Chapter XVI: Part VII (1)

This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
"Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?"

"Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said--
"And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young."

"Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look--
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared"--"Push on, push on!"
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
"Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row."

And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!"
The Hermit crossed his brow.
"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say--
What manner of man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemèd there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!--

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."--

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

399 THE CHILD AND THE MARINER

This sailor knows of wondrous lands afar,
More rich than Spain, when the Phoenicians shipped
Silver for common ballast, and they saw
Horses at silver mangers eating grain;
This man has seen the wind blow up a mermaid's hair
Which, like a golden serpent, reared and stretched
To feel the air away beyond her head....
He many a tale of wonder told: of where,
At Argostoli, Cephalonia's sea
Ran over the earth's lip in heavy floods;
And then again of how the strange Chinese
Conversed much as our homely Blackbirds sing.
He told us how he sailed in one old ship
Near that volcano Martinique, whose power
Shook like dry leaves the whole Caribbean seas;
And made the sun set in a sea of fire
Which only half was his; and dust was thick
On deck, and stones were pelted at the mast....
He told how isles sprang up and sank again,
Between short voyages, to his amaze;
How they did come and go, and cheated charts;
Told how a crew was cursed when one man killed
A bird that perched upon a moving barque;
And how the sea's sharp needles, firm and strong,
Ripped open the bellies of big, iron ships;
Of mighty icebergs in the Northern seas,
That haunt the far horizon like white ghosts.
He told of waves that lift a ship so high.
That birds could pass from starboard unto port
Under her dripping keel.
Oh, it was sweet
To hear that seaman tell such wondrous tales....

WILLIAM H. DAVIES

400 THE PARROTS

Somewhere, somewhen I've seen,
But where or when I'll never know,
Parrots of shrilly green
With crests of shriller scarlet flying
Out of black cedars as the sun was dying
Against cold peaks of snow.

From what forgotten life
Of other worlds I cannot tell
Flashes that screeching strife:
Yet the shrill colour and shrill crying
Sing through my blood and set my heart replying
And jangling like a bell.

WILFRID GIBSON

401 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

402 ST. ANTHONY'S TOWNSHIP

The trees of the elder lands,
Give ear to the march of Time,
To his steps that are heavy and slow
In the streets of ruined cities
That were great awhile ago--
Skeletons bare to the skies
Or mummies hid in the sands,
Wasting to rubble and lime.
Ancient are they and wise;

But the gum-trees down by the creek,
Gnarled, archaic and grey,
Are even as wise as they.
They have learned in a score of years
The lore that their brethren know;
For they saw a town arise,
Arise and pass.

There are pits by the dry, dead river,
Whence the diggers won their gold,
A circle traced in the grass,
A hearthstone long a-cold,
A path none come to seek--
The trail of the pioneers--
Where the sheep wind to and fro;
And the rest is a tale that is told
By voices quavering and weak
Of men grown old.

GILBERT SHELDON

403 SILENCE

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave--under the deep--deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hushed--no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox, or wild hyaena, calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.

THOMAS HOOD

404 KUBLA KHAN

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise....

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

405 LOST LOVE

His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,
Or watch the startled spirit flee
From the throat of a dead man.
Across two counties he can hear,
And catch your words before you speak.
The woodlouse, or the maggot's weak
Clamour rings in his sad ear;
And noise so slight it would surpass
Credence:--drinking sound of grass,
Worm talk, clashing jaws of moth
Chumbling holes in cloth:
The groan of ants who undertake
Gigantic loads for honour's sake,
Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin:
Whir of spiders when they spin,
And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs
Of idle grubs and flies.
This man is quickened so with grief,
He wanders god-like or like thief
Inside and out, below, above,
Without relief seeking lost love.

ROBERT GRAVES

406 ECSTASY

I saw a frieze on whitest marble drawn
Of boys who sought for shells along the shore,
Their white feet shedding pallor in the sea,
The shallow sea, the spring-time sea of green
That faintly creamed against the cold, smooth pebbles....

One held a shell unto his shell-like ear
And there was music carven in his face,
His eyes half-closed, his lips just breaking open
To catch the lulling, mazy, coralline roar
Of numberless caverns filled with singing seas.

