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From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh.
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mer.

maiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.
Come away, away, children.

Come, children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder;

Lights shine in the town.
She will start from her slumber

When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,

Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us

The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.
Singing, “Here came a mortal,

But faithless was she.
And alone dwell for ever

The kings of the sea.'

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But, children, at midnight,

When soft the winds blow; When clear falls the moonlight;

When spring-tides are low: When sweet airs come seaward

From heaths starred with broom; And high rocks throw mildly

On the blanched sands a gloom: Up the still, glistening beaches,

Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed

The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,

At the white sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side-

And then come back down. Singing, “There dwells a loved one,

But cruel is she.
She left lonely for ever

The kings of the sea."

I listen long, but only hear
The deep, dark waters running clear."
"O my great mother, now the heat
Of thy strong heart in thickened beat
Hath reached thy Cora in her gloom.
Is't well with thee, my mother--tell?".
"Is't well with thee, my daughter?" "Well
Or ill I know not; I through fate
Queen of a wide unmeasured tomb
Know not if it be love or hate
That holds me fast, but I am bound
For ever! What if I am found
Of thee, my mother, still the bars
Are round me, and the girdling night
Hath passed within my soul! the stars
Have risen on me, but the light
Hath gone for ever. “Daughter, tell,
Doth thy dark lord, the King of Hell,
Still love thee?” “Oh, too well, too well
He loves ! he binds with unwrought chain.
I was not born to be thy mate,
Aïdes! nor the queen of pain:
I was thy daughter Cora, vowed
To gladness in thy world above,
I loved the daffodil, I love
All lovely, free, and gentle things
Beloved of thee! a sound of wings
Is with me in captivity
Of birds, and bees, with her that sings
The shrill Cicala, ever gay
In noon's white heat.” “But, daughter, say,
Dost love Aïdes?" "Now, too bold
Thy question, mother; this be told,
I leave him not for love, for gold.
One lot we share, one life we know.
The lord is he of wealth and rest,
As well as king of death and pain;
He folds me to a kingly breast,
He yields to me a rich domain.
I leave him not for aught above,
For any god's unsteadfast love,
Or fairest mortal form below;
Thou hast left heaven for eartḥ; and thou
For thy poor Cora's sake, self-driven,
Hast fied its sunny heights in scorn
And hate, of Zeus unforgiven !
Do mortals love thee?" "Daughter, yea,
They call me their great mother. Corn
And wine I give them when they pray;
Their love for me their little day
Of life lasts out; perchance they knew
It was not love for them that drew
Me down to wander where the vine
Is sweet to me, and breath of kine.
Art listening now, my Cora dear?
Art listening now, my child,-art near?
Oh that thy kiss upon my cheek
Were warm! thy little hand in mine

:0:

DORA GREENWELL.

DEMETER AND CORA.

"SPEAK, daughter, speak; art speaking

now?" “Seek, mother, seek; art seeking thou Thy dear-loved Cora?" "Daughter sweet, I bend unto the earth my ear To catch the sound of coming feet;

Once more! Yet, let me hear thee speak,
And tell me of that garden rare,
And of thy flowers, dark, fiery, sweet,
That never breathe the upper air."
O mother, they are fair, are fair;
Large-leaved are they, large-blossomed,

frail,
And beautiful. No vexing gale
Comes ever nig 0; fed with

They kindle in a torch-like flame
Half ecstasy, half tender shame
Of bloom that must so soon expire.
But, mother, tell me of the wet
Cool primrose! of the lilac-bough
And its warm gust of rapture, met
In summer days !-art listening yet?"
"Art near me, O my Cora, now?".

LYRICS, SONGS, ODES, AND BALLADS.

MARTYN PARKER.

1630.

YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND.

You gentlemen of England

That live at home at ease, Ah, little do you think upon

The dangers of the seas; Give ear unto the mariners,

And they will plainly show (All) the cares, and the fears,

When the stormy winds do blow,

All you that will be seamen

Must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the seas

You must not think to start; Nor once to be faint-hearted,

In hail, rain, blow, or snow, Nor to think for to shrink

When the stormy winds do blow.

