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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Childhood, by Walter de la Mare
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs of Childhood
+
+Author: Walter de la Mare
+
+Commentator: Anthony Hecht
+
+Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23545]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF CHILDHOOD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner, Colin Bell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Songs of Childhood
+
+by Walter Ramal
+[Walter de la Mare]
+
+_with a preface for the Garland edition by_
+
+Anthony Hecht
+
+_Garland Publishing, Inc., New York & London_
+
+1976
+
+
+Bibliographical note:
+
+This facsimile has been made from a copy in the Beinecke Library of
+Yale University. (Iq.D373.902)
+
+Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data De La Mare,
+Walter John, 1873-1956. Songs of childhood.
+
+
+(Classics of children's literature, 1621-1932)
+
+Reprint of the 1902 ed. published by Longmans, Green, London, New York.
+
+"Walter de la Mare (1873-1956), bibliography of his books for
+children": p.
+
+SUMMARY: A collection of forty-seven poems about subjects and
+experiences familiar to children.
+
+[1. English poetry]  I. Title.  II. Series.
+[PR6007.E3S6 1976]   821'.9'12  75-32200
+ISBN 0-8240-2310-2
+
+_Printed in the United States of America_
+
+
+
+
+_Preface_
+
+
+The Romantic poets rediscovered a pastoral and Biblical dream: that a
+child was the most innocent and the wisest of us all. Wordsworth
+hailed him as "Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!" And in the next generation
+Victorian novelists took that dream seriously enough to make children
+the heroes and heroines of their most searching fictions. There had
+been no "children's literature" to speak of before, except for the
+oral and "popular" tradition, including lullabies and _Mother Goose_,
+some of which go back as far as Tudor and even medieval times.
+
+Children's literature today is an immense and complex domain; and
+leaving aside for the present the works composed by children
+themselves, what remains varies tremendously in skill and delight, as
+well as in subtlety and intention. So I shall also set aside those
+minimal "vocabulary-building" tales and verses whose small virtues are
+rarely more than therapeutic, and direct myself only to that
+specialized but most important category--poems written by a skilled
+and adult poet but addressed to an audience of children who are likely
+to be read to until they are skillful enough to read the same verses
+for themselves.
+
+The dangers for the poet in addressing so composite an audience are
+enormous: cuteness, coyness, archness and condescension are only the
+most obvious ones. Some great writers of children's verse--Lewis
+Carroll and Edward Lear--have successfully hedged themselves against
+these dangers by insistent comedy and parody (Carroll's "serious"
+children's verse is maudlin and embarrassing). By this means they have
+contrived what the child will take as lovely, unintimidating,
+mysterious, rational nonsense, and what the adult will recognize as a
+travesty or burlesque of something very edgy indeed. Thus, Lear's "The
+Dong with the Luminous Nose" and Carroll's "Jabberwocky" are,
+respectively, bright and disguised versions of gothic terror and
+misery on the one hand, and medieval knightly exploit on the other,
+both rendered innocuous for the nursery and ridiculous for the adult.
+The risks of seriousness have been successfully avoided.
+
+The poetry of Walter de la Mare sings boldly and beautifully without
+any of these hedges and condescensions. His work has the honest candor
+of the border ballads and the fairy tales: as well as unmitigated
+joys, they are full of the dangers and horrors and sorrows that every
+child soon knows to be part of the world, however vainly parents try
+to veil them. A child's curiosity about the forbidden will insist on
+being satisfied; and better by verse than otherwise. This poetry is
+also musically astute and demanding; it may surprise and alert the
+parental reader; and it has its share of archaisms and poeticisms,
+which, contrary to adult surmise, bemuse and fascinate children. And
+it must be admitted that it is also relentlessly British; but then, so
+is much good children's literature.
+
+As a poet (he was also a gifted novelist and short-story writer) de la
+Mare was praised by T. S. Eliot ("the delicate, invisible web you
+wove") and by W. H. Auden ("there are no good poems which are only for
+children"). His technical and linguistic skills are not, as Auden
+rightly points out, a matter of indifference to children, who are in
+the very business of learning language, as well as other facts of
+life, and who are particularly sensitive to verbal rhythms, as Iona
+and Peter Opie have splendidly demonstrated in _The Lore and Language
+of Schoolchildren_.
+
+Just as important, this is a poetry of charms and spells, witches and
+dwarfs, ogres and fairies, full of dangers, omens, riddles and
+triumphs. In "The Ogre," for example, two sleeping children are about
+to be plucked by an enormous ogre from their home:
+
+    Into their dreams no shadow fell
+      Of his disastrous thumb
+    Groping discreet, and gradual,
+      Across the quiet room.
+
+But he is stopped, spellbound, abashed and defeated by the mother of
+the children, who is in another room and, all unaware of the danger,
+is singing a version of the Coventry Carol (which, in its original, is
+addressed to the Christ Child) as a lullaby to her new-born baby.
+
+I would guess that any child fortunate enough to grow up with these
+poems ringing in memory's ear might have a remarkable reservoir of
+music and excitement available to him. That is not a small gift.
+
+Anthony Hecht
+
+
+_ANTHONY HECHT teaches in the English Department of the University of
+Rochester. He is the author of several books of poetry, of which the
+most recent are_ The Hard Hours _(1967) and_ Aesopic _(1968). His poems
+appear in many anthologies and he has contributed to the_ Hudson
+Review, _the_ New York Review of Books, Quarterly Review of Literature,
+_and other periodicals. He also translated (with Helen H. Bacon)
+Aeschylus'_ Seven Against Thebes _(1973)._
+
+
+
+
+WALTER DE LA MARE (1873-1956)
+
+
+Bibliography of His Books for Children
+(Poetry):
+
+_Songs of Childhood._ London 1902.
+
+_A Child's Day: a Book of Rhymes to Pictures by C. W. Cadby._
+London 1912.
+
+_Peacock Pie: a Book of Rhymes._ London 1913.
+
+_Down-adown-derry: a Book of Fairy Poems._ London 1922.
+
+_Stuff and Nonsense._ London 1927.
+
+_Poems for Children._ London [1930].
+
+_This Year, Next Year._ London 1937.
+
+_Bells and Grass._ London 1941.
+
+_Collected Rhymes and Verses._ London 1944.
+
+
+Bibliography of His Books for Children
+(Stories, Plays):
+
+_The Three Mulla-mulgars._ London 1910.
+
+_Crossings; a Fairy Play, with Music by E. A. Gibbs._ London 1921.
+
+_Story and Rhyme._ London 1921.
+
+_Broomsticks and Other Tales._ London 1925.
+
+_Miss Jemima._ Oxford [1925].
+
+_Told Again: Traditional Tales._ Oxford 1927.
+
+_Readings: Traditional Tales 1925-1928._ Oxford 1928.
+
+_Old Joe._ Oxford [1927].
+
+_Stories from the Bible._ London 1929.
+
+_The Lord Fish and Other Tales._ London [1933].
+
+_The Old Lion and Other Stories._ London 1942.
+
+_The Magic Jacket and Other Stories._ London 1943.
+
+_The Scarecrow and Other Stories._ London 1944.
+
+_The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories._ London 1946.
+
+_Collected Stories for Children._ London 1947.
+
+
+Selected References:
+
+Atkins, John W. H. _Walter de la Mare: an Exploration._ London
+[1947].
+
+Clark, L. _Walter de la Mare_ (_a Bodley monograph_). London
+1960.
+
+McCrosson, D. R. _Walter de la Mare._ New York 1966.
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF CHILDHOOD
+
+[Illustration: Under the Dock Leaves,
+by Richard Doyle.]
+
+
+
+
+Songs of Childhood
+
+
+
+By
+
+WALTER RAMAL
+
+
+_WITH FRONTISPIECE_
+
+
+LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
+39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
+NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
+1902
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+'UNDER THE DOCK LEAVES,'                      _Frontispiece_
+_From a drawing by_ RICHARD DOYLE
+_in the possession of_ C. J. LONGMAN, Esq.