And all of them were hearkening as to singing
Of far-off voices thin and delicate,
Voices too fine for any mortal wind
To blow into the whorls of mortal ears--
And yet those sounds flowed from their grave, sweet faces.

And as I looked I heard that delicate music,
And I became as grave, as calm, as still
As those carved boys. I stood upon that shore,
I felt the cool sea dream around my feet,
My eyes were staring at the far horizon....

WALTER J. TURNER

407 THE SEA OF DEATH

... And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep
Like water-lilies on that motionless deep,
How beautiful! with bright unruffled hair
On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were
Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse!
And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips,
Meekly apart, as if the soul intense
Spake out in dreams of its own innocence....
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lulled sublime
To everlasting rest,--and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.

408 THE FROZEN OCEAN

The sea would flow no longer,
It wearied after change,
It called its tides and breakers in,
From where they might range.

It sent an icy message
To every wave and rill;
They lagged, they paused, they stiffened,
They froze, and were still.

It summoned in its currents,
They reached not where they led;
It bound its foaming whirlpools.
"Not the old life," it said,

"Not fishes for the fishermen,
Not bold ships as before,
Not beating loud for ever
Upon the seashore,

"But cold white foxes stepping
On to my hard proud breast,
And a bird coming sweetly
And building a nest.

"My icebergs shall be mountains,
My silent fields of snow
Unmarked shall join the lands' snowfields--
Where, no man shall know."

VIOLA MEYNELL

409 THE END OF THE WORLD

The snow had fallen many nights and days;
The sky was come upon the earth at last,
Sifting thinly down as endlessly
As though within the system of blind planets
Something had been forgot or overdriven.
The dawn now seemed neglected in the grey
Where mountains were unbuilt and shadowless trees
Rootlessly paused or hung upon the air.
There was no wind, but now and then a sigh
Crossed that dry falling dust and rifted it
Through crevices of slate and door and casement.
Perhaps the new moon's time was even past.
Outside, the first white twilights were too void
Until a sheep called once, as to a lamb,
And tenderness crept everywhere from it;
But now the flock must have strayed far away.
The lights across the valley must be veiled,
The smoke lost in the greyness or the dusk.
For more than three days now the snow had thatched
That cow-house roof where it had ever melted
With yellow stains from the beasts' breath inside;
But yet a dog howled there, though not quite lately.
Someone passed down the valley swift and singing,
Yes, with locks spreaded like a son of morning;
But if he seemed too tall to be a man
It was that men had been so long unseen,
Or shapes loom larger through a moving snow.
And he was gone and food had not been given him.
When snow slid from an overweighted leaf,
Shaking the tree, it might have been a bird
Slipping in sleep or shelter, whirring wings;
Yet never bird fell out, save once a dead one--
And in two days the snow had covered it.
The dog had howled again--or thus it seemed
Until a lean fox passed and cried no more.
All was so safe indoors where life went on
Glad of the close enfolding snow--O glad
To be so safe and secret at its heart,
Watching the strangeness of familiar things.
They knew not what dim hours went on, went by,
For while they slept the clock stopt newly wound
As the cold hardened. Once they watched the road,
Thinking to be remembered. Once they doubted
If they had kept the sequence of the days,
Because they heard not any sound of bells.
A butterfly, that hid until the Spring
Under a ceiling's shadow, dropt, was dead.
The coldness seemed more nigh, the coldness deepened
As a sound deepens into silences;
It was of earth and came not by the air;
The earth was cooling and drew down the sky.
The air was crumbling. There was no more sky.
Rails of a broken bed charred in the grate,
And when he touched the bars he thought the sting
Came from their heat--he could not feel such cold...
She said, "O do not sleep,
Heart, heart of mine, keep near me. No, no; sleep.
I will not lift his fallen, quiet eyelids,
Although I know he would awaken then--
He closed them thus but now of his own will.
He can stay with me while I do not lift them."

