'If I should come within thy bower,

I am no earthly man :

And should I kiss thy rosy lips

Thy days would not be lang.

'O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret, I pray thee speak to me :

Give me my faith and troth, Margaret, As I gave it to thee.'

'Thy faith and troth thou 'lt never get, Nor yet wilt thou me win,

Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,
And wed me with a ring.'

'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard

Afar beyond the sea,

And it is but my spirit, Margaret,
That's now speaking to thee.'

She stretched out her lily-white hand,
And for to do her best :

'Have there your faith and troth, Willy, God send your soul good rest.'

Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee;

And all the live-long winter night
The dead corpse followed she.

'Is there any room at your head, Willy, Or any room at your feet;

Or any room at your side, Willy,

Wherein that I may creep?'

'There's no room at my head, Margaret, There's no room at my feet;

There's no room at my side, Margaret,

My coffin's made so meet ;

Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray;

"'Tis time, 't is time, my dear Margaret,

That you were going away.'

Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best,
Upward or downward
Motion thy rest;

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same;

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content,

Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;

Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward like thee!

J. R. Lowell

CXIV

FAIR ROSAMUND

WHEN

HEN as King Henry ruled this land
The second of that name,

Above all else, he dearly loved

A fair and comely dame.

Her crisped locks like threads of gold
Appear'd to each man's sight;
Her sparkling eyes, like orient pearls,
Did cast a heavenly light.

The blood within her crystal cheeks

Did such a colour drive,

As though the lily and the rose
For mastership did strive.

Yea Rosamund, fair Rosamund,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queen, queen Ellinor
Was known a deadly foe.

The king therefore, for her defence
Against the furious queen,
At Woodstock builded such a bower,
The like was never seen.

Most curiously that bower was built, Of stone and timber strong;

An hundred and fifty doors

Did to this bower belong,

And they so cunningly contrived,
With turnings round about,
That none, but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in and out.

And for his love and lady's sake,
That was so fair and bright,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knight.

But fortune, that doth often frown
Where she before did smile,
The king's delight and lady's joy
Full soon she did beguile :

For why? the king's ungracious son,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised wars,
Within the realm of France.

But yet before our comely king
The English land forsook,
Of Rosamund, his lady fair,
His farewell thus he took :

'My Rosamund, my only rose,
That pleaseth best mine eye :
The fairest flower in all the world
To feed my fantasy;

'The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excel
All roses else a thousand times,
I bid thee now farewell.'

When Rosamund, that lady bright,
Did hear the king say so,
The sorrow of her grieved heart
Her outward looks did show;

And from her clear and crystal eyes
The tears gush'd out apace,
Which like the silver pearled dew
Ran down her comely face.

'Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?'

The king did often say.

'Because,' quoth she, 'to bloody wars

My lord must part away.