And that is all I seek."

"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips; But my breath smells earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long.

"'Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that ere was seen Is withered to a stalk.

"The stalk is withered dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, Till God calls you away."

372 A LAMENT: 1547

"Departe, departe, departe-- Allace! I most departe From hir that hes my hart, With hairt full soir; Aganis my will in deid, And can find no remeid: I wait the pains of deid-- Can do no moir....

"Adew, my ain sueit thing, My joy and comforting, My mirth and sollesing Of erdly gloir: Fair weill, my lady bricht, And my remembrance rycht; Fair weill and haif gud nycht: I say no moir."

ALEXANDER SCOTT

373 I DIED TRUE

Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!

JOHN FLETCHER

374 SONG

How should I your true love know From another one? By his Cockle hat and staffe, And his Sandal shoone.

He is dead and gone Lady, He is dead and done,-- At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, At his heeles a stone.

White his Shrowd as the Mountain Snow, Larded with sweet flowers: Which bewept to the grave did not go, With true-love showres.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

375 IT WAS THE TIME OF ROSES

It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast: It was the time of roses-- We plucked them as we passed!

That churlish season never frowned On early lovers yet! O, no--the world was newly crowned With flowers, when first we met.

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, But still you held me fast: It was the time of roses-- We plucked them as we passed."...

THOMAS HOOD

376 AULD ROBIN GRAY

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye[155] at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman[156] lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving a croun he had naething else beside: To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea, And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea-- And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said:--"Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!"

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack.... Why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea, Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he-- Till he said:--"I'm come hame to marry thee."

O, sair, sair did we greet,[157] and muckle[158] did we say; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away; I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee, And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife ay to be, For auld Robin Gray, he is kind unto me.

LADY ANNE LINDSAY

377 THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND

"The love that I hae chosen, I'll therewith be content; The saut sea sall be frozen Before that I repent. Repent it sall I never Until the day I dee; But the Lawlands o' Holland Hae twinned my love and me.

"My love he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main, Wi' twenty-four brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my love and his bonny ship Turned withershins about.

"There sall nae mantle cross my back, No kaim gae in my hair, Neither sall coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair; Nor sall I choose anither love, Until the day I dee, Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland, Hae twinned my love and me."

"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear, Be still, and bide content; There's ither lads in Galloway; Ye needna sair lament." "O there is nane in Galloway, There's nane at a' for me. I never lo'ed a lad but ane, And he's drowned in the sea."

378 THE CHURCHYARD ON THE SANDS

My love lies in the gates of foam, The last dear wreck of shore; The naked sea-marsh binds her home, The sand her chamber door.

The gray gull flaps the written stones, The ox-birds chase the tide; And near that narrow field of bones Great ships at anchor ride.

Black piers with crust of dripping green, One foreland, like a hand, O'er intervals of grass between Dim lonely dunes of sand.

A church of silent weathered looks, A breezy reddish tower, A yard whose wounded resting-nooks Are tinged with sorrel flower.

In peace the swallow's eggs are laid Along the belfry walls; The tempest does not reach her shade, The rain her silent halls.

But sails are sweet in summer sky, The lark throws down a lay; The long salt levels steam and dry, The cloud-heart melts away.

And patches of the sea-pink shine, The pied crows poise and come; The mallow hangs, the bind-weeds twine, Where her sweet lips are dumb.

The passion of the wave is mute; No sound or ocean shock; No music save the thrilling flute That marks the curlew flock....

LORD DE TABLEY

379 ROSE AYLMER

Ah, what avails the sceptred race, Ah, what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

380 TO HELEN

Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicæan barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad air, have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!

EDGAR ALLAN POE

381 "THERE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND"

There is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die....

Cupid is wingèd and doth range, Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet will I love her till I die.

THOMAS FORD

382 "LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE"

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part: No, nor for my constant heart! For these may fail or turn to ill: So thou and I shall sever: Keep therefore a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why! So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever.

383 NOW WOLDE

Now wolde I faine some merthės[159] make, All only for my lady sake, When her I see; But now I am so far fro her It will not be.

Though I be far out of her sight I am her man both day and night And so will be. Therefore wolde; as I love her, She lovèd me.

When she is mery, then I am glad; When she is sory, then I am sad; And causė why,[160] For he liveth not that loveth her As well as I.

She saith that she hath seen it written That "seldom seen is soon forgotten"; It is not so. For in good feith, save only her, I love no mo.[161]

384 EGYPT'S MIGHT IS TUMBLED DOWN

Egypt's might is tumbled down Down a-down the deeps of thought; Greece is fallen and Troy town, Glorious Rome hath lost her crown, Venice' pride is nought.

But the dreams their children dreamed Fleeting, unsubstantial, vain, Shadowy as the shadows seemed, Airy nothing, as they deemed, These remain.

MARY COLERIDGE

385 DREAM LOVE

Young Love lies sleeping In May-time of the year. Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing, White doves come building there; And round about him The May-bushes are white.