GORDON BOTTOMLEY

OLD TALES AND BALLADRY

410 FLANNAN ISLE

"Though three men dwell on Flannan Isle
To keep the lamp alight,
As we steered under the lee, we caught
No glimmer through the night."--

A passing ship at dawn had brought
The news; and quickly we set sail,
To find out what strange thing might ail
The keepers of the deep-sea light.

The Winter day broke blue and bright,
With glancing sun and glancing spray,
While o'er the swell our boat made way,
As gallant as a gull in flight.

But as we neared the lonely Isle,
And looked up at the naked height,
And saw the lighthouse towering white,
With blinded lantern, that all night
Had never shot a spark
Of comfort through the dark,
So ghostly in the cold sunlight
It seemed, that we were struck the while
With wonder all too dread for words.

And as into the tiny creek
We stole beneath the hanging crag,
We saw three queer, black, ugly birds--
Too big, by far, in my belief,
For cormorant or shag--
Like seamen sitting bolt-upright
Upon a half-tide reef:
But, as we neared, they plunged from sight,
Without a sound, or spurt of white.

And still too mazed to speak,
We landed; and made fast the boat;
And climbed the track in single file,
Each wishing he were safe afloat,
On any sea, however far,
So it be far from Flannan Isle:
And still we seemed to climb, and climb,
As though we'd lost all count of time,
And so must climb for evermore.
Yet, all too soon, we reached the door
The black, sun-blistered lighthouse-door,
That gaped for us ajar.

As, on the threshold, for a spell,
We paused, we seemed to breathe the smell
Of limewash and of tar,
Familiar as our daily breath,
As though 'twere some strange scent of death:
And so, yet wondering, side by side,
We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:
And each with black foreboding eyed
The door, ere we should fling it wide,
To leave the sunlight for the gloom:
Till, plucking courage up, at last,
Hard on each other's heels we passed,
Into the living-room.

Yet, as we crowded through the door,
We only saw a table, spread
For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;
But, all untouched; and no one there:
As though, when they sat down to eat,
Ere they could even taste,
Alarm had come; and they in haste
Had risen and left the bread and meat:
For at the table-head a chair
Lay tumbled on the floor.

We listened; but we only heard
The feeble cheeping of a bird
That starved upon its perch:
And, listening still, without a word,
We set about our hopeless search.

We hunted high, we hunted low;
And soon ransacked the empty house;
Then o'er the Island, to and fro,
We ranged, to listen and to look
In every cranny, cleft or nook
That might have hid a bird or mouse:
But, though we searched from shore to shore
We found no sign in any place:
And soon again stood face to face
Before the gaping door:
And stole into the room once more
As frightened children steal.
Ay: though we hunted high and low,
And hunted everywhere,
Of the three men's fate we found no trace
Of any kind in any place,
But a door ajar, and an untouched meal,
And an overtoppled chair.

And as we listened in the gloom
Of that forsaken living-room--
A chill clutch on our breath--
We thought how ill-chance came to all
Who kept the Flannan Light:
And how the rock had been the death
Of many a likely lad:
How six had come to a sudden end,
And three had gone stark mad:
And one whom we'd all known as friend
Had leapt from the lantern one still night,
And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:
And long we thought
On the three we sought,
And of what might yet befall.

Like curs a glance has brought to heel,
We listened, flinching there:
And looked, and looked, on the untouched meal,
And the overtoppled chair.

We seemed to stand for an endless while,
Though still no word was said,
Three men alive on Flannan Isle,
Who thought on three men dead.

WILFRID GIBSON

411 THE GOLDEN VANITY

There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she,
_Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low_;
And she was called The Goulden Vanitie.
_As she sailed to the Lowlands low_.

She had not sailed a league, a league but only three,
When she came up with a French gallee.
_As she sailed to the Lowlands low_.

Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;
"What will you give me if I sink that French gallee?
_As ye sail to the Lowlands low_."

"I'll give thee gold, and I'll give thee fee,
And my eldest daughter thy wife shall be
_If you sink her off the Lowlands low_."

"Then row me up ticht in a black bull's skin,
And throw me oer deck-buird, sink I or swim.
_As ye sail to the Lowlands low_."

