Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, BALLAD. SH HE'S up and gone, the graceless girl! Aye, call her on the barren moor, That widen'd when she fled. Full many a thankless child has been, Her meat was served on plates of gold, But now she'll share the robin's food, And sup the common rill, To meet her father's will. HOOD. INCANTATION. 66 [FROM THE TRAGEDY OF REMORSE."] EAR, sweet spirit, hear the spell, So shall the midnight breezes swell And at evening evermore, In a chapel on the shore, Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly, Hark! the cadence dies away COLERIDGE. A SONG. [FROM "ROKEBY."] WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A doublet of the Lincoln green,— No more of me you knew, My love, No more of me you knew! This morn is merry June, I trow; He turn'd his charger as he spake, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, And adieu for evermore!" My love! N Puck. OW the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon, Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task foredone. Now the wasted brands do glow; And the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide. By the triple Hecat's team, To sweep the dust behind the door. SHAKESPEARE. WHAT PLEASURE HAVE GREAT 66 PRINCES. [FROM BYRD'S SONGS AND SONNETS OF SADNESS WH AND PIETIE." 1588.] HAT pleasure have great princes, Than they whose humble chances In quiet life rejoice, And fearing not, nor scorning, Their dealings plain and rightful Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All day their work each tendeth, Where gold and pearl are plenty, For lawyers and their pleading, Where conscience judgeth plainly,- O happy who thus liveth, Not caring much for gold; FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. [OLD BALLAD.] [Adam Fleming, says tradition, loved Helen Irving, or Bell, (for this surname is uncertain, as well as the date of the occurrence) daughter of the Laird of Kirkconnell, in Dumfriesshire. The lovers being together one day by the river Kirtle, a rival suitor suddenly appeared on the opposite bank and pointed his gun; Helen threw herself before her sweetheart, received the bullet, and died in his arms. Then Adam Fleming fought with his guilty rival and slew him.] I WISH I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; On fair Kirkconnell lea! |