+
+
+                                                       Page
+
+THE GNOMIES,                                              1
+BLUEBELLS,                                                3
+LOVELOCKS,                                                4
+O DEAR ME!                                                5
+TARTARY,                                                  6
+THE BUCKLE,                                               8
+THE HARE,                                                 9
+BUNCHES OF GRAPES,                                       10
+JOHN MOULDY,                                             11
+THE FLY,                                                 12
+SONG,                                                    13
+I SAW THREE WITCHES,                                     14
+THE SILVER PENNY,                                        16
+THE NIGHT-SWANS,                                         18
+THE FAIRIES DANCING,                                     20
+REVERIE,                                                 22
+THE THREE BEGGARS,                                       24
+THE DWARF,                                               27
+ALULVAN,                                                 30
+THE PEDLAR,                                              32
+THE GREY WOLF,                                           36
+THE OGRE,                                                37
+DAME HICKORY,                                            41
+THE PILGRIM,                                             43
+THE GAGE,                                                48
+AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING,                                  53
+THE ENGLISHMAN,                                          58
+THE PHANTOM,                                             62
+THE MILLER AND HIS SON,                                  68
+DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY,                                        71
+THE SUPPER,                                              75
+THE ISLE OF LONE,                                        78
+THE SLEEPING BEAUTY,                                     83
+THE HORN,                                                84
+CAPTAIN LEAN,                                            85
+THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIOR,                               87
+HAUNTED,                                                 88
+THE RAVEN'S TOMB,                                        90
+THE CHRISTENING,                                         91
+THE MOTHER BIRD,                                         93
+THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED,                      94
+THE CHILD IN THE STORY AWAKES,                           96
+THE LAMPLIGHTER,                                         98
+CECIL,                                                  100
+I MET AT EVE,                                           102
+LULLABY                                                 104
+ENVOY,                                                  106
+
+
+
+
+    THE GNOMIES
+
+
+    As I lay awake in the white moonlight,
+    I heard a sweet singing in the wood--
+          'Out of bed,
+          Sleepyhead,
+          Put your white foot now,
+          Here are we,
+          'Neath the tree,
+          Singing round the root now!'
+
+    I looked out of window in the white moonlight,
+    The trees were like snow in the wood--
+          'Come away
+          Child and play,
+          Light wi' the gnomies;
+          In a mound,
+          Green and round,
+          That's where their home is!
+          'Honey sweet,
+          Curds to eat,
+          Cream and frumenty,
+          Shells and beads,
+          Poppy seeds,
+          You shall have plenty.'
+
+    But soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight
+    To put on my stocking and my shoe,
+    The sweet, sweet singing died sadly away,
+    And the light of the morning peep'd through:
+    Then instead of the gnomies there came a red robin
+    To sing of the buttercups and dew.
+
+
+
+
+    BLUEBELLS
+
+
+    Where the bluebells and the wind are,
+    Fairies in a ring I spied,
+    And I heard a little linnet
+    Singing near beside.
+
+    Where the primrose and the dew are,
+    Soon were sped the fairies all:
+    Only now the green turf freshens,
+    And the linnets call.
+
+
+
+
+    LOVELOCKS
+
+
+    I watched the Lady Caroline
+    Bind up her dark and beauteous hair;
+    Her face was rosy in the glass,
+    And 'twixt the coils her hands would pass,
+        White in the candleshine.
+
+    Her bottles on the table lay,
+    Stoppered yet sweet of violet;
+    Her image in the mirror stooped
+    To view those locks as lightly looped
+        As cherry-boughs in May.
+
+    The snowy night lay dim without,
+    I heard the Waits their sweet song sing;
+    The window smouldered keen with frost;
+    Yet still she twisted, sleeked and tossed
+        Her beauteous hair about.
+
+
+
+
+    O DEAR ME!
+
+
+    Here are crocuses, white, gold, grey!
+      'O dear me!' says Marjorie May;
+    Flat as a platter the blackberry blows:
+      'O dear me!' says Madeleine Rose;
+    The leaves are fallen, the swallows flown:
+      'O dear me!' says Humphrey John;
+    Snow lies thick where all night it fell:
+      'O dear me!' says Emmanuel.
+
+
+
+
+    TARTARY
+
+
+    If I were Lord of Tartary,
+      Myself and me alone,
+    My bed should be of ivory,
+      Of beaten gold my throne;
+    And in my court should peacocks flaunt,
+    And in my forests tigers haunt,
+    And in my pools great fishes slant
+      Their fins athwart the sun.
+
+    If I were Lord of Tartary,
+      Trumpeters every day
+    To all my meals should summon me,
+      And in my courtyards bray;
+    And in the evenings lamps should shine,
+    Yellow as honey, red as wine,
+    While harp, and flute, and mandoline,
+      Made music sweet and gay.
+
+    If I were Lord of Tartary,
+      I'd wear a robe of beads,
+    White, and gold, and green they'd be--
+      And small, and thick as seeds;
+    And ere should wane the morning-star,
+    I'd don my robe and scimitar,
+    And zebras seven should draw my car
+      Through Tartary's dark glades.
+
+    Lord of the fruits of Tartary,
+      Her rivers silver-pale!
+    Lord of the hills of Tartary,
+      Glen, thicket, wood, and dale!
+    Her flashing stars, her scented breeze,
+    Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas,
+    Her bird-delighting citron-trees
+      In every purple vale!
+
+
+
+
+    THE BUCKLE
+
+
+    I had a silver buckle,
+    I sewed it on my shoe,
+    And 'neath a sprig of mistletoe
+    I danced the evening through!
+
+    I had a bunch of cowslips,
+    I hid 'em in a grot,
+    In case the elves should come by night
+    And me remember not.
+
+    I had a yellow riband,
+    I tied it in my hair,
+    That, walking in the garden,
+    The birds might see it there.
+
+    I had a secret laughter,
+    I laughed it near the wall:
+    Only the ivy and the wind
+    May tell of it at all.
+
+
+
+
+    THE HARE
+
+
+    In the black furrow of a field
+    I saw an old witch-hare this night;
+    And she cocked her lissome ear,
+    And she eyed the moon so bright,
+    And she nibbled o' the green;
+    And I whispered 'Whsst! witch-hare,'
+    Away like a ghostie o'er the field
+    She fled, and left the moonlight there.
+
+
+
+
+    BUNCHES OF GRAPES
+
+
+    'Bunches of grapes,' says Timothy;
+    'Pomegranates pink,' says Elaine;
+    'A junket of cream and a cranberry tart
+      For me,' says Jane.
+
+    'Love-in-a-mist,' says Timothy;
+    'Primroses pale,' says Elaine;
+    'A nosegay of pinks and mignonette
+      For me,' says Jane.
+
+    'Chariots of gold,' says Timothy;
+    'Silvery wings,' says Elaine;
+    'A bumpity ride in a wagon of hay
+      For me,' says Jane.
+
+
+
+
+    JOHN MOULDY
+
+
+    I spied John Mouldy in his cellar,
+    Deep down twenty steps of stone;
+    In the dusk he sat a-smiling,
+      Smiling there alone.
+
+    He read no book, he snuffed no candle;
+    The rats ran in, the rats ran out;
+    And far and near, the drip of water
+      Went whisp'ring about.
+
+    The dusk was still, with dew a-falling,
+    I saw the Dog-star bleak and grim,
+    I saw a slim brown rat of Norway
+      Creep over him.
+
+    I spied John Mouldy in his cellar,
+    Deep down twenty steps of stone;
+    In the dusk he sat a-smiling,
+      Smiling there alone.
+
+
+
+
+    THE FLY
+
+
+    How large unto the tiny fly
+      Must little things appear!--
+    A rosebud like a feather bed,
+      Its prickle like a spear;
+
+    A dewdrop like a looking-glass,
+      A hair like golden wire;
+    The smallest grain of mustard-seed
+      As fierce as coals of fire;
+
+    A loaf of bread, a lofty hill;
+      A wasp, a cruel leopard;
+    And specks of salt as bright to see
+      As lambkins to a shepherd.
+
+
+
+
+    SONG
+
+
+    O for a moon to light me home!
+      O for a lanthorn green!
+    For those sweet stars the Pleiades,
+    That glitter in the twilight trees;
+      O for a lovelorn taper! O
+      For a lanthorn green!
+
+    O for a frock of tartan!
+      O for clear, wild, grey eyes!
+    For fingers light as violets,
+    'Neath branches that the blackbird frets;
+      O for a thistly meadow! O
+      For clear, wild grey eyes!
+
+    O for a heart like almond boughs!
+      O for sweet thoughts like rain!
+    O for first-love like fields of grey,
+    Shut April-buds at break of day!
+      O for a sleep like music!
+      For still dreams like rain!
+
+
+
+
+    I SAW THREE WITCHES
+
+
+    I saw three witches
+    That bowed down like barley,
+    And took to their brooms 'neath a louring sky,
+    And, mounting a storm-cloud,
+    Aloft on its margin,
+    Stood black in the silver as up they did fly.
+
+    I saw three witches
+    That mocked the poor sparrows
+    They carried in cages of wicker along,
+    Till a hawk from his eyrie
+    Swooped down like an arrow,
+    And smote on the cages, and ended their song.
+
+    I saw three witches
+    That sailed in a shallop,
+    All turning their heads with a truculent smile,
+    Till a bank of green osiers
+    Concealed their grim faces,
+    Though I heard them lamenting for many a mile.
+
+    I saw three witches
+    Asleep in a valley,
+    Their heads in a row, like stones in a flood,
+    Till the moon, creeping upward,
+    Looked white through the valley,
+    And turned them to bushes in bright scarlet bud.