So they've rowed him up ticht in a black bull's skin,
And have thrown him oer deck-buird, sink he or swim.
_As they sail to the Lowlands low_.

About, and about, and about went he,
Until he cam up with the French gallee.
_As they sailed to the Lowlands low_.

O some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,
The boy he had an auger bored holes two at twice;
He let the water in, and it dazzled in their eyes,
_As they sailed to the Lowlands low_.

Then some they ran with cloaks, and some they ran with caps,
To try if they could stap the saut-water draps.
_As they sailed to the Lowlands low_.

About, and about, and about went he,
Until he cam back to The Goulden Vanitie.
_As they sailed to the Lowlands low_.

"Now throw me oer a rope and pu me up on buird,
And prove unto me as guid as your word.
_As ye sail to the Lowlands low_."

"We'll no throw ye oer a rope, nor pu you up on buird,
Nor prove unto you as guid as our word.
_As we sail to the Lowlands low_."

"You promised me gold, and you promised me fee,
Your eldest daughter my wife she should be.
_As ye sail to the Lowlands low_."

"You shall have gold, and you shall have fee,
But my eldest daughter your wife shall never be.
_As we sail to the Lowlands low_."

Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;
"Then hang me, I'll sink ye as I sunk the French gallee.
_As ye sail to the Lowlands low_."

The boy he swam round all by the starboard side,
When they pu'd him up on buird it's there he soon died;
They threw him o'er deck-buird to go down with the tide,
_And sink off the Lowlands low_.

412 BROWN ROBYN

It fell upon a Wodensday
Brown Robyn's men went to sea,
But they saw neither moon nor sun,
Nor starlight with their ee.

"We'll cast kevels us amang,
See wha the unhappy man may be:"
The kevel fell on Brown Robyn,
The master-man was hee.

"It is nae wonder," said Brown Robyn,
"Altho I dinna thrive;
[For if the deidly sins be seven,
Befallen me hae five.]

"But tie me to a plank o wude,
And throw me in the sea;
And if I sink, ye may bid me sink,
But if I swim, lat me bee."

They've tyed him to a plank o wude,
And thrown him in the sea;
He didna sink, tho they bade him sink;
He swimd, and they lat him be.--

He hadna been into the sea
An hour but barely three,
Till by and came Our Blessed Lady,
Her dear young son her wi.

"Will ye gang to your men again?
Or will ye gang wi me?
Will ye gang to the high heavens,
Wi my dear son and me?"

"I winna gang to my men again,
For they woud be feared at mee;
But I woud gang to the high heavens,
Wi thy dear son and thee."

"It's for nae honour ye did to me, Brown Robyn,
It's for nae guid ye did to mee;
But a' is for your fair confession
You've made upon the sea."

413 ONE FRIDAY MORN

One Friday morn when we set sail,
Not very far from land,
We there did espy a fair pretty maid
With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,
With a comb and a glass in her hand.
_While the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow,_
_While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,_
_And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,_
_And the land-lubbers lying down below._

Then up starts the captain of our gallant ship,
And a brave young man was he:
"I've a wife and a child in fair Bristol town,
But a widow I fear she will be."
_And the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow._

Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship,
And a bold young man was he:
"Oh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be."
_And the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow._

Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship,
And a gruff old soul was he:
"Oh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be."
_And the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow._

And then up spoke the little cabin-boy,
And a pretty little boy was he;
"Oh! I am more grieved for my daddy and my mammy
Than you for your wives all three."
_And the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow._

Then three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she;
And three times round went our gallant ship,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea....

_And the raging seas did roar,_
_And the stormy winds did blow._
_While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,_
_And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,_
_And the land-lubbers lying down below._

414 THE SHIP

There was no song nor shout of joy
Nor beam of moon or sun,
When she came back from the voyage
Long ago begun;
But twilight on the waters
Was quiet and grey,
And she glided steady, steady and pensive,
Over the open bay.

Her sails were brown and ragged,
And her crew hollow-eyed,
But their silent lips spoke content
And their shoulders pride;
Though she had no captives on her deck,
And in her hold
There were no heaps of corn or timber
Or silks or gold.

