688 You say there is no substance here, Back from that void I shrink in fear, You bid me lift my mean desires Unwearied voices, wordless strains: Forsooth the present we must give To that which cannot pass away; SYDNEY DOBELL [1824-1874] THE BALLAD OF KEITH OF RAVELSTON THE murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, 'O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!' Ravelston, Ravelston, The merry path that leads Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine, She sang her song, she kept her kine, When Andrew Keith of Ravelston Rode thro' the Monday morn. His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! Year after year, where Andrew came, Her misty hair is faint and fair, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! I lay my hand upon the stile, Yet, stranger! here, from year to year, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! Step out three steps, where Andrew stoodWhy blanch thy cheeks for fear? The ancient stile is not alone, 'Tis not the burn I bear! She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine; O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! 689 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM [1824-1889] THE FAIRIES Up the airy mountain, For fear of little men; And white owl's feather! Down along the rocky shore Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs. All night awake. High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget When she came down again 690 They took her lightly back, By the craggy hill-side, As dig them up in spite, Up the airy mountain, And white owl's feather! GEORGE MAC DONALD [1824-1905] THAT HOLY THING THEY all were looking for a king To slay their foes and lift them high: Thou cam'st, a little baby thing That made a woman cry. 691 O Son of Man, to right my lot My how or when Thou wilt not heed, BABY WHERE did you come from, baby dear? Where did you get those eyes so blue? What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Where did you get that little tear? What makes your forehead so smooth and high? What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Where did you get this pearly ear? Where did you get those arms and hands? Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? |