When ye name the name o' me.-
"That cheek should lain on this breast-bane,
Her hame should been my ha';
Our tree is bow'd--our flower is dow'd--
Sir Arthur's an outlaw!"
He sighed, an' turned him right about,
Where the sea lay braid an' wide:
It's no to see his boony boat,
But a watery cheek to hide.
The page has doffd his feather'd cap,
But an' his raven hair;
An' out there came the yellow locks,
Like swirls o' the goud en wair.
Syne he's undone his doublet clasp,
Was o' the grass-green hue,
When, like a lily frae its leaf,
A lady burst in view.
"Tell out thy errand now, Sir Knight,
Wi' thy love tokens a';
If I e'er rin against my will,
'Twill be at a lover's ca'!"
Sir Arthur's turned him round about,
E'en as the lady spak';
An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e,
An' thrice he steppit back.
But ae blink o' her bonny e'e,
Out spake his Lady Ann;
An' he's catch'd her by the waist sae sma
Wi' the grip o' a drowning man.
"O! Lady Ann, thy bed's been hard,
When I thought it the down;
O ! Lady Ann, thy love's been deep,
When I thought it was flown.
"I've met my love in the greenwood,
My foe on the brown hill;
But I ne'er met wi' aught before
I liked sae weel, an' ill.
"O I could make a Queen o' thee,
An' it would be my pride;
But, Lady Ann, it's no for thee
To be an outlaw's bride."
"Hae I left kith an' kin, Sir Knight,
To turn about and rue?
Hae I shar'd win' an' weet wi' thee,
That I should leave thee noo?
"There's gowd an' siller in this han'
Will buy us mony a rigg;
There's pearlings in the other han'
A stately tower to bigg.
"Tho' thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian',
The warl's braid an' wide;
Make room, make room, my merry men,
For young Sir Arthur's bride!"
----Hew Ainslie.
THE FUGITIVES
I.
|The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing--
Away!
The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging,
The minster bells ringing--
Come away!
The earth is like ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion:
Bird, beast, man and worm
Have crept out of the storm--
Come away!
II.
"Our boat has one sail,
And the helmsman is pale;--
A bold pilot I trow,
Who shall follow us now,"--
Shouted he--
And she cried: "Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore!"--
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea.
And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee.
III.
"And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou?
And see'st thou, and hear'st thou?
And drive we not free
O er the terrible sea,
I and thou?"
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover--
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;--
While around the lashed ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro.
IV.
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame;
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame;
And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast
The best, loveliest, and last
Of his name!
----P. B. Shelley.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
I.
[Illustration: 9188]
|O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrels granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
III.
"I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too."
IV.
"I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
v.
"I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
"I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sideways would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
VII.
"She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
' I love thee true.'
VIII.
"She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sigh'd full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
[Illustration: 0190]
IX.
"And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd--ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.
x.
"I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--' La belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall! '
XI.
"I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
XII.
"And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing."
----J. Keats.
[Illustration: 0191]
THE ROSE AND THE FAIR LILY
|The Earlsburn Glen is gay and green,
The Earlsburn water cleir,
And blythely blume on Earlsburn bank
The broom and eke the brier!
Twa sisters gaed up Earlsburn Glen--
Twa maidens bricht o' blee--
The tane she was the Rose sae red,
The tither the fair Lilye!
"Ye mauna droop and dwyne, sister"--
Said Rose to fair Lilye--
"Yer heart ye mauna brek, sister--
For ane that's ower the sea;
"The vows we sillie maidens hear
Frae wild and wilfu' man,
Are as the words the waves wash out
When traced upon the san'."
"I mauna think yer speech is sooth,"
Saft answered the Lilye;
"I winna dout mine ain gude knicht
Tho' he's ayont the sea!"
Then scornfully the Rose sae red
Spake to the puir Lilye--
"The vows he feigned at thy bouir door,
He plicht in mine to me!"
"HI hame and spread the sheets, sister,
And deck my bed sae hie--
The bed sae wide made for a bride
For I think I sune sal die!
"Your weird I sal na be, sister,
As mine I fear ye've bin--
Your luve I wil na cross, sister,
It were a mortal sin!"
Earlsburn Glen is green to see,
Earlsburn water cleir--
Of the siller birk in Earlsburn Wood
They framit the maiden's bier!