J. C. SQUIRE

415 THE MOON-CHILD

A little lonely child am I
That have not any soul:
God made me as the homeless wave,
That has no goal.

A seal my father was, a seal
That once was man;
My mother loved him tho' he was
'Neath mortal ban.

He took a wave and drownèd her,
She took a wave and lifted him:
And I was born where shadows are
In sea-depths dim.

All through the sunny blue-sweet hours
I swim and glide in waters green:
Never by day the mournful shores
By me are seen.

But when the gloom is on the wave
A shell unto the shore I bring:
And then upon the rocks I sit
And plaintive sing.

I have no playmate but the tide
The seaweed loves with dark brown eyes:
The night-waves have the stars for play,
For me but sighs.

"FIONA MACLEOD" (WILLIAM SHARP)

416 THE MERMAID

To yon fause stream that, by the sea,
Hides mony an elf and plum,[162]
And rives wi' fearful din the stanes,
A witless knicht did come.

The day shines clear. Far in he's gane,
Whar shells are silver bright;
Fishes war loupin'[163] a' aroun'
An' sparklin' to the light.

When, as he laved, sounds came sae sweet
Frae ilka rock ajee;[164]
The brief[165] was out; 'twas him it doomed
The mermaid's face to see.

Frae 'neath a rock sune, sune she rose,
An' stately on she swam,
Stopped i' the midst, and becked and sang
For him to stretch his han';

Gowden glist the yellow links
That roun' her neck she'd twine;
Her een war o' the skyie blue,
Her lips did mock the wine.

The smile upon her bonnie cheek
Was sweeter than the bee;
Her voice excelled the birdie's sang
Upon the birchen tree.

Sae couthie, couthie did she look,
And meikle had she fleeched;[166]
Out shot his hand--alas! alas!
Fast in the swirl he screeched.

The mermaid leuched;[167] her brief was dane;
The kelpie's blast was blawin':
Fu' low she dived, ne'er cam' again;
For deep, deep was the fawin'.

Aboon the stream his wraith was seen:
Warlocks tirled lang at gloamin':
That e'en was coarse;[168] the blast blew hoarse
Ere lang the waves war foamin'.

417 QUO' THE TWEED

Quo' the Tweed to the Till,
"What gars ye gang sae still?"
Quo' the Till to the Tweed,
"Though ye rin wi' speed,
And I rin slaw,
For ilka are that ye droon,
I droon twa."

418 SIR PATRICK SPENCE

The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get ae guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the king's richt kne;
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has done this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!

"Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne."
"O say na sae, my master deir,
Fir I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith[169]
To weet[170] their cork-heil'd schoone;
Bot lang owre[171] a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame no mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,
It's fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

419 ALLISON GROSS

O Allison Gross, that lives in yon towr,
The ugliest witch i the north country,
Has trysted me ae day up till her bowr,
An monny fair speech she made to me.

She stroaked my head, an she kembed my hair,
An she set me down saftly on her knee;
Says, Gin[172] ye will be my luver so true,
Sae monny braw things as I woud you gi'e.

She showd me a mantle o red scarlet,
Wi gouden flowrs an fringes fine;
Says, Gin ye will be my luver so true,
This goodly gift it sal be thine.

"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, an lat me be;
I never will be your luver sae true,
An I wish I were out o your company."

She neist brought a sark o the saftest silk,
Well wrought wi pearles about the ban;
Says, Gin you will be my ain true love,
This goodly gift you sal comman.

She showd me a cup of the good red gold,
Well set wi jewls sae fair to see;
Says, Gin you will be my luver sae true,
This goodly gift I will you gi'e.

"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, and lat me be;
For I woudna ance kiss your ugly mouth
For a' the gifts that ye could gi'e."

She's turnd her right and roun about,
An thrice she blaw on a grass-green horn,
An she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.

Then out has she taen a silver wand,
An she's turnd her three times roun an roun;
She's mutterd sich words till my strength it faild,
An I fell down senceless upon the groun.