+
+
+
+
+    THE SILVER PENNY
+
+
+    'Sailorman, I'll give to you
+      My bright silver penny,
+    If out to sea you'll sail me
+      And my dear sister Jenny.'
+
+    'Get in, young sir, I'll sail ye
+      And your dear sister Jenny,
+    But pay she shall her golden locks
+      Instead of your penny.'
+
+    They sail away, they sail away,
+      O fierce the winds blew!
+    The foam flew in clouds,
+      And dark the night grew!
+
+    And all the wild sea-water
+      Climbed steep into the boat;
+    Back to the shore again
+      Sail they will not.
+
+    Drowned is the sailorman,
+      Drowned is sweet Jenny,
+    And drowned in the deep sea
+      A bright silver penny.
+
+
+
+
+    THE NIGHT-SWANS
+
+
+    'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
+    And silence in the air serene,
+    Save for the beating of her heart,
+    The lovely-eyed Evangeline.
+
+    She sings across the waters clear
+    And dark with trees and stars between,
+    The notes her fairy godmother
+    Taught her, the child Evangeline.
+
+    As might the unrippled pool reply,
+    Faltering an answer far and sweet,
+    Three swans as white as mountain snow
+    Swim mantling to her feet.
+
+    And still upon the lake they stay,
+    Their eyes black stars in all their snow,
+    And softly, in the glassy pool,
+    Their feet beat darkly to and fro.
+
+    She rides upon her little boat,
+    Her swans swim through the starry sheen,
+    Rowing her into Fairyland--
+    The lovely-eyed Evangeline.
+
+    'Tis silence on the enchanted lake,
+    And silence in the air serene;
+    Voices shall call in vain again
+    On earth the child Evangeline.
+
+    'Evangeline! Evangeline!'
+    Upstairs, downstairs, all in vain.
+    Her room is dim; her flowers faded;
+    She answers not again.
+
+
+
+
+    THE FAIRIES DANCING
+
+
+    I heard along the early hills,
+    Ere yet the lark was risen up,
+    Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills
+    The night-dew of the bramble-cup,--
+    I heard the fairies in a ring
+    Sing as they tripped a lilting round
+    Soft as the moon on wavering wing.
+    The starlight shook as if with sound,
+    As if with echoing, and the stars
+    Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams;
+    While red with war the gusty Mars
+    Rained upon earth his ruddy beams.
+    He shone alone, adown the West,
+    While I, behind a hawthorn-bush,
+    Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed
+    The fires of the morning flush.
+    Till, as a mist, their beauty died,
+    Their singing shrill and fainter grew;
+    And daylight tremulous and wide
+    Flooded the moorland through and through;
+    Till Urdon's copper weathercock
+    Was reared in golden flame afar,
+    And dim from moonlit dreams awoke
+    The towers and groves of Arroar.
+
+
+
+
+    REVERIE
+
+
+    When slim Sophia mounts her horse
+       And paces down the avenue,
+    It seems an inward melody
+         She paces to.
+
+    Each narrow hoof is lifted high
+      Beneath the dark enclust'ring pines,
+    A silver ray within his bit
+        And bridle shines.
+
+    His eye burns deep, his tail is arched,
+      And streams upon the shadowy air,
+    The daylight sleeks his jetty flanks,
+        His mistress' hair.
+
+    Her habit flows in darkness down,
+      Upon the stirrup rests her foot,
+    Her brow is lifted, as if earth
+        She heeded not.
+
+    'Tis silent in the avenue,
+      The sombre pines are mute of song,
+    The blue is dark, there moves no breeze
+        The boughs among.
+
+    When slim Sophia mounts her horse
+      And paces down the avenue,
+    It seems an inward melody
+        She paces to.
+
+
+
+
+    THE THREE BEGGARS
+
+
+    'Twas autumn daybreak gold and wild,
+      While past St Ann's grey tower they shuffled,
+    Three beggars spied a fairy-child
+        In crimson mantle muffled.
+
+    The daybreak lighted up her face
+      All pink, and sharp, and emerald-eyed;
+    She looked on them a little space,
+        And shrill as hautboy cried:--
+
+    'O three tall footsore men of rags
+      Which walking this gold morn I see,
+    What will ye give me from your bags
+        For fairy kisses three?'
+
+    The first, that was a reddish man,
+      Out of his bundle takes a crust:
+    'La, by the tombstones of St Ann,
+        There's fee, if fee ye must!'
+
+    The second, that was a chesnut man,
+      Out of his bundle draws a bone:
+    'La, by the belfry of St Ann,
+        And all my breakfast gone!'
+
+    The third, that was a yellow man,
+      Out of his bundle picks a groat,
+    'La, by the Angel of St Ann,
+        And I must go without.'
+
+    That changeling, lean and icy-lipped,
+      Touched crust, and bone, and groat, and lo!
+    Beneath her finger taper-tipped
+        The magic all ran through.
+
+    Instead of crust a peacock pie,
+      Instead of bone sweet venison,
+    Instead of groat a white lilie
+        With seven blooms thereon.
+
+    And each fair cup was deep with wine:
+      Such was the changeling's charity,
+    The sweet feast was enough for nine,
+        But not too much for three.
+
+    O toothsome meat in jelly froze!
+      O tender haunch of elfin stag!
+    O rich the odour that arose!
+        O plump with scraps each bag!
+
+    There, in the daybreak gold and wild,
+      Each merry-hearted beggar man
+    Drank deep unto the fairy child,
+        And blessed the good St Ann.
+
+
+
+
+    THE DWARF
+
+
+    'Now, Jinnie, my dear, to the dwarf be off,
+        That lives in Barberry Wood,
+    And fetch me some honey, but be sure you don't laugh,--
+      He hates little girls that are rude, are rude,
+        He hates little girls that are rude.'
+
+    Jane tapped at the door of the house in the wood,
+        And the dwarf looked over the wall,
+    He eyed her so queer, 'twas as much as she could
+      To keep from laughing at all, at all,
+        To keep from laughing at all.
+
+    His shoes down the passage came clod, clod, clod,
+        And when he opened the door,
+    He croaked so harsh, 'twas as much as she could
+      To keep from laughing the more, the more,
+        To keep from laughing the more.
+
+    As there, with his bushy red beard, he stood,
+        Pricked out to double its size,
+    He squinted so cross, 'twas as much as she could
+      To keep the tears out of her eyes, her eyes,
+        To keep the tears out of her eyes.
+
+    He slammed the door, and went clod, clod, clod,
+        But while in the porch she bides,
+    He squealed so fierce, 'twas as much as she could
+      To keep from cracking her sides, her sides,
+        To keep from cracking her sides.
+
+    He threw a pumpkin over the wall,
+        And melons and apples beside,
+    So thick in the air, that to see 'em all fall,
+      She laughed, and laughed, till she cried, cried, cried,
+        Jane laughed and laughed till she cried.
+
+    Down fell her teardrops a pit-apat-pat,
+        And red as a rose she grew;--
+    'Kah! kah!' said the dwarf, 'is it crying you're at?
+      It's the very worst thing you could do, do, do,
+        It's the very worst thing you could do.'
+
+    He slipped like a monkey up into a tree,
+        He shook her down cherries like rain;
+    'See now,' says he, cheeping, 'a blackbird I be,
+      Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again-gain-gain,
+        Laugh, laugh, little Jinnie, again.'
+
+    Ah me! what a strange, what a gladsome duet
+        From a house i' the deeps of a wood!
+    Such shrill and such harsh voices never met yet
+      A-laughing as loud as they could-could-could,
+        A-laughing as loud as they could.
+
+    Come Jinnie, come dwarf, cocksparrow, and bee,
+        There's a ring gaudy-green in the dell,
+    Sing, sing, ye sweet cherubs, that flit in the tree;
+      La! who can draw tears from a well-well-well,
+        Who ever drew tears from a well!
+
+
+
+
+    ALULVAN
+
+
+    The sun is clear of bird and cloud,
+    The grass shines windless, grey, and still,
+    In dusky ruin the owl dreams on,
+    The cuckoo echoes on the hill;
+      Yet soft along Alulvan's walks
+        The ghost at noonday stalks.
+
+    His eyes in shadow of his hat
+    Stare on the ruins of his house;
+    His cloak, up-fasten'd with a brooch,
+    Of faded velvet grey as mouse,
+      Brushes the roses as he goes:
+        Yet wavers not one rose.
+
+    The wild birds in a cloud fly up
+    From their sweet feeding in the fruit;
+    The droning of the bees and flies
+    Rises gradual as a lute;
+      Is it for fear the birds are flown,
+        And shrills the insect-drone?
+
+    Thick is the ivy o'er Alulvan,
+    And crisp with summer-heat its turf;
+    Far, far across its empty pastures
+    Alulvan's sands are white with surf:
+      And he himself is grey as sea,
+        Watching beneath an elder-tree.