There's a lonely dame in a gudely bouir,
She never lifts an ee--
That dame was ance the Rose sae red,
She is now a pale Lilye.
A knicht aft looks frae his turret tall,
Where the kirk-yaird grass grows green;
He wonne the weed and lost the flouir,
And grief aye dims his een.
At noon of nicht, in the moonshine bricht,
The warrior kneels in prayer--
He prays wi' his face to the auld kirk-yaird,
And wishes he were there!
----W. Motherwell.
FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN
|Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.
But as they fetched a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to.
The Boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.
"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,
He'll be as good as me;
For when your swain is in our boat,
A boatswain he will be."
So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,
She roused, and found she only was
A coming to herself.
"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
She cried, and wept outright:
"Then I will to the water side,
And see him out of sight."
A waterman came up to her,
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea."
"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben,
To sail with old Benbow;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said, Gee woe!
Says he, "They've only taken him
To the Tender-ship, you see;"
"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown,
"What a hard-ship that must be!
"Oh! would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him;
But oh!--I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.
"Alas! I was not born beneath
The Virgin and the Scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."
Now Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furled.
But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,
He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian name was John.
"O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so,
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow."
Then reading on his 'bacco box,
He heaved a bitter sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.
And then he tried to sing "All's Well,"
But could not though he tried:
His head was turned, and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.
His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton toll'd the bell.
----T. Hood.
FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY
|Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to wars alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms!
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, "Let others shoot,
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot!"
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he,--"They're only pegs:
But there's as wooden members quite
As represent my legs! ''
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he'd devoured his pay!
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off!
"Oh, Nelly Gray! Oh, Nelly Gray!
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat,
Should be more uniform!"
She said, "I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave!
"Before you had those timber toes,
Your love I did allow,
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now!"
"Oh, Nelly Gray! Oh, Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call, I left my legs
In Badaj os's -breaches!'
"Why then," said she, "you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon you feats of arms! "
"Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:--
Though I've no feet--some other man
Is standing in my shoes!
"I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But now a long farewell!
For you will be my death;--alas!
You will not be my _Nell!_"
Now when he went from Nelly Gray,
His heart so heavy got--
And life was such a burthen grown,
It made him take a knot!
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did entwine,
And, for his second time in' life,
Enlisted in the Line!
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs,
And, as his legs were off,--of course,
He soon was off his legs!
And there he hung, till he was dead
As any nail in town,--
For though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down!
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died--
And they buried Ben in four cross roads,
With a _stake_ in his inside!
----T. Hood.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM
|Twas in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.
Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouched by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,--
Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!
His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read
The book upon his knees!
Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,
Nor ever glanced aside,
For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide:
Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the pond'rous tome,
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp:
"Oh, God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp!"
Then leaping on his feet upright,
Some moody turns he took,--
Now up the mead, then down the mead,
And past a shady nook,--
And lo! he saw a little boy
That pored upon a book.
"My gentle lad, what is't you read--
Romance or fairy fable?
Or is it some historic page,
Of kings and crown unstable?"
The young boy gave an upward glance,
"It is 'The Death of Abel.'"
The Usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,--
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,
And talked with him of Cain;
And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;
And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod,--
Aye, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God!
He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain--
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!
"And well,'' quoth he, "I know, for truth,
Their pangs must be extreme,--
Woe, woe, unutterable woe,--
Who spill life's sacred stream!
For why? Methought, last night, I wrought
A murder, in my dream!
"One that had never done me wrong--
A feeble man, and old;
I led him to a lonely field,--
The moon shone clear and cold:
Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!
"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife,--
And then the deed was done:
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone!
"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still:
There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill!
[Illustration: 0204]
"And lo! the universal air
Seemed lit with ghastly flame;--
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame:
I took the dead man by his hand,
And called upon his name!
"O God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!
"My head was like an ardent coal,
My heart as solid ice;
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price:
A dozen times I groaned; the dead
Had never groaned but twice!
"And now, from forth the frowning sky,
From the Heaven's topmost height,
I heard a voice--the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite:--
'Thou guilty man! take up thy dead
And hide it from my sight!'
"I took the dreary body up,
And cast it in a stream,--
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme:--
My gentle Boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!