Soft moss the pillow For oh, a softer cheek; Broad leaves cast shadow Upon the heavy eyes: There winds and waters Grow lulled and scarcely speak; There twilight lingers The longest in the skies.

Young Love lies dreaming; But who shall tell the dream? A perfect sunlight On rustling forest tips; Or perfect moonlight Upon a rippling stream; Or perfect silence, Or song of cherished lips.

Burn odours round him To fill the drowsy air; Weave silent dances Around him to and fro; For oh, in waking The sights are not so fair, And song and silence Are not like these below.

Young Love lies dreaming Till summer days are gone,-- Dreaming and drowsing Away to perfect sleep: He sees the beauty Sun hath not looked upon, And tastes the fountain Unutterably deep.

Him perfect music Doth hush unto his rest, And through the pauses The perfect silence calms. Oh, poor the voices Of earth from east to west, And poor earth's stillness Between her stately palms.

Young Love lies drowsing Away to poppied death; Cool shadows deepen Across the sleeping face: So fails the summer With warm, delicious breath; And what hath autumn To give us in its place?

Draw close the curtains Of branched evergreen; Change cannot touch them With fading fingers sere: Here the first violets Perhaps will bud unseen, And a dove, may be, Return to nestle here.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

386 AT COMMON DAWN

At common dawn there is a voice of bird So sweet, 'tis kin to pain; For love of earthly life it needs be heard, And lets not sleep again.

This bird I did one time at midnight hear In wet November wood Say to himself his lyric faint and clear As one at daybreak should.

He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound, Nor moody answer made; But all the world at beauty's worship found, Was waking in the glade.

VIVIAN LOCKE ELLIS

"ECHO THEN SHALL AGAIN TELL HER I FOLLOW."

387 GLYCINE'S SONG

A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold-- Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled Within that shaft of sunny mist; His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: "Adieu! adieu! Love's dreams prove seldom true. The blossoms, they make no delay: The sparkling dew-drops will not stay. Sweet month of May, We must away; Far, far away! To-day! to-day!"

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

388 THE CRYSTAL CABINET

The Maiden caught me in the wild, Where I was dancing merrily; She put me into her Cabinet, And locked me up with a golden key.

This Cabinet is formed of Gold And Pearl and Crystal shining bright, And within it opens into a World And a little lovely Moony Night.

Another England there I saw Another London with its Tower, Another Thames and other Hills, And another pleasant Surrey Bower.

Another Maiden like herself, Translucent, lovely, shining clear, Threefold each in the other closed-- O, what a pleasant trembling fear!

O, what a smile! a Threefold Smile Filled me, that like a flame I burned; I bent to kiss the lovely Maid, And found a Threefold Kiss returned.

I strove to seize the inmost form With ardour fierce and hands of flame, But burst the Crystal Cabinet, And like a Weeping Babe became--

A Weeping Babe upon the wild, And Weeping Woman pale reclined, And in the outward air again I filled with woes the passing wind.

WILLIAM BLAKE

389 THE CHASE

Art thou gone in haste? I'll not forsake thee; Runn'st thou ne'er so fast? I'll overtake thee: O'er the dales, o'er the downs, Through the green meadows, From the fields through the towns, To the dim shadows.

All along the plain, To the low fountains, Up and down again From the high mountains; Echo then shall again Tell her I follow, And the floods to the woods Carry my holla! Holla! Ce! la! ho! ho! hu!

WILLIAM ROWLEY

390 TONY O!

Over the bleak and barren snow A voice there came a-calling; "Where are you going to, Tony O! Where are you going this morning?"

"I am going where there are rivers of wine, The mountains bread and honey; There Kings and Queens do mind the swine, And the poor have all the money."

COLIN FRANCIS

391 ROMANCE

When I was but thirteen or so I went into a golden land, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Took me by the hand.

My father died, my brother too, They passed like fleeting dreams. I stood where Popocatapetl In the sunlight gleams.

I dimly heard the master's voice And boys far-off at play, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had stolen me away.

I walked in a great golden dream To and fro from school-- Shining Popocatapetl The dusty streets did rule.

I walked home with a gold dark boy, And never a word I'd say, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had taken my speech away:

I gazed entranced upon his face Fairer than any flower-- O shining Popocatapetl It was thy magic hour:

The houses, people, traffic seemed Thin fading dreams by day, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi They had stolen my soul away!

WALTER J. TURNER

392 HALLO MY FANCY

In melancholic fancy, Out of myself, In the vulcan dancy, All the world surveying, Nowhere staying, Just like a fairy elf; Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, Out o'er the hill, the trees and valleys tripping, Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping,-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Amidst the misty vapours Fain would I know What doth cause the tapers; Why the clouds benight us And affright us. While we travel here below; Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunder, And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder, And what these comets are on which we gaze and wonder-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I know the reason, Why the little ant, All the summer season, Layeth up provision On condition To know no winter's want. And how housewives, that are so good and painful, Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainful; And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?...

