He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,

But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, 'My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.'

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go ;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the bell, with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, 'The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.'

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,

He scour'd the seas for many a day;

And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, 'It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon.'

'Can'st 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,
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

R. Southey

XVIII

WRITTEN IN MARCH

The cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,

The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest

Are at work with the strongest ;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;
The Plough-boy is whooping anon, anon.
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing ;

The rain is over and gone!

W. Wordsworth

XIX

LORD RANDAL

'O, 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

XX

JOHN BARLEYCORN

There was three kings into the East,
Three kings both great and high,
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,
And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
His head well armed wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;

His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

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, Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.