She's turnd me into an ugly worm,
And gard me writhle about the tree;
An ay, on ilka Saturdays night,
My sister Maisry came to me,

Wi silver bason an silver kemb,
To kemb my heady upon her knee;
But or I had kissd her ugly mouth,
I'd rather a writhled about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallow-even,
When the seely court was ridin by,
The queen lighted down on a gowany bank,
Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white han,
An she's stroakd me three times oer her knee;
She chang'd me again to my ain proper shape,
An I nae mair maun writhle about the tree.

420 SIR HUGH, OR, THE JEW'S DAUGHTER

Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba',
And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,
And he playd o'er them a'.

He kicked the ba' with his right foot,
And catchd it wi' his knee,
And throuch-and-thro the Jew's window
He gard the bonny ba' flee.

He's doen him to the Jew's castell,
And walkd it round about;
And there he saw the Jew's daughter,
At the window looking out.

"Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba' to me!"
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
"Till up to me come ye."

"How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father
The same ye'll do to me."

She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple red and green;
'T was a' to wyle him--sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.

She's led him in through ae dark door,
And sae has she thro nine;
She's laid him on a dressing-table,
And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin,
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.

She's rowd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane.

She's ta'en her mantle her about,
Her coffer[173] by the hand,
And she's gane out to seek her son,
And wanderd o'er the land.

She's doen her to the Jew's castell,
Where a' were fast asleep:
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

She's doen her to the Jew's garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit:
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak!

She neard Our Lady's deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep:
"Whareer ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
Prepare my winding sheet,
And at the birks[174] o' merry Lincoln
The morn I will you meet."

Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,
Made him a winding sheet,
And at the birks o' merry Lincoln
The dead corpse did her meet.

And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln
Without men's hands were rung,
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln
Were read without man's tongue,

When bells war rung, and mass was sung
And a' men bound for bed,
Every mither had her son,
But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.

421 EDWARD

"Why does your brand so drop wi' blood,
Edward, Edward,
Why does your brand so drop wi' blood,
And why so sad go ye O?"
"O I have killed my hawk so good,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my hawk so good,
And I had no more but he O."

"Your hawk's blood was never so red,
Edward, Edward,
Your hawk's blood was never so red,
My dear son I tell thee O."
"O I have killed my red-roan steed,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my red-roan steed,
That erst was so fair and free O."

"Your steed was old, and ye have got more,
Edward, Edward,
Your steed was old, and ye have got more,
Some other grief you bear O."
"O I have killed my father dear,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my father dear,
Alas, and woe is me O!"

"And what penance will ye do for that,
Edward, Edward?
And what penance will ye do for that?
My dear son, now tell me O."
"I'll set my foot in yonder boat,
Mother, mother,
I'll set my foot in yonder boat,
And I'll fare over the sea O."

"And what will ye do wi' your towers and your hall,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi' your towers and your hall,
That were so fair to see O?"
"I'll let them stand till they down fall,
Mother, mother,
I'll let them stand till they down fall,
For here never more may I be O."

"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
When ye go over the sea O?"
"The world's wide, let them beg their life,
Mother, mother,
The world's wide, let them beg their life,
For them never more will I see O."

"And what will ye leave to your own mother dear,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your own mother dear?
My dear son, now tell me O."
"The curse of hell from me shall ye bear,
Mother, mother,
The curse of hell from me shall ye bear,
Such counsels ye gave to me O."

422 THE LAIRD O' LOGIE

I will sing, if ye will hearken,
If ye will hearken unto me;
The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,
The wanton laird of Young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,
Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;
I heard a may[175] lamenting sair
A' for the laird of Young Logie.

"Lament, lament na, May Margaret,
And o' your weeping let me be;
For ye maun to the king your sell,
And ask the life of Young Logie.

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[176]
And she's currlld back her yellow hair;
"If I canna get young Logie's life,
Farewell to Scotland for ever mair!"

When she came before the king,
She knelit low doon on her knee:
"It's what's your will wi' me, May Margaret,
And what needs a' this courtesie?"

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,
A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!
And the first boon that I come to crave,
It's to grant me the life o' Young Logie."

"O na, O na, May Margaret,
Na, in sooth it mauna[177] be;
For the[178] morn, ere I taste meat or drink,
Hee[179] hangèd shall Young Logie be."