"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
And vanished in the pool!
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,
And washed my forehead cool,
And sat among the urchins young,
That evening in the school.
"Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls,
And mine so black and grim!
I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in Evening Hymn:
Like a Devil of the Pit I seemed
Mid holy Cherubim!
"And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;
But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain
That lighted me to bed;
And drew my midnight curtains round,
With fingers bloody red!
"All night I lay in agony,
In anguish dark and deep;
My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:
For Sin had rendered unto her
The keys of Hell to keep!
"All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,
That racked me all the time;
A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime!
"One stern tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave,--
Still urging me to go and see
The Dead Man in his grave!
"Heavily I rose up, as soon
As light was in the sky,
And sought the black accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye;
And I saw the Dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.
"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dewdrop from its wing;
But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:
For I was stooping once again
Under the horrid thing.
"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran; --
There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began:
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
I hid the murdered man!
"And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was other-where;
As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there:
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!
"Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep:
Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.
"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh,--
The world shall see his bones!
"Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again--again, with dizzy brain,
The human life I take;
And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.
[Illustration: 0209]
"And still no peace for the restless clay,
Will wave or mould allow;
The horrid thing pursues my soul,--
It stands before me now!"
The fearful Boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.
That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kissed,
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,
With gyves upon his wrist.
----T. Hood.
THE VOYAGE WITH THE NAUTILUS
|I made myself a little boat,
As trim as trim could be;
I made it of a great pearl shell
Found in the Indian Sea.
I made my masts of wild sea-rush
That grew on a secret shore,
And the scarlet plume of the halcyon
Was the pleasant flag I bore.
For my sails I took the butterfly's wings.,
For my ropes the spider's line;
And that mariner old, the Nautilus,
To steer me over the brine.
For he had sailed six thousand years,
And knew each isle and bay;
And I thought that we, in my little boat,
Could merrily steer away.
The stores I took were plentiful:
The dew as it sweetly fell;
And the honey that was hoarded up
In the wild bee's summer cell.
"Now steer away, thou helmsman good,
Over the waters free;
To the charmed Isle of the Seven Kings,
That lies in the midmost sea."
He spread the sail, he took the helm;
And, long ere ever I wist,
We had sailed a league, we had reached the isle
That lay in the golden mist.
The charmed Isle of the Seven Kings,
'Tis a place of wondrous spell;
And all that happed unto me there
In a printed book I'll tell.
Said I, one day, to the Nautilus,
As we stood on the strand,
"Unmoor my ship, thou helmsman good,
And steer me back to land;
"For my mother, I know, is sick at heart,
And longs my face to see.
What ails thee now, thou Nautilus?
Art slow to sail with me?
Up! do my will; the wind is fresh,
So set the vessel free."
He turned the helm; away we sailed
Towards the setting sun:
The flying-fish were swift of wing,
But we outsped each one.
And on we went for seven days,
Seven days without a night;
We followed the sun still on and on,
In the glow of his setting light.
Down and down went the setting sun,
And down and down went we;
'Twas a splendid sail for seven days
On a smooth descending sea.
On a smooth, descending sea we sailed,
Nor breeze the water curled:
My brain grew sick, for I saw we sailed
On the down-hill of the world.
"Good friend," said I to the Nautilus,
"Can this the right course be?
And shall we come again to land?"
But answer none made he;
And I saw a laugh in his fishy eye
As he turned it up to me.
So on we went; but soon I heard
A sound as when winds blow,
And waters wild are tumbled down
Into a gulf below.
And on and on flew the little bark,
As a fiend her course did urge;
And I saw, in a moment, we must hang
Upon the oceans verge.
I snatched down the sails, I snapped the ropes,
I broke the masts in twain;
But on flew the bark and gainst the rocks
Like a living thing did strain.
"Thou'st steered us wrong, thou helmsman vile!"
Said I to the Nautilus bold;
"We shall down the gulf; were dead men both!
Dost know the course we hold?"
I seized the helm with a sudden jerk,
And we wheeled round like a bird;
But I saw the Gulf of Eternity,
And the tideless waves I heard.
"Good master," said the Nautilus,
"I thought you might desire
To have some wondrous thing to tell
Beside your mother's fire.
"What's sailing on a summer sea?