+
+    All night the fretful, shrill Banshee
+    Lurks in the chambers' dark festoons,
+    Calling for ever, o'er garden and river,
+    Through magpie changing of the moons:
+      'Alulvan, O, alas! Alulvan,
+        The doom of lone Alulvan!'
+
+
+
+
+    THE PEDLAR
+
+
+    There came a Pedlar to an evening house;
+    Sweet Lettice, from her lattice looking down,
+    Wondered what man he was, so curious
+    His black hair dangled on his tattered gown:
+    Then lifts he up his face, with glittering eyes,--
+    'What will you buy, sweetheart?--Here's honeycomb,
+    And mottled pippins, and sweet mulberry pies,
+    Comfits and peaches, snowy cherry bloom,
+    To keep in water for to make night sweet:
+    All that you want, sweetheart,--come, taste and eat!'
+
+    Ev'n with his sugared words, returned to her
+    The clear remembrance of a gentle voice:--
+    'And O! my child, should ever a flatterer
+    Tap with his wares, and promise of all joys
+    And vain sweet pleasures that on earth may be;
+    Seal up your ears, sing some old happy song,
+    Confuse his magic who is all mockery:
+    His sweets are death.' Yet, still, how she doth long
+    But just to taste, then shut the lattice tight,
+    And hide her eyes from the delicious sight!
+
+    'What must I pay?' she whispered. 'Pay!' says he,
+    'Pedlar I am who through this wood do roam,
+    One lock of hair is gold enough for me,
+    For apple, peach, comfit, or honeycomb!'
+    But from her bough a drowsy squirrel cried,
+    'Trust him not, Lettice, trust, oh trust him not!'
+    And many another woodland tongue beside
+    Rose softly in the silence--'Trust him not!'
+    Then cried the Pedlar in a bitter voice,
+    'What, in the thicket, is this idle noise?'
+
+    A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings,
+    As through the glade, dark in the dim, she flew;
+    Yet still the Pedlar his old burden sings,--
+    'What, pretty sweetheart, shall I show to you?
+    Here's orange ribands, here's a string of pearls,
+    Here's silk of buttercup and pansy glove,
+    A pin of tortoiseshell for windy curls,
+    A box of silver, scented sweet with clove:
+    Come now,' he says, with dim and lifted face,
+    'I pass not often such a lonely place.'
+
+    'Pluck not a hair!' a hidden rabbit cried,
+    'With but one hair he'll steal thy heart away,
+    Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide:
+    Go in! all honest pedlars come by day.'
+    There was dead silence in the drowsy wood;
+    'Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep;
+    And bells for dreams, and fairy wine and food
+    All day thy heart in happiness to keep';--
+    And now she takes the scissors on her thumb,--
+    'O, then, no more unto my lattice come!'
+
+    O sad the sound of weeping in the wood!
+    Now only night is where the Pedlar was;
+    And bleak as frost upon a too-sweet bud
+    His magic steals in darkness, O alas!
+    Why all the summer doth sweet Lettice pine?
+    And, ere the wheat is ripe, why lies her gold
+    Hid 'neath fresh new-pluckt sprigs of eglantine?
+    Why all the morning hath the cuckoo tolled,
+    Sad to and fro in green and secret ways,
+    With lonely bells the burden of his days?
+
+    And, in the market-place, what man is this
+    Who wears a loop of gold upon his breast,
+    Stuck heartwise; and whose glassy flatteries
+    Take all the townsfolk ere they go to rest
+    Who come to buy and gossip? Doth his eye
+    Remember a face lovely in a wood?
+    O people! hasten, hasten, do not buy
+    His woful wares; the bird of grief doth brood
+    There where his heart should be; and far away
+    Dew lies on grave-flowers this selfsame day!
+
+
+
+
+    THE GREY WOLF
+
+
+    'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!'
+      'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'
+    'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now;
+      Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'
+
+    'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,
+      O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,
+    Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,
+      Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'
+
+
+
+
+    THE OGRE
+
+
+    'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale,
+      And moonlight on an Ogre keen,
+    Who prowling hungry through the dale
+      A lone cottage hath seen.
+
+    Small with thin smoke ascending up
+      Three casements and a door:--
+    The Ogre eager is to sup,
+      And here seems dainty store.
+
+    Sweet as a larder to a mouse,
+      So to him staring down,
+    Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house,
+      With jasmine overgrown.
+
+    He snorted, as the billows snort
+      In darkness of the night,
+    Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart,
+      He glowered on the sight.
+
+    Into the garden sweet with peas
+      He put his wooden shoe,
+    And bending back the apple trees
+      Crept covetously through;
+
+    Then, stooping, with an impious eye
+      Stared through the lattice small,
+    And spied two children which did lie
+      Asleep, against the wall.
+
+    Into their dreams no shadow fell,
+      Of his disastrous thumb
+    Groping discreet, and gradual,
+      Across the quiet room.
+
+    But scarce his nail had scraped the cot
+      Wherein these children lay,
+    As if his malice were forgot,
+      It suddenly did stay.
+
+    For faintly in the ingle-nook
+      He heard a cradlesong,
+    That rose into his thoughts and woke
+      Terror them among.
+
+    For she who in the kitchen sat
+      Darning by the fire,
+    Guileless of what he would be at,
+      Sang sweet as wind or wire:--
+
+    'Lullay, thou little tiny child,
+      By-by, lullay, lullie;
+    Jesu of glory, meek and mild,
+      This night remember ye!
+
+    'Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,
+      He deems 'em smoke to be;
+    Lullay, thou little tiny child,
+      By-by, lullay, lullie!'
+
+    The Ogre lifted up his eyes
+      Into the moon's pale ray,
+    And gazed upon her leopard-wise,
+      Cruel and clear as day;
+
+    He snarled in gluttony and fear:
+      'The wind blows dismally,
+    Jesu in storm my lambs be near,
+      By-by, lullay, lullie!'
+
+    And like a ravenous beast which sees
+      The hunter's icy eye,
+    So did this wretch in wrath confess
+      Sweet Jesu's mastery.
+
+    He lightly drew his greedy thumb
+      From out that casement pale,
+    And strode, enormous, swiftly home,
+      Whinnying down the dale.
+
+
+
+
+    DAME HICKORY
+
+
+    'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
+    Here's sticks for your fire,
+    Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,
+    And beech-twigs, and briar!'
+    But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,
+    She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.
+
+    'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
+    Here's meat for your broth,
+    Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,
+    And pig's trotters both!'
+    But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,
+    She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.
+
+    'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
+    Here's a wolf at your door,
+    His teeth grinning white,
+    And his tongue wagging sore!'
+    'Nay!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie!'
+    But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.
+
+    'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,
+    Here's buds for your tomb,
+    Bramble, and lavender,
+    And rosemary bloom!'
+    'Hush!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie,
+    Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me.'
+
+
+
+
+    THE PILGRIM
+
+
+    'Shall we carry now your bundle,
+        You old grey man?
+
+    Over hill and over meadow,
+    Lighter than an owlet's shadow,
+    We will whirl it through the air,
+    Through blue regions shrill and bare;
+
+    Shall we carry now your bundle,
+        You old grey man?'
+
+    The Pilgrim lifted up his eyes
+    And saw three fiends, in the skies,
+    Stooping o'er that lonely place
+        Evil in form and face.
+
+    'O leave me, leave me, leave me,
+        Ye three wild fiends!
+
+    Far it is my feet must wander,
+    And my city lieth yonder;
+    I must bear my bundle alone,
+    Help nor solace suffer none:
+
+    O leave me, leave me, leave me,
+        Ye three wild fiends!'
+
+    The fiends stared down with greedy eye,
+    Fanning the chill air duskily,
+    'Twixt their hoods they stoop and cry:--
+
+    'Shall we smooth the path before you,
+        You old grey man?
+
+    Sprinkle it green with gilded showers,
+    Strew it o'er with painted flowers?
+    Shall we blow sweet airs on it,
+    Lure the magpie there to flit?
+
+    Shall we smooth the path before you,
+        You old grey man?'
+
+    'O silence, silence, silence!
+        Ye three wild fiends!
+
+    Over bog, and fen, and boulder,
+    I must bear it on my shoulder,
+    Beaten of wind, torn of briar,
+    Smitten of rain, parched of fire:
+
+    O silence, silence, silence!
+        Ye three wild fiends!'
+
+    It seemed a smoke obscured the air,
+    Bright lightning quivered in the gloom,
+    And a faint voice of thunder spake
+    Far in the lone hill-hollows--'Come!'
+    Then half in fury, half in dread,
+    The fiends drew closer down and said:--
+
+    'Grey old man but sleep awhile;
+        Sad old man!
+
+    Thorn, and dust, and ice, and heat;
+    Tarry now, sit down and eat;
+    Heat, and ice, and dust, and thorn;
+    Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn,--
+    Juice of purple grape shall be
+    Youth and solace unto thee.