Then down again we fall to prayer,

With all our might and thought: When refuge all doth fail us,

'Tis that must bear us out; To God we call for succour,

For He it is, we know,
That must aid us, and save us,

When the stormy winds do blow.
The lawyer and the usurer,

That sit in gowns of fur
In closets warm, can take no harm,

Abroad they need not stir;
When winter fierce with cold doth pierce,

And beats with hail and snow, We are sure to endure,

When the stormy winds do blow. We bring home costly merchandise,

And jewels of great price,
To serve our English gallantry

With many a rare device;
To please the English gallantry

Our pains we freely show,
For we toil and we moil,

When the stormy winds do blow. We sometimes sail to th' Indies,

To fetch home spices rare; Sometimes again to France and Spain,

For wines beyond compare;
Whilst gallants are carousing,

In taverns on a row,
Then we sweep o'er the deep,

When the stormy winds do blow.
When tempests are blown over,

And greatest fears are past,
In weather fair, and temperate air,

We straight lie down to rest;
But when the billows tumble,

And waves do furious grow, Then we rouse, up we rouse,

When the stormy winds do blow.

The bitter storms and tempests

Poor seamen do endure, Both day and night, with many a fright,

We seldom rest secure; Our sleep it is disturbed

With visions strange to know, And with dreams on the streams,

When the stormy winds do blow.

In claps of roaring thunder,

Which darkness doth enforce, We often find our ship to stray

Beyond our wanted course, Which causeth great distractions,

And sinks our hearts full low; 'Tis in vain to complain,

When the stormy winds do blow. Sometimes in Neptune's bosom

Our ship is tossed in waves, And all our men expecting

The sea to be their graves; Then up aloft she mounteth,

And down again so low, 'Tis with waves, oh, with waves,

When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us,

When England is at war With any foreign nations, We fear not wounds nor scar;

Our roaring guns shall teach them

Our valour for to know, Whilst they reel, in the keel,

When the stormy winds do blow.

Yes, herdsman, yes, so wouldst thou say

If thou knewest so much as I; My wits, and thoughts, and all the rest,

Have well deserved for to die.

"I am not what I seem to be,

My clothes and sex do differ farI am a woman, woe is me!

Born to grief and irksome care.

We are no cowardly shrinkers,

But true Englishmen bred, We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts,

And never fly for dread; We'll ply our business nimbly,

Where'er we come or go, With our mates, to the Straits,

When the stormy winds do blow. Then courage, all brave mariners,

And never be dismayed; Whilst we have bold adventurers

We ne'er shall want a trade; Qur merchants will employ us

To fetch them wealth, I know; Then be bold, work for gold,

When the stormy winds do blow.

“For my beloved, and well beloved,

My wayward cruelty could kill ; And though my tears will not avail,

Most dearly I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,

None ever more sincere could be; Of comely mien and shape he was,

And tenderly he loved me.

"When thus I saw he loved me well,

grew so proud his pain to see, That I, who did not know myself,

Thought scorn of such a youth as he;

When we return in safety,

With wages for our pains, The tapster and the vintner

Will help to share our gains; We call for liquor roundly,

And pay before we go, Then we'll roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow.

"And grew so coy and nice to please,

As woman's looks are often so, He might not kiss nor hand, forsooth,

Unless I willed him so to do.

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MICHAEL DRAYTON.

1563-1632. THE CAMBRO-BRITON'S BALLAD

OF AGINCOURT.
FAIR stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train

Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth t'wards Agincourt

In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay,

With all his power.
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide,

To the King sending:
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile,

Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
"Though they to one be ten,

Be not amazed:
Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won,
Have ever to the sun,

By Fame been raised.
"And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be,
England ne'er mourn for me,

Nor more esteem me:
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.
Poictiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:

No less our skill is
Than when our Grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopped the French lilies.

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