Amidst the foamy ocean, Fain would I know What doth cause the motion, And returning In its journeying, And doth so seldom swerve? And how the little fishes that swim beneath salt waters, Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater!-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I be resolvèd How things are done; And where the bull was calvèd Of bloody Phalaris, And where the tailor is That works to the man i' the moon! Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly; And how the little fairies do dance and leap so lightly, And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

In conceit like Phaeton I'll mount Phoebus' chair Having ne'er a hat on, All my hair a-burning In my journeying; Hurrying through the air. Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing And see how they on foamy bits are playing, All the stars and planets I will be surveying!-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

O from what ground of nature Doth the pelican, That self devouring creature Prove so forward And untoward, Her vitals for to strain! And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds a-lying, Do not lament his pangs by howling and by crying, And why the milk-swan doth sing when she's a-dying-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I conclude this, At least make essay; What similitude is: Why fowls of a feather Flock and fly together, And lambs know beasts of prey; How Nature's alchemists, these small laborious creatures, Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters, And suffer none to live who slothing lose their features-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?...

To know this world's centre Height, depth, breadth and length, Fain would I adventure To search the hid attractions Of magnetic actions And adamantine strength. Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain, Where the moon sojourns, if there be tree or fountain; If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to hunt in-- Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?...

Hallo my fancy, hallo, Stay, stay at home with me, I can no longer follow, For thou hast betrayed me, And bewrayed me; It is too much for thee. Stay, stay at home with me, leave off thy lofty soaring; Stay then at home with me, and on thy books be poring; For he that goes abroad, lays little up in storing-- Thou'rt welcome my fancy, welcome home to me.

WILLIAM CLELAND

393 SONNET

There was an Indian, who had known no change, Who strayed content along a sunlit beach Gathering shells. He heard a sudden strange Commingled noise: looked up; and gasped for speech. For in the bay, where nothing was before, Moved on the sea, by magic, huge canoes, With bellying clothes on poles, and not one oar, And fluttering coloured signs and clambering crews.

And he, in fear, this naked man alone, His fallen hands forgetting all their shells, His lips gone pale, knelt low behind a stone, And stared, and saw, and did not understand, Columbus's doom-burdened caravels Slant to the shore, and all their seamen land.

J. C. SQUIRE

394 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen: Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes

He stared at the Pacific--and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise-- Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

JOHN KEATS

395 "TO SEA"

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er; The wanton water leaps in sport, And rattles down the pebbly shore; The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, And unseen Mermaids' pearly song Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea, to sea! our wide-winged bark Shall billowy cleave its sunny way, And with its shadow, fleet and dark, Break the caved Tritons' azure day, Like mighty eagle soaring light O'er antelopes on Alpine height. The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, The sails swell full: To sea, to sea!

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES

396 BERMUDAS

Where the remote Bermudas ride, In the Ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat, that rowed along, The listening winds received this song:

"What should we do but sing His praise, That led us through the watery maze, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms' and prelates' rage: He gave us this eternal Spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air: He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows; He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars, chosen by His hand From Lebanon, He stores the land, And makes the hollow seas, that roar, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. Oh! let our voice His praise exalt, Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique bay."

Thus sung they, in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note; And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.

ANDREW MARVELL

397 THE OLD SHIPS

I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep Beyond the village which men still call Tyre, With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep For Famagusta and the hidden sun That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire; And all those ships were certainly so old-- Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges, The pirate Genoese Hell-raked them till they rolled Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold. But now through friendly seas they softly run, Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green, Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold.

But I have seen Pointing her shapely shadows from the dawn And image tumbled on a rose-swept bay A drowsy ship of some yet older day; And, wonder's breath indrawn, Thought I--who knows--who knows--but in that same (Fished up beyond Aeaea, patched up new --Stern painted brighter blue--) That talkative, bald-headed seaman came (Twelve patient comrades sweating at the oar) From Troy's doom-crimson shore, And with great lies about his wooden horse Set the crew laughing, and forgot his course. It was so old a ship--who knows, who knows? --And yet so beautiful, I watched in vain To see the mast burst open with a rose, And the whole deck put on its leaves again.

JAMES ELROY FLECKER

398 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

IN SEVEN PARTS

ARGUMENT: How a Ship having passed the Line is driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancient Mariner came back to his own Country.

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Part I

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand, "There was a ship," quoth he. "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!" Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye-- The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon--" The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine."

"God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- Why look'st thou so?" --"With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS."

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Part II

The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew. The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assurèd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

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Part III

"There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've won! I've won!" Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips: the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dew did drip-- Till clomb above the eastern bar The hornèd Moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow!"

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Part IV

"I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown."-- "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside--

Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmèd water burnt alway A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.

The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.

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Part V

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light--almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessèd ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me."--

"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!"-- "Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned--they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we silently sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean; But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air.

"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow."

The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, "The man hath penance done, And penance more will do."

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Part VI

First Voice. "But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing-- What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?"

Second Voice. "Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast--

If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see I how graciously She looketh down on him."

First Voice. "But why drives on that ship so fast, Withouten wave or wind?"

Second Voice. "The air is cut away before, And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated."--

I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen--

Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck-- Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

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