+
+    With sweet wire and reed we'll haunt you;
+    Songs of the valley shall enchant you;
+    Rest now, lest this night you die:
+    Sweet be now our lullaby:
+
+    'Grey old man, come sleep awhile,
+        Stubborn old man!'
+
+    The pilgrim crouches terrified
+    At stooping hood, and glassy face,
+    Gloating, evil, side by side;
+    Terror and hate brood o'er the place;
+    He flings his withered hands on high
+    With a bitter, breaking cry:--
+
+    'Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,
+        Ye three wild fiends:
+    If I lay me down in slumber,
+      Then I lay me down in wrath;
+    If I stir not in sweet dreaming,
+      Then I wither in my path;
+    If I hear sweet voices singing,
+        'Tis a demon's lullaby,
+    And in "hideous storm and terror"
+        Wake but to die!'
+
+    And even while he spake, the sun
+    From the sweet hills pierced the gloom,
+    Kindling th' affrighted fiends upon.
+    Wild flapped their wings, as if in doom,
+    He heard a dismal hooting laughter:--
+
+    Nought but a little rain fell after,
+    And from the cloud whither they flew
+    A storm-sweet lark rose in the blue:
+    And his bundle seemed of flowers
+        In his solitary hours.
+
+
+
+
+    THE GAGE
+
+
+    'Lady Jane, O Lady Jane!
+    Your hound hath broken bounds again,
+      And chased my timorous deer, O;
+        If him I see,
+        That hour he'll dee;
+      My brakes shall be his bier, O.'
+
+    'Lord Aerie, Lord Aerie,
+    My hound, I trow, is fleet and free,
+      He's welcome to your deer, O;
+        Shoot, shoot you may,
+        He'll gang his way,
+      Your threats we nothing fear, O.'
+
+    He's fetched him in, he's fetched him in,
+    Gone all his swiftness, all his din,
+      White fang, and glowering eye, O:
+        'Here is your beast,
+        And now at least
+      My herds in peace shall lie, O.'
+
+    "In peace!" my lord, O mark me well!
+    For what my jolly hound befell
+      You shall sup twenty-fold, O!
+        For every tooth
+        Of his, i'sooth,
+      A stag in pawn I hold, O.
+
+    'Huntsman and horn, huntsman and horn,
+    Shall scare your heaths and coverts lorn,
+      Braying 'em shrill and clear, O;
+        But lone and still
+        Shall lift each hill,
+      Each valley wan and sere, O.
+
+    'Ride up you may, ride down you may,
+    Lonely or trooped, by night or day,
+      My hound shall haunt you ever:
+        Bird, beast, and game
+        Shall dread the same,
+      The wild fish of your river.'
+
+    Her cheek is like the angry rose,
+    Her eye with wrath and pity flows:
+      He gazes fierce and round, O,--
+        'Dear Lord!' he says,
+        'What loveliness
+      To waste upon a hound, O.
+
+    'I'd give my stags, my hills and dales,
+    My stormcocks and my nightingales
+      To have undone this deed, O;
+        For deep beneath
+        My heart is death
+      Which for her love doth bleed, O.'
+
+    Wanders he up, wanders he down,
+    On foot, a-horse, by night and noon:
+      His lands are bleak and drear, O;
+        Forsook his dales
+        Of nightingales,
+      Forsook his moors of deer, O.
+
+    Forsook his heart, ah me! of mirth;
+    There's nothing lightsome left on earth:
+      Only one scene is fain, O,
+        Where far remote
+        The moonbeams gloat,
+      And sleeps the lovely Jane, O.
+
+    Until an eve when lone he went,
+    Gnawing his beard in dreariment,
+      Lo! from a thicket hidden,
+        Lovely as flower
+        In April hour,
+      Steps forth a form unbidden.
+
+    'Get ye now down, Lord Aerie,
+    I'm troubled so I'm like to dee,'
+      She cries, 'twixt joy and grief, O;
+        'The hound is dead,
+        When all is said,
+      But love is past belief, O.
+
+    'Nights, nights I've lain your lands to see,
+    Forlorn and still--and all for me,
+      All for a foolish curse, O;
+        Now here am I
+        Come out to die,
+      To live unlov'd is worse, O!'
+
+    In faith, this lord, in that lone dale,
+    Hears now a sweeter nightingale,
+      And lairs a tend'rer deer, O;
+        His sorrow goes
+        Like mountain snows
+      In waters sweet and clear, O!
+
+    Let the hound bay in Shadowland,
+    Tuning his ear to understand
+      What voice hath tamed this Aerie;
+        Chafe, chafe he may
+        The stag all day,
+      And never thirst nor weary.
+
+    Now here he smells, now there he smells,
+    Winding his voice along the dells,
+      Till grey flows up the morn, O;
+        Then hies again
+        To Lady Jane,
+      No longer now forlorn, O.
+
+    Ay, as it were a bud, did break
+    To loveliness for Aerie's sake,
+      So she in beauty moving
+        Rides at his hand
+        Across his land,
+      Beloved as well as loving.
+
+
+
+
+    AS LUCY WENT A-WALKING
+
+
+    As Lucy went a-walking one wintry morning fine,
+    There sate three crows upon a bough, and three times three is nine:
+    Then 'O!' said Lucy, in the snow, 'it's very plain to see
+    A witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'
+
+    Then stept she light and heedfully across the frozen snow,
+    And plucked a bunch of elder-twigs that near a pool did grow:
+    And, by and by, she comes to seven shadows in one place
+    All stretched by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.
+
+    She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she sees
+    A little well of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees;
+    Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels,
+    And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.
+
+    But when the belfry ceased to sound yet nothing could she see,
+    Save only frozen water in the shadow of the tree.
+    But presently she lifted up her eyes along the snow,
+    And sees a witch in brindled shawl a-frisking to and fro.
+
+    Her shoes were buckled scarlet that capered to and fro,
+    And all her rusty locks were wreathed with twisted mistletoe;
+    But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see,
+    Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she
+        lissomely.
+
+    It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost;
+    It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tost;
+    It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose:
+    'Nay!' Lucy said, 'it is the wind that through the branches flows.'
+
+    And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three,
+    And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree,
+    And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before,
+    And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four.
+
+    'O! who are ye,' sweet Lucy cries, 'that in a dreadful ring,
+    All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?'
+    'A witch and witches, one and nine,' they straight to her reply,
+    And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.
+
+    Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold sweet cherry-trees upgrow,
+    And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow;
+    She smells all faint the almond-boughs that blow so wild and fair,
+    And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.
+
+    Clear flow'rs she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds,
+    With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words;
+    And as with ropes of amethyst the boughs with lamps were hung,
+    And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.
+
+    'O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three!
+    Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?'
+    But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word,
+    Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;
+
+    Nor warbling flame, nor gloaming-rope of amethyst there shows,
+    Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose,
+    Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindled shawl,
+    But like a dream which vanishes, so vanished were they all.
+
+    When Lucy sees, and only sees, three crows upon a bough,
+    And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow,
+    Then 'O!' said Lucy, 'three times three is nine--I plainly see
+    Some witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me.'
+
+
+
+
+    THE ENGLISHMAN
+
+
+    I met a sailor in the woods,
+      A silver ring wore he,
+    His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,
+      And thus he said to me:--
+
+    'What country, say, of this round earth,
+      What shore of what salt sea,
+    Be this, my son, I wander in,
+      And looks so strange to me?'
+
+    Says I, 'O foreign sailorman,
+      In England now you be,
+    This is her wood, and this her sky,
+      And that her roaring sea.'
+
+    He lifts his voice yet louder,
+      'What smell be this,' says he,
+    'My nose on the sharp morning air
+      Snuffs up so greedily?'
+
+    Says I, 'It is wild roses
+      Do smell so winsomely,
+    And winy briar too,' says I,
+      'That in these thickets be.'
+
+    'And oh!' says he, 'what leetle bird
+      Is singing in yon high tree,
+    So every shrill and long-drawn note
+      Like bubbles breaks in me?'
+
+    Says I, 'It is the mavis
+      That perches in the tree,
+    And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,
+      When dawn comes up the sea.'
+
+    At which he fell a-musing,
+      And fixed his eye on me,
+    As one alone 'twixt light and dark
+      A spirit thinks to see
+
+    'England!' he whispers soft and harsh,
+      'England!' repeated he,
+    'And briar, and rose, and mavis,
+      A-singing in yon high tree.
+
+    'Ye speak me true, my leetle son,
+      So--so, it came to me,
+    A-drifting landwards on a spar,
+      And grey dawn on the sea.
+
+    'Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;
+      I knew them leafy trees,
+    I knew that land so witcherie sweet,
+      And that old noise of seas.