She has stolen the king's redding-kaim,[180]
Likewise the queen her wedding-knife;
And sent the tokens to Carmichael,
To cause Young Logie get[181] his life.

She sent him a purse o' the red gowd,
Another o' the white monie;
And sent him a pistol into each hand,
And bade him shoot when he gat free.

When he came to the Tolbooth stair,
There he let his volley flee,
It made the king in his chamber start,
E'en in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrie men a',
And gar Carmichael come speak wi' me,
For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,
That yon's the volley of Young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the king,
He fell low down upon his knee;
The very first word that the king spake,
Was, "Where's the laird o' Young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about,
I wat the salt tear blinded his ee,
"There came a token frae your grace,
Has ta'en the laird awa frae me."

"Mast thou played me that Carmichael?--
Hast thou played me that?" quoth he;
"The morn the Justice Court's to stand,
And Logie's place ye maun supplie."

Carmichael's awa to May Margaret's bower,
Even as fast as he may dree;
"O if Young Logie be within,
Tell him to come and speak with me."

May Margaret's turn'd her round about,
I wat a loud laughter gae she:
"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,
Ye'll see nae mair o' Young Logie."

Tane[182] is shipped at the pier o' Leith,
T'other at the Queen's Ferrie,
And she's gotten a father to her bairn,
The wanton laird of Young Logie.

423 FAIR ANNIE

The reivers[183] they stole Fair Annie,
As she walked by the sea;
But a noble knight was her ransom soon,
Wi' gowd and white monie.[184]

She bided in strangers' land wi' him,
And none knew whence she cam;
She lived in the castle wi' her love,
But never told her name.--

"It's narrow, narrow, mak your bed,
And learn to lie your lane;[185]
For I'm gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw Bride to bring hame.
Wi' her I will get, gowd and gear,
Wi' you I ne'er gat nane.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my bright Bride,
That I bring owre the dale?"

"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale;
And I will welcome your bright Bride,
That you bring owre the dale."

"But she that welcomes my bright Bride
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And comely braid her hair.

"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,
And tie it on your neck;
And see you look as maiden-like
As the day that first we met."

"O how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not borne six sons to thee,
And am wi' child again?"

"I'll put cooks into my kitchen,
And stewards in my hall,
And I'll have bakers for my bread,
And brewers for my ale;
But you're to welcome my bright Bride,
That I bring owre the dale."

Three months and a day were gane and past,
Fair Annie she gat word
That her love's ship was come at last,
Wi' his bright young Bride aboard.

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
Anither in her hand;
And she's gane up to the highest tower,
Looks over sea and land.

"Come doun, come doun, my mother dear,
Come aff the castle wa'!
I fear if langer ye stand there,
Ye'll let yoursell doun fa'."

She's ta'en a cake o' the best bread,
A stoup o' the best wine,
And a' the keys upon her arm,
And to the yett is gane.[186]

"O ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your castles and your towers;
Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your ha's,[187] but and your bowers.
And welcome to your hame, fair lady!
For a' that's here is yours."

"O whatna lady's that, my lord,
That welcomes you and me?
Gin[188] I be lang about this place,
Her friend I mean to be."--

Fair Annie served the lang tables
Wi' the white bread and the wine;
But ay she drank the wan water
To keep her colour fine.

And she gaed by the first table,
And smiled upon them a';
But ere she reached the second table,
The tears began to fa'.

She took a napkin lang and white,
And hung it on a pin;
It was to wipe away the tears,
As she gaed out and in.

When bells were rung and mass was sung,
And a' men bound for bed,
The bridegroom and the bonny Bride
In ae[189] chamber were laid.--

Fair Annie's ta'en a harp in her hand,
To harp thir twa[190] asleep;
But ay, as she harpit and she sang,
Fu' sairly did she weep.

"O gin my sons were seven rats,
Rinnin' on the castle wa',
And I mysell a grey grey cat,
I soon wad worry them a'!

