This carol they began that hour, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. And, therefore, take the present time, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, For love is crowned with the prime In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. IN a body meet a body Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? Every lassie has her laddie, Ne'er a ane hae I, Yet a' the lads they smile at me I dearly lo'e mysel', But whaur his hame or what his name, I dinna care to tell. Gin a body meet a body Yet a' the lads they smile at me, When comin' through the rye. But whaur his hame, or what his name, ANONYMOUS. (Scotland, 18th Century.) SONG "ASK ME NO MORE." A SK me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more if east or west THOMAS CAREW. GO, LOVELY ROSE. O, lovely rose: Tell her that wastes her time and me, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, In deserts where no men abide, Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Suffer herself to be desired, Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share Fill's with balon the gale sighs on - Though the flowers have sunk in death, So, when pleasure's dream is gone, Ito memory lives in dusies breath Isperton Cottage May 27. * 1842. Thomas Moore JOHN ALDEN AND PRISCILLA. (From The Courtship of Miles Standish."') O he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the singing Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage; For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer. Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful spring-time, Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower that sailed on the morrow. “I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, “Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England; They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden; Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet; Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together; And, at the end of the street, the village church with the ivy Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion; Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in old England. You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it; I almost Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched. Thereupon answered the youth: "Indeed, I do not condemn you; So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth." Thus he delivered his message; the dexterous writer of letters, Did not embellish the theme, or array it in beautiful phrases, But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy; Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla, the Puritan maiden, Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless; Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence, "If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning." Now plucks a violet from her purple bed, Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead, this terrible winter. There nips the briar, here the lover's pansy, Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy, stronger to lean on; This on her arms, and that she lists to wear |