+
+    'Though here I've sailed a score of years,
+      And heard 'em, dream or wake,
+    Lap small and hollow 'gainst my cheek,
+      On sand and coral break;
+
+    '"Yet now, my leetle son," says I,
+      A-drifting on the wave,
+    "That land I see so safe and green
+      Is England, I believe.
+
+    '"And that there wood is English wood,
+      And this here cruel sea,
+    The selfsame old blue ocean
+      Years gone remembers me,
+
+    "A-sitting with my bread and butter
+      Down ahind yon chitterin' mill;
+    And this same Marinere"--(that's me),
+      "Is that same leetle Will!--
+
+    "That very same wee leetle Will
+      Eating his bread and butter there,
+    A-looking on the broad blue sea
+      Betwixt his yaller hair!"
+
+    'And here be I, my son, throwed up
+      Like corpses from the sea,
+    Ships, stars, winds, tempests, pirates past,
+      Yet leetle Will I be!'
+
+    He said no more, that sailorman,
+      But in a reverie
+    Stared like the figure of a ship
+      With painted eyes to sea.
+
+
+
+
+    THE PHANTOM
+
+
+    'Upstairs in the large closet, child,
+      This side the blue-room door,
+    Is an old Bible, bound in leather,
+      Standing upon the floor;
+
+    'Go with this taper, bring it me;
+      Carry it on your arm;
+    It is the book on many a sea
+      Hath stilled the waves' alarm.'
+
+    Late the hour, dark the night,
+      The house is solitary,
+    Feeble is a taper's light
+      To light poor Ann to see.
+
+    Her eyes are yet with visions bright
+      Of sylph and river, flower and fay,
+    Now through a narrow corridor
+      She takes her lonely way.
+
+    Vast shadows on the heedless walls
+      Gigantic loom, stoop low:
+    Each little hasty footfall calls
+      Hollowly to and fro.
+
+    In the dim solitude her heart
+      Remembers tearlessly
+    White winters when her mother was
+      Her loving company.
+
+    Now in the dark clear glass she sees
+      A taper mocking hers,--
+    A phantom face of light blue eyes,
+      Reflecting phantom fears.
+
+    Around her loom the vacant rooms,
+      Wind the upward stairs,
+    She climbs on into a loneliness
+      Only her taper shares.
+
+    Her grandmother is deaf with age;
+      A garden of moonless trees
+    Would answer not though she should cry
+      In anguish on her knees.
+
+    So that she scarcely heeds--so fast
+      Her pent-up heart doth beat--
+    When, faint along the corridor,
+      Falleth the sound of feet:--
+
+    Sounds lighter than silk slippers make
+      Upon a ballroom floor, when sweet
+    Violin and 'cello wake
+      Music for twirling feet.
+
+    O! in an old unfriendly house,
+      What shapes may not conceal
+    Their faces in the open day,
+      At night abroad to steal?
+
+    Even her taper seems with fear
+      To languish small and blue;
+    Far in the woods the winter wind
+      Runs whistling through.
+
+    A dreadful cold plucks at each hair,
+      Her mouth is stretched to cry,
+    But sudden, with a gush of joy,
+      It narrows to a sigh.
+
+    It is a wilding child which comes
+      Swift through the corridor,
+    Singing an old forgotten song,
+      This ancient burden bore:--
+
+    'Thorn, thorn, I wis,
+    And roses twain,
+      A red rose and a white,
+    Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kiss
+      A lonely child good-night.
+
+    'Swim fish, sing bird,
+    And sigh again,
+      I that am lost am lone,
+    Bee in the blossom never stirred
+      Locks hid beneath a stone!'--
+
+    Her eye was of the azure fire
+      That hovers in wintry flame;
+    Her raiment wild and yellow as furze
+      That spouteth out the same;
+
+    And in her hand she bore no flower,
+      But on her head a wreath
+    Of faded flag-flowers that did yet
+      Smell sweetly after death.
+
+    Clear was the light of loveliness
+      That lit her face like rain;
+    And sad the mouth that uttered
+      Her immemorial strain.
+
+        *     *     *     *
+
+    Gloomy with night the corridor
+      Is now that she is gone,
+    Albeit this solitary child
+      No longer seems alone.
+
+    Fast though her taper dwindles down,
+      Heavy and thick the tome,
+    A beauty beyond fear to dim
+      Haunts now her alien home.
+
+    Ghosts in the world malignant, grim,
+      Vex many a wood, and glen,
+    And house, and pool,--the unquiet ghosts
+      Of dead and restless men.
+
+    But in her grannie's house this spirit--
+      A child as lone as she--
+    Pining for love not found on earth,
+      Ann dreams again to see.
+
+    Seated upon her tapestry-stool,
+      Her fairy-book laid by,
+    She gazes in the fire, knowing
+      She hath sweet company.
+
+
+
+
+    THE MILLER AND HIS SON
+
+
+    A twangling harp for Mary,
+      A silvery flute for John,
+    And now we'll play the livelong day,
+      'The Miller and his Son.'
+
+    'The Miller went a-walking
+      All in the forest high,
+    He sees three doves a-flitting
+      Against the dark blue sky:
+
+    'Says he, "My son, now follow
+      These doves so white and free,
+    That cry above the forest,
+      And surely cry to thee."
+
+    "I go, my dearest Father,
+      But O! I sadly fear,
+    These doves so white will lead me far,
+      But never bring me near."
+
+    'He kisses the Miller,
+      He cries, "Awhoop to ye!"
+    And straightway through the forest
+      Follows the wood-doves three.
+
+    'There came a sound of weeping
+      To the Miller in his Mill;
+    Red roses in a thicket
+      Bloomed over near his wheel;
+
+    'Three stars shone wild and brightly
+      Above the forest dim:
+    But never his dearest son
+      Returns again to him.
+
+    'The cuckoo shall call "Cuckoo!"
+      In vain along the vale,
+    The linnet, and the blackbird,
+      The mournful nightingale;
+
+    'The Miller hears and sees not,
+      A-thinking of his son;
+    His toppling wheel is silent;
+      His grinding done.
+
+    '"Ye doves so white," he weepeth,
+      "Ye roses on the tree,
+    Ye stars that shine so brightly,
+      Ye shine in vain for me!"
+
+    'I bade him follow, follow,
+      He said, "O Father dear,
+    These doves so white will lead me far
+      But never bring me near!"'
+
+    A twangling harp for Mary,
+      A silvery flute for John,
+    And now we'll play the livelong day,
+      'The Miller and his Son.'
+
+
+
+
+    DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY
+
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    Sweet Annie Maroon,
+    Gathering daisies
+    In the meadows of Doone,
+    Sees a white fairy
+    Skip buxom and free
+    Where the waters go brawling
+    In rills to the sea;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    Sweet Annie Maroon
+    Through the green grasses
+    Runs fleetly and soon,
+    And lo! on a lily
+    She sees one recline
+    Whose eyes in her wee face
+    Like the water-sparks shine;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    And shrill was her tune:--
+    'Come to my water-house,
+    Annie Maroon,
+    Come in your pink gown,
+    Your curls on your head,
+    To wear the white samite
+    And rubies instead';
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    'Down-adown-derry,
+    Lean fish of the sea,
+    Bring lanthorns for feasting
+    The gay Faerie;
+    And it's dancing on sand 'tis
+    That's smoother than wool;--
+    Foam-fruit and wild honey
+    To pleasure you full';
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    Sweet Annie Maroon
+    Looked large on the fairy
+    Curled wan as the moon;
+    And all the grey ripples
+    To the Mill racing by,
+    With harps and with timbrels
+    Did ringing reply;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    'Down-adown-derry,'
+    Sang the Fairy of Doone,
+    Piercing the heart of
+    Sweet Annie Maroon;
+    And lo! when like roses
+    The clouds of the sun
+    Faded at dusk, gone
+    Was Annie Maroon;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    The daisies are few;
+    Frost twinkles powd'ry
+    In haunts of the dew;
+    Only the robin
+    Perched on a white thorn,
+    Can comfort the heart of
+    A father forlorn;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+    Down-adown-derry,
+    There's snow in the air;
+    Ice where the lily
+    Bloomed waxen and fair;
+    He may call o'er the water,
+    Cry--cry through the Mill,
+    But Annie Maroon, alas!
+    Answer ne'er will;
+        Singing down-adown-derry.
+
+
+
+
+    THE SUPPER
+
+
+    A wolf he pricks with eyes of fire
+    Across the night's o'ercrusted snows,
+        Seeking his prey,
+        He pads his way
+    Where Jane benighted goes,
+      Where Jane benighted goes.
+
+    He curdles the bleak air with ire,
+    Ruffling his hoary raiment through,
+        And lo! he sees
+        Beneath the trees
+    Where Jane's light footsteps go,
+      Where Jane's light footsteps go.
+
+    No hound peals thus in wicked joy,
+    He snaps his muzzle in the snows,
+        His five-clawed feet
+        Do scamper fleet
+    Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows,
+      Where Jane's bright lanthorn shows.
