PALLAS IN OLYMPUS. [From Andromeda.] Blissful, they turned them to go: but the fair-tressed Pallas Athené Rose, like a pillar of tall white cloud, toward silver Olympus ; Far above ocean and shore, and the peaks of the isles and the mainland; Where no frost nor storm is, in clear blue windless abysses, High in the home of the summer, the seats of the happy Immortals, Shrouded in keen deep blaze, unapproachable; there ever youthful Hebé, Harmonié, and the daughter of Jove, Aphrodité, Whirled in the white-linked dance with the gold-crowned Hours and the Graces, Hand within hand, while clear piped Phoebe, queen of the woodlands. All day long they rejoiced but Athené still in her chamber Bent herself over her loom, as the stars rang loud to her singing, Chanting of order and right, and of foresight, warden of nations; Chanting of labour and craft, and of wealth in the port and the garner; Chanting of valour and fame, and the man who can fall with the foremost, Fighting for children and wife, and the field which his father bequeathed him. Sweetly and solemnly sang she, and planned new lessons for mortals; Happy who, hearing, obey her, the wise unsullied Athené. THE LAST BUCCANIER. O England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high, There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, Which he wrung with cruel torture from Indian folk of old; O the palms grew high in Avès, and fruits that shone like gold O sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze, But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be ; night; And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till, for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died; But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here, to bęg until I die. And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I can't tell where ; THE SANDS OF DEE. [From Alon Locke.] 'O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;' The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, The creeping tide came up along the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land- 'Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair— O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel, hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, A FAREWELL. My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; DOLCINO TO MARGARET. The world goes up and the world goes down, And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown Sweet wife; No, never come over again. For woman is warm though man be cold, Till the heart which at even was weary and cold Sweet wife; To its work in the morning gay. AIRLY BEACON. Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; O the happy hours we lay Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; O the weary haunt for me, All alone on Airly Beacon With his baby on my knee! A BOAT-SONG. [From Hypatia.] Loose the sail, rest the oar, float away down, Life is so short at best! snatch, while thou canst, thy rest, [From The Water-Babies.] THE SONG OF MADAME DO-AS-YOU-WOULD-BE-DONE-BY. I once had a sweet little doll, dears, Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, As I played in the heath one day; I found my poor little doll, dears, As I played in the heath one day: And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears, The 'Old, Old Song.' When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown ; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down : Creep home, and take your place there, You loved when all was young. |