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Oh, sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward

breeze, A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the

trees, With a negro lass to fan you, while you listen'd to

the roar Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never

touched the shore. But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things

must be; So the king's ships sailed on Avès, and quite put

down were we. All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst

the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the

fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass

beside, Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young

thing, she died; But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by And brought me home to England here, to beg

until I die. And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I can't tell

where; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be

worse off there : If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the

main, To the pleasant isle of Avès, to look at it once



“ And where have you been, my Mary,

And where have you been from me ?
“I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,

The Midsummer night to see !”
“ And what did you see, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon-Low ?”
I saw the blithe sunshine come down,

And I saw the merry winds blow.”
“ And what did you hear, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon Hill?"
“I heard the drops of the water made,

And the green corn ears to fill.”
Oh, tell me all, my Mary-

All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,

Last night on the Caldon-Low.”
Then take me on your knee, mother,

And listen, mother of mine :
A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine.
And merry was the glee of the harp-strings

And their dancing feet so small;
But, oh, the sound of their talking

Was merrier far than all !”
“ And what were the words, my Mary,

That you did hear them say ?”
"I'll tell you all, my mother--

But let me have my way!


“ And some they played with the water,

And rolled it down the hill ;
And this,' they said, shall speedily turn

The poor old miller's mill;
s. For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May ;
And a busy man shall the miller be

By the dawning of the day !
“Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,

When he sees the mill-dam rise !
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,

Till the tears fill both his eyes!'
"And some they seized the little winds,

That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew so sharp and shrill :And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go, "

Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn : “Oh, the poor, blind old widow

Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,

And the corn stands stiff and strong!! And some they brought the brown lintseed,

And flung it down from the Low"And this,' said they, by the sunrise,

In the weaver's croft shall grow! «« Oh, the poor, lame weaver,

How he will laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field

All full of flowers by night !'

“And then upspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,

* And I want some more to spin. “I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,

And I want to spin anotherA little sheet for Mary's bed,

And an apron for her mother! “And with that I could not help but laugh,

And I laughed out loud and free ; And then on the top of the Caldon-Low

There was no one left but me.
“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,

The mists were cold and grey,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones

That round about me lay.
“But, as I came down from the hill-top,

I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go !
“And I peeped into the widow's field;

And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn

All standing stiff and green.
“And down by the weaver's croft I stole,

To see if the flax were high ; But I saw the weaver at his gate

With the good news in his eye ! “Now, this is all I heard, mother,

And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,

For I'm tired as I can be !”

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !

Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy wandering through the wood

To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear ;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No Winter in thy year.

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spring.

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