+
+    Now his greed's green doth gaze unseen
+    On a pure face of wilding rose,
+        Her amber eyes
+        In fear's surprise
+    Watch largely as she goes,
+      Watch largely as she goes.
+
+    Salt wells his hunger in his jaws,
+    His lust it revels to and fro,
+        Yet small beneath
+        A soft voice saith,
+    'Jane shall in safety go,
+      Jane shall in safety go.'
+
+    He lurched as if a fiery lash
+    Had scourged his hide, and through and through,
+        His furious eyes
+        O'erscanned the skies,
+    But nearer dared not go,
+      But nearer dared not go.
+
+    He reared like wild Bucephalus,
+    His fangs like spears in him uprose,
+        Ev'n to the town
+        Jane's flitting gown
+    He grins on as she goes,
+      He grins on as she goes.
+
+    In fierce lament he howls amain,
+    He scampers, marvelling in his throes
+        What brought him there
+        To sup on air,
+    While Jane unarmed goes,
+      While Jane unarmed goes.
+
+
+
+
+    THE ISLE OF LONE
+
+
+    Three dwarfs there were which lived on an isle,
+      And the name of the isle was Lone,
+    And the names of the dwarfs were Alliolyle,
+      Lallerie, Muziomone.
+
+    Alliolyle was green of een,
+      Lallerie light of locks,
+    Muziomone was mild of mien,
+      As ewes in April flocks.
+
+    Their house was small and sweet of the sea,
+      And pale as the Malmsey wine;
+    Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
+      And their nightcaps white were nine.
+
+    Their beds were of the holly-wood,
+      Their combs of the tortoiseshell,
+    Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,
+      Frozen dark and snell.
+
+    So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,
+      The moon for company,
+    And hear the parrot scream to the billow,
+      And the billow roar reply.--
+
+    Sulphur parrots, and parrots red,
+      Scarlet, and flame, and green;
+    And five-foot apes that jargoned
+      In feathery-tufted treen.
+
+    And oh, or ever the dawning shed
+      On dreams a narrow flame,
+    Three gaping dwarfs gat out of bed
+      And gazed upon the same.
+
+    At dawn they fished, at noon they snared
+      Young foxes in the dells,
+    At even on dew-berries they fared,
+      And blew in their twisted shells.
+
+    Dark was the sea they gambolled in,
+      And thick with silver fish,
+    Dark as green glass blown clear and thin
+      To be a monarch's dish.
+
+    They sate to sup in a jasmine bower,
+      Lit pale with flies of fire,
+    Their bowls the hue of the iris-flower,
+      And lemon their attire.
+
+    Sweet wine in little cups they sipped,
+      And golden honeycomb
+    Into their bowls of cream they dipped,
+      Whipt light and white as foam.
+
+    Alliolyle, where the salt sea flows,
+      Taught three old apes to sing,
+    And there to the moon, like a full-blown rose,
+      They capered in a ring.
+
+    But down to the shore skipped Lallerie,
+      His parrot on his thumb,
+    And the twain they scritched in mockery,
+      While the dancers go and come.
+
+    So, alas! in the evening, rosy and still,
+      Light-haired Lallerie
+    Bitterly quarrelled with Alliolyle
+      By the yellow-sanded sea.
+
+    The rising moon swam sweet and large
+      Before their furious eyes,
+    And they rolled and rolled to the coral marge
+      Where the surf for ever cries.
+
+    Too late, too late, comes Muziomone:
+      Clear in the clear green sea
+    Alliolyle lies not alone,
+      But clasped with Lallerie.
+
+    He blows on his shell plaintive notes;
+      Ape, parraquito, bee
+    Flock where a shoe on the salt wave floats,--
+      The shoe of Lallerie.
+
+    He fetches nightcaps, one and nine,
+      Grey apes he dowers three,
+    His house as fair as the Malmsey wine
+      Seems sad as cypress-tree.
+
+    Three bowls he brims with honeycomb
+      To feast the bumble bees,
+    Saying, 'O bees, be this your home,
+      For grief is on the seas!'
+
+    He sate him lone in a coral grot,
+      At the flowing of the tide;
+    When ebbed the billow, there was not,
+      Save coral, aught beside.
+
+    So hairy apes in three white beds,
+      And nightcaps, one and nine,
+    On moonlit pillows lay three heads
+      Bemused with dwarfish wine.
+
+    A tomb of coral, the dirge of bee,
+      The grey apes' guttural groan
+    For Alliolyle, for Lallerie,
+      For thee, O Muziomone!
+
+
+
+
+    THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
+
+
+    The scent of bramble sweets the air,
+      Amid her folded sheets she lies,
+    The gold of evening in her hair,
+      The blue of morn shut in her eyes.
+
+    How many a changing moon hath lit
+      The unchanging roses of her face!
+    Her mirror ever broods on it
+      In silver stillness of the days.
+
+    Oft flits the moth on filmy wings
+      Into his solitary lair;
+    Shrill evensong the cricket sings
+      From some still shadow in her hair.
+
+    In heat, in snow, in wind, in flood,
+      She sleeps in lovely loneliness,
+    Half folded like an April bud
+      On winter-haunted trees.
+
+
+
+
+    THE HORN
+
+
+    Hark! is that a horn I hear,
+      In cloudland winding sweet--
+    And bell-like clash of bridle-rein,
+      And silver-shod light feet?
+
+    Is it the elfin laughter of
+      Fairies riding faint and high,
+    'Neath the branches of the moon,
+      Straying through the starry sky?
+
+    Is it in the globed dew
+      Such sweet melodies may fall?
+    Wood and valley--all are still,
+      Hushed the shepherd's call.
+
+    Hark! is that a horn I hear
+      In cloudland winding sweet?
+    Or gloomy goblins marching out
+      Their captain Puck to greet?
+
+
+
+
+    CAPTAIN LEAN
+
+
+    Out of the East a hurricane
+      Swept down on Captain Lean--
+    That mariner and gentleman
+      Will ne'er again be seen.
+
+    He sailed his ship against the foes
+      Of his own country dear,
+    But now in the trough of the billows
+      An aimless course doth steer.
+
+    Powder was violets to his nostril,
+      Sweet the din of the fighting-line,
+    Now he is flotsam on the seas,
+      And his bones are bleached with brine.
+
+    The stars move up along the sky,
+      The moon she shines so bright,
+    And in that solitude the foam
+      Sparkles unearthly white.
+
+    This is the tomb of Captain Lean,
+      Would a straiter please his soul?
+    I trow he sleeps in peace,
+      Howsoever the billows roll!
+
+
+
+
+    THE PORTRAIT OF A WARRIOR
+
+
+    His brow is seamed with line and scar;
+      His cheek is red and dark as wine;
+    The fires as of a Northern star
+      Beneath his cap of sable shine.
+
+    His right hand, bared of leathern glove,
+      Hangs open like an iron gin,
+    You stoop to see his pulses move,
+      To hear the blood sweep out and in.
+
+    He looks some king, so solitary
+      In earnest thought he seems to stand,
+    As if across a lonely sea
+      He gazed impatient of the land.
+
+    Out of the noisy centuries
+      The foolish and the fearful fade;
+    Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,
+      Time hath not dimmed nor death dismayed.
+
+
+
+
+    HAUNTED
+
+
+    From out the wood I watched them shine,--
+      The windows of the haunted house,
+    Now ruddy as enchanted wine,
+      Now dim as flittermouse.
+
+    There went a thin voice piping airs
+      Along the grey and crooked walks,--
+    A garden of thistledown and tares,
+      Bright leaves, and giant stalks.
+
+    The twilight rain shone at its gates,
+      Where long-leaved grass in shadow grew;
+    And black in silence to her mates
+      A voiceless raven flew.
+
+    Lichen and moss the lone stones greened,
+      Green paths led lightly to its door,
+    Keen from her lair the spider leaned,
+      And dusk to darkness wore.
+
+    Amidst the sedge a whisper ran,
+      The West shut down a heavy eye,
+    And like last tapers, few and wan,
+      The watch-stars kindled in the sky.
+
+
+
+
+    THE RAVEN'S TOMB
+
+
+    'Build me my tomb,' the Raven said,
+    'Within the dark yew-tree,
+    So in the Autumn yewberries
+    Sad lamps may burn for me.
+    Summon the haunted beetle,
+    From twilight bud and bloom,
+    To drone a gloomy dirge for me
+    At dusk above my tomb.
+    Beseech ye too the glowworm
+    To bear her cloudy flame,
+    Where the small, flickering bats resort,
+    Whistling in tears my name.
+    Let the round dew a whisper make,
+    Welling on twig and thorn;
+    And only the grey cock at night
+    Call through his silver horn.
+    And you, dear sisters, don your black
+    For ever and a day,
+    To show how sweet a raven
+    In his tomb is laid away.'