As well sail on a pool;
Oh, but I know a thousand things
That are wild and beautiful!
"And if you wish to see them now,
You've but to say the word."
"Have done!" said I to the Nautilus,
"Or I'll throw thee overboard.
"Have done!" said I, "thou mariner old,
And steer me back to land."
No other word spake the Nautilus,
But took the helm in hand.
I looked up to the lady moon,
She was like a glow-worm's spark;
And never a star shone down to us
Through the sky so high and dark.
We had no mast, we had no ropes,
And every sail was rent;
And the stores I brought from the charmed isle
In the seven days' sail were spent.
But the Nautilus was a patient thing,
And steered with all his might
On the up-hill sea; and he never slept,
But kept the course aright.
And for thrice seven nights we sailed and sailed;
At length I saw the bay
Where I built my ship, and my mother's house'
Mid the green hills where it lay.
"Farewell!" said I to the Nautilus,
And leaped upon the shore;
"Thou art a skilful mariner,
But I'll sail with thee no more!"
----M. Howitt.
THE DOOM-WELL OF ST MADRON
|Plunge thy right hand in St Madron's spring,
If true to its troth be the palm you bring:
But if a false sigil thy fingers bear,
Lay them the rather on the burning share."
Loud laughed King Arthur when-as he heard
That solemn friar his boding word:
And blithely he sware as a king he may,
"We tryst for St Madron's at break of day."
"Now horse and hattock, both but and ben,"
Was the cry at Lauds, with Dundagel men;
And forth they pricked upon Routorr side,
As goodly a raid as a king could ride.
Proud Gwennivar rode like a queen of the land,
With page and with squire at her bridle hand;
And the twice six knights of the stony ring,
They girded and guarded their Cornish king.
Then they halted their steeds at St Madron's cell:
And they stood by the monk of the cloisteredwell;
"Now off with your gauntlets," King Arthur he cried,
"And glory or shame for our Tamar side."
'Twere sooth to sing how Sir Gauvain smiled,
When he grasped the waters so soft and mild;
How Sir Lancelot dashed the glistening spray
O'er the rugged beard of the rough Sir Kay.
Sir Bevis he touched and he found no fear:
'Twas a bénitée stoup to Sir Belvidere,
Now the fountain flashed o'er King Arthur's Queen
Say, Cornish dames, for ye guess the scene.
"Now rede me my riddle, Sir Mordred, I pray,
My kinsman, mine ancient, my _bien-aime_;
Now rede me my riddle, and rede it aright,
Art thou traitorous knave or my trusty knight?"
He plunged his right arm in the judgment well,
It bubbled and boiled like a cauldron of hell:
He drew and he lifted his quivering limb,
Ha! Sir Judas, how Madron had sodden him.
Now let Uter Pendragon do what he can,
Still the Tamar river will run as it ran:
Let king or let kaiser be fond or be fell,
Ye may harowe their troth in St Madron's well.
----R. S. Hawker.
[Illustration: 0271]
THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE
|A knight of gallant deeds
And a young page at his side,
From the holy war in Palestine
Did slow and thoughtful ride,
As each were a palmer and told for beads
The dews of the eventide.
"O young page," said the knight,
"A noble page art thou!
Thou fearest not to steep in blood
The curls upon thy brow;
And once in the tent, and twice in the fight,
Didst ward me a mortal blow."
"O brave knight," said the page,
"Or ere we hither came,
We talked in tent, we talked in field,
Of the bloody battle-game;
But here, below this greenwood bough,
I cannot speak the same.
"Our troop is far behind,
The woodland calm is new;
Our steeds, with slow grass-muffled hoofs,
Tread deep the shadows through;
And, in my mind, some blessing kind
Is dropping with the dew.
"The woodland calm is pure--
I cannot choose but have
A thought from these, o' the beechen trees,
Which in our England wave,
And of the little finches fine
Which sang there while in Palestine
The warrior-hilt we drave.
"Methinks, a moment gone,
I heard my mother pray!
I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me
Wherein she passed away;
And I know the heavens are leaning down
To hear what I shall say."
The page spake calm and high,
As of no mean degree;
Perhaps he felt in nature's broad
Full heart, his own was free:
And the knight looked up to his lifted eye,
Then answered smilingly--
"Sir page, I pray your grace!
Certes, I meant not so