A Pastoral Song. AMARYLLIS. If every Maid were of my mind, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, lovely sweet: They to their lovers should prove kind, Kindness is for Maidens meet. HYLLIS. Methinks love is an idle toy, Heigh-ho, busy pain: Both wit and sense it doth annoy, AMARYLLIS. Tush! Phyllis, cease, be not so coy, PHYLLIS. Well, Amaryllis, now I yield, Love conquers both in town and field, Like a tyrant, fierce and proud. The evening star is up, ye see; Would every lover might agree, Henry Constable. In "England's Helicon," 1600. 35 Song. A ། Song. WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Oh, for a soft and gentle wind! I hear a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, Song. There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, Allan Cunningham, 1784—1842. 37 GIN my love were yon red rose, O, there beyond expression blest From Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776. In In School-Days. TILL sits the school-house by the road, STILL A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry vines are running. Within, the master's desk is seen, The charcoal frescos on its wall; Long years ago, a winter sun Lit up its western window-panes, In School-Days. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near her stood the little boy His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snow As restlessly her tiny hands. The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt "I'm sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you, Because," the brown eyes lower fell, "Because, you see, I love you!" Still memory to a gray-haired man. Have forty years been growing! 39 He |