+
+
+
+
+    THE CHRISTENING
+
+
+    The bells chime clear,
+    Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down;
+    Come, little Ann, your baby brother dear
+    Lies in his christening-gown.
+
+    His godparents
+    Are all across the fields stepped on before,
+    And wait beneath the crumbling monuments,
+    This side the old church door.
+
+    Your mammie dear
+    Leans frail and lovely on your daddie's arm;
+    Watching her chick, 'twixt happiness and fear,
+    Lest he should come to harm.
+
+    All to be blest
+    Full soon in the clear heavenly water, he
+    Sleeps on unwitting of't, his little breast
+    Heaving so tenderly.
+
+    I carried you,
+    My little Ann, long since on this same quest,
+    And from the painted windows a pale hue
+    Lit golden on your breast;
+
+    And then you woke,
+    Chill as the holy water trickled down,
+    And, weeping, cast the window a strange look,
+    Half smile, half infant frown.
+
+    I scarce could hear
+    The larks a-singing in the green meadows,
+    'Twas summertide, and budding far and near
+    The hedges thick with rose.
+
+    And now you're grown
+    A little girl, and this same helpless mite
+    Is come like such another bud half-blown,
+    Out of the wintry night.
+
+    Time flies, time flies!
+    And yet, bless me! 'tis little changed am I;
+    May Jesu keep from tears those infant eyes,
+    Be love their lullaby!
+
+
+
+
+    THE MOTHER BIRD
+
+
+    Through the green twilight of a hedge
+    I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed,
+    And spied a bird upon a nest:
+    Two eyes she had beseeching me
+    Meekly and brave, and her brown breast
+    Throbb'd hot and quick above her heart;
+    And then she oped her dagger bill,--
+    'Twas not a chirp, as sparrows pipe
+    At break of day; 'twas not a trill,
+    As falters through the quiet even;
+    But one sharp solitary note,
+    One desperate, fierce, and vivid cry
+    Of valiant tears, and hopeless joy,
+    One passionate note of victory:
+    Off, like a fool afraid, I sneaked,
+    Smiling the smile the fool smiles best,
+    At the mother bird in the secret hedge
+    Patient upon her lonely nest.
+
+
+
+
+    THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED
+
+
+    I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair,
+      And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe,
+    And trimly turn my silken sheet
+      Upon my quilt of gentle blue.
+
+    My pillow sweet of lavender
+      Smooth with an amiable hand,
+    And may the dark pass peacefully by
+      As in the hour-glass droops the sand.
+
+    Prepare my cornered manchet sweet,
+      And in my little crystal cup
+    Pour out the blithe and flowering mead
+      That forthwith I may sup.
+
+    Withdraw my curtains from the night,
+      And let the crisped crescent shine
+    Upon my eyelids while I sleep,
+      And soothe me with her beams benign.
+
+    From far-away there streams the singing
+      Of the mellifluent nightingale,--
+    Surely if goblins hear her lay,
+      They shall not o'er my peace prevail.
+
+    Now quench my silver lamp, prythee,
+      And bid the harpers harp that tune
+    Fairies which haunt the meadowlands
+      Sing clearly to the stars of June.
+
+    And bid them play, though I in dreams
+      No longer heed their pining strains,
+    For I would not to silence wake
+      When slumber o'er my senses wanes.
+
+    You Angels bright who me defend,
+      Enshadow me with curved wing,
+    And keep me in the darksome night
+      Till dawn another day do bring.
+
+
+
+
+    THE CHILD IN THE STORY AWAKES
+
+
+    The light of dawn rose on my dreams,
+      And from afar I seemed to hear
+    In sleep the mellow blackbird call
+      Hollow and sweet and clear.
+
+    I prythee, Nurse, my casement open,
+      Wildly the garden peals with singing,
+    And hooting through the dewy pines
+      The goblins all are winging.
+
+    O listen the droning of the bees,
+      That in the roses take delight!
+    And see a cloud stays in the blue
+      Like an angel still and bright.
+
+    The gentle sky is spread like silk,
+      And, Nurse, the moon doth languish there,
+    As if it were a perfect jewel
+      In the morning's soft-spun hair.
+
+    The greyness of the distant hills
+      Is silvered in the lucid East,
+    See, now the sheeny-plumed cock
+      Wags haughtily his crest.
+
+    'O come you out, O come you out,
+      Lily, and lavender, and lime;
+    The kingcup swings his golden bell,
+      And plumpy cherries drum the time.
+
+    'O come you out, O come you out!
+      Roses, and dew, and mignonette,
+    The sun is in the steep blue sky,
+      Sweetly the morning star is set.'
+
+
+
+
+    THE LAMPLIGHTER
+
+
+    When the light of day declineth,
+    And a swift angel through the sky
+    Kindleth God's tapers clear,
+    With ashen staff the lamplighter
+    Passeth along the darkling streets
+    To light our earthly lamps;
+
+    Lest, prowling in the darkness,
+    The thief should haunt with quiet tread,
+    Or men on evil errands set;
+    Or wayfarers be benighted;
+    Or neighbours bent from house to house
+    Should need a guiding torch.
+
+    He is like a needlewoman
+    Who deftly on a sable hem
+    Stitches in gleaming jewels;
+    Or, haply, he is like a hero,
+    Whose bright deeds on the long journey
+    Are beacons on our way.
+
+    And when in the East cometh morning,
+    And the broad splendour of the sun,
+    Then, with the tune of little birds
+    Ringing on high, the lamplighter
+    Passeth by each quiet house,
+    And putteth out the lamps.
+
+
+
+
+    CECIL
+
+
+    Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells,
+    Where flowers with the dew commune,
+    I pray you hush the child, Cecil,
+        With windlike song.
+
+    O little elves, so white she lieth,
+    Each eyelid gentler than the flow'r
+    Of the bramble, and her fleecy hair
+        Like smoke of gold.
+
+    O little elves, her hands and feet
+    The angels muse upon, and God
+    Hath shut a glimpse of Paradise
+        In each blue eye.
+
+    O little elves, her tiny body
+    Like a white flake of snow it is,
+    Drooping upon the pale green hood
+        Of the chill snowdrop.
+
+    O little elves, with elderflower,
+    And pimpernel, and the white hawthorn,
+    Sprinkle the journey of her dreams:
+        And, little elves,
+
+    Call to her magically sweet,
+    Lest of her very tenderness
+    She do forsake this rough brown earth
+        And return to us no more.
+
+
+
+
+    I MET AT EVE
+
+
+    I met at eve the Prince of Sleep,
+    His was a still and lovely face,
+    He wandered through a valley steep
+      Lovely in a lonely place.
+
+    His garb was grey of lavender,
+    About his brows a poppy-wreath
+    Burned like dim coals, and everywhere
+      The air was sweeter for his breath.
+
+    His twilight feet no sandals wore,
+    His eyes shone faint in their own flame,
+    Fair moths that gloomed his steps before
+      Seemed letters of his lovely name.
+
+    His house is in the mountain ways,
+    A phantom house of misty walls,
+    Whose golden flocks at evening graze,
+      And witch the moon with muffled calls.
+
+    Upwelling from his shadowy springs
+    Sweet waters shake a trembling sound,
+    There flit the hoot-owl's silent wings,
+      There hath his web the silkworm wound.
+
+    Dark in his pools clear visions lurk,
+    And rosy, as with morning buds,
+    Along his dales of broom and birk
+      Dreams haunt his solitary woods.
+
+    I met at eve the Prince of Sleep,
+    His was a still and lovely face,
+    He wandered through a valley steep,
+      Lovely in a lonely place.
+
+
+
+
+    LULLABY
+
+
+    Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+    The singing mouse sings plaintively,
+    The sweet night-bird in the chesnut-tree--
+    They sing together, bird and mouse,
+    In starlight, in darkness, lonely, sweet,
+    The wild notes and the faint notes meet--
+      Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+
+    Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+    Amid the lilies floats the moth,
+    The mole along his galleries goeth
+    In the dark earth; the summer moon
+    Looks like a shepherd through the pane
+    Seeking his feeble lamb again--
+      Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+
+    Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+    Time comes to keep night-watch with thee
+    Nodding with roses; and the sea
+    Saith 'Peace! Peace!' amid his foam
+    White as thy night-clothes; 'O be still!'
+    The wind cries up the whisp'ring hill--
+      Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul!
+
+
+
+
+    ENVOY
+
+
+    There clung three roses to a stem,
+    Did all their hues of summer don,
+    But came a wind and troubled them,
+      And all were gone.
+
+    I heard three bells in unison
+    Clap out some transient heart's delight,
+    Time and the hour brought silence on
+      And the dark night.
+
+    Doth not Orion even set!
+    O love, love, prove true alone,
+    Till youthful hearts ev'n love forget,
+      Then, child, begone!
+
+
+Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE,
+(late) Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Childhood, by Walter de la Mare
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