"O gin my sons were seven hares,
Rinnin' owre yon lily lea,
And I mysell a good greyhound,
Soon worried they a' should be!"--

Then out and spak the bonny young Bride,
In bride-bed where she lay:
"That's like my sister Annie," she says;
"Wha is it doth sing and play?

"I'll put on my gown," said the new-come Bride
"And my shoes upon my feet;
I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,
And what is it gars her greet.[191]

"What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,
That ye mak sic a mane?[192]
Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,
Or is a' your white bread gane?"

"It isna because my wine is spilt,
Or that my white bread's gane;
But because I've lost my true love's love,
And he's wed to anither are."

"Noo tell me wha was your father?" she says,
"Noo tell me wha was your mother?
And had ye ony sister?" she says,
"And had ye ever a brother?"

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother,
Young Elinor she was my sister dear,
And Lord John he was my brother."

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine;
And it's O my sister Annie!
Your love ye sallna tyne.[193]

"Tak your husband, my sister dear;
You ne'er were wrangd for me,
Beyond a kiss o' his merry mouth
As we cam owre the sea.

"Seven ships, loaded weel,
Cam owre the sea wi' me;
Ane o' them will tak me hame,
And six I'll gie to thee."

424 HELEN OF KIRCONNELL

... I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died for sake o' me!

O think na but my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair;
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down, my sword to draw,
I hackèd him in pieces sma',
I hackèd him in pieces sma',
For her that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare,
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.

O that I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my love died for me.

425 THE BONNIE BOWER

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW

My love he built me a bonnie bower,
And clad it a' wi' lily flower;
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true-love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear:[194]
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse, mysel alane;
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;
I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod sae green.

But think na' ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair?
O, think na' ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.

426 WEEP NO MORE

Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that's gone:
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look chearfully,
Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.[195]

JOHN FLETCHER

427 THE TWA SISTERS

There were twa sisters sat in a bowr;
_Binnorie, O Binnorie_:
There came a knight to be their wooer
_By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie_.

He courted the eldest wi' glove an ring,
But he lov'd the youngest above a' thing.[196]

He courted the eldest wi' brotch an knife,
But lov'd the youngest as his life.

The eldest she was vexed sair,
An' much envi'd her sister fair.

Into[197] her bow'r she could not rest,
Wi' grief an spite she almos brast.

Upon a morning fair an' clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:--

"O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father's ships come to lan."

She's ta'en her by the milk-white han,
An led her down to yon sea stran.

The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest came an threw her in.

She tooke her by the middle sma,'
An dashed her bonny back to the jaw.[198]

"O sister, sister, tak my han,
And Ise mack[199] you heir to a' my lan.

"O sister, sister, tak my middle,
An yes get[200] my goud and my gouden girdle.

"O sister, sister, save my life,
An I swear Ise never be nae man's wife."

"Foul fa' the han that I should tacke,
It twin'd me an my wardles make.[201]

"Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair
Gars me gae maiden for evermair."

Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam,
Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam.

O out it came the miller's son,
An' saw the fair maid swimmin in.

"O father, father, draw your dam,
Here's either a mermaid or a swan."

The miller quickly drew the dam,
An there he found a drown'd woman.

You coudna see her yallow hair
For gold and pearle that were so rare.

You coudna see her middle sma'
For gouden girdle that was sae braw.

You coudna see her fingers white,
For gouden rings that was sae gryte.[202]

An by there came a harper fine,
That harped to the king at dine.

When he did look that lady upon,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.

He's taen three locks o' her yallow hair,
An wi' them strung his harp sae fair.

The first tune he did play and sing,
Was, "Farewell to my father the king."

The nextin tune that he play'd syne,
Was, "Farewell to my mother the queen."

The lastin tune that he play'd then,
Was, "Wae to my sister, fair Ellen."

428 SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MARGARET

There came a ghost to Margret's door,
With many a grievous groan;
And aye he tirlèd at the pin,
But answer made she none....

"Is that my father Philip?
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true-love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?"

'Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John,
But' tis thy true-love Willie,
From Scotland new come home.

"O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee."

"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower
And kiss me cheek and chin."

"If I shou'd come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shou'd I kiss thy ruby lips,
Thy days would not be lang.