No children dear

Ran to and fro.

New then was this thatched cot,
But the keeper was old,

And he had not

Much lead or gold.

Most silent beech and yew:

As he went round about

The woods to view

Seldom he shot.

But now that he is gone

Out of most memories,

Still lingers on,

A stoat of his,

But one, shrivelled and green,

And with no scent at all,

And barely seen

On this shed wall.

EDWARD THOMAS

61

"BLOWS THE WIND TO-DAY"

Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying, Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now,

Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying, My heart remembers how!

Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places,

Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor,

Hills of sheep, and the howes of the silent vanished races, And winds, austere and pure:

Be it granted me to behold you again in dying,

Hills of home! and to hear again the call;

Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees crying, And hear no more at all.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

62

THE TWA BROTHERS

THERE were twa brethren in the north,

1

They went to the school thegither;
The one unto the other said,

"Will you try a warsle 2 afore?"

They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till Sir John fell to the ground,

And there was a knife in Sir Willie's pouch,
Gied him a deadlie wound.

"O brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon burn clear,

And wash the blood from off my wound,

And it will bleed nae mair."

He took him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon burn clear,

And washed the blood from off his wound,
And aye it bled the mair.

"O brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon kirk-yard,

And dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And lay my body there."

He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon kirk-yard,

And dug a grave baith deep and wide,
And laid his body there.

"But what will I say to my father dear,

3

Gin he chance to say, Willie, whar's John?"

"Oh say that he's to England gone,

To buy him a cask of wine."

"And what will I say to my mother dear,

Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?"

63

"Oh say that he's to England gone,

To buy her a new silk gown."

"And what will I say to my sister dear,
Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?"
"Oh say that he's to England gone,

To buy her a wedding ring."

"But what will I say to her you lo'e dear,
Gin she cry, Why tarries my John?"
"Oh tell her I lie in Kirk-land fair,

And home shall never come."

THE DEAD KNIGHT

THE cleanly rush of the mountain air,
And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,
Are the only things that wander there,
The pitiful bones are laid at ease,

The grass has grown in his tangled hair,
And a rambling bramble binds his knees.

To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,
The only requiem-bells that rang
Were the hare-bell and the heather-bell.
Hushed he is with the holy spell
In the gentle hymn the wind sang,
And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.

He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun;

The misty rain and the cold dew

Have altered him from the kingly one

(That his lady loved, and his men knew)

And dwindled him to a skeleton.

The vetches have twined about his bones,
The straggling ivy twists and creeps
In his eye-sockets; the nettle keeps
Vigil about him while he sleeps.

64

Over his body the wind moans

With a dreary tune throughout the day,
In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin

As the gull's cry-as the cry in the bay,
The mournful word the seas say

When tides are wandering out or in.

JOHN MASEFIELD

SHEATH AND KNIFE

ONE king's daughter said to anither,

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

"We'll gae ride like sister and brither,"

And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

"We'll ride doun into yonder valley,

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

Whare the greene greene trees are budding sae gaily.
And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

"Wi' hawke and hounde we will hunt sae rarely,
Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

And we'll come back in the morning early."
And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

They rade on like sister and brither,

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

And they hunted and hawket in the valley thegither.
And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

"Now, lady, hauld my horse and my hawk,
Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

For I maun na1 ride, and I daur na 2 walk,

And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

"But set me doun be the rute o' this tree,

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

65

For there ha'e I dreamt that my bed sall be."

And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

The ae king's daughter did lift doun the ither,
Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

She was licht in her armis like ony fether.

And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

Bonnie Lady Ann sat doun be the tree,

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

And a wide grave was houkit 1 whare nane suld be.
And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

The hawk had nae lure, and the horse had nae master,
Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,

And the faithless hounds thro' the woods ran faster.
And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

The one king's daughter has ridden awa',

Brume blumes bonnie and grows sae fair,
But bonnie Lady Ann lay in the deed-thraw.2

And we'll neer gae down to the brume nae mair.

I HAVE A YOUNG SISTER