So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky On the deck the Rover takes his stand, Quoth Sir Ralph, 'It will be lighter soon, 'Canst hear,' said one, 'the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore; Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.' They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock: Cried they, 'It is the Inchcape Rock !' Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, But even in his dying fear One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, R. Southey XVIII WRITTEN IN MARCH HE cock is crowing, TH The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill; Blue sky prevailing ; The rain is over and gone! W. Wordsworth O XIX LORD RANDAL WHERE have ye been, Lord Randal, my son? O where have ye been, my handsome young man?' 'I have been to the wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.' 'Where got ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where got ye your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I dined with my love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.' 'What got ye to dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What got ye to dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I got eels boil'd in broth; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.' 'And where are your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son? And where are your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?' 'O, they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.' 'O, I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Randal, my son ! O,I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!' 'O, yes, I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down.' Old Ballad THE XX JOHN BARLEYCORN HERE was three kings into the East, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath, John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, The sultry suns of summer came, The sober autumn entered mild, His colour sickened more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; And tied him fast upon the cart, They laid him down upon his back, They filled up a darksome pit They laid him out upon the floor, They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, But a miller used him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise ; For if you do but taste his blood, 'T will make your courage rise. |