"For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping downe; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne: But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring The Brides of Enderby'?" I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding down with might and main: He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) "The old sea wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" strait he saith; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" "Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play With that he cried and beat his breast; And uppe the Lindis raging sped. And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine, Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout. So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet. The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Upon the roofe we sat that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by; I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high A lurid mark and dread to see; And awesome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang "Enderby." They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And did'st thou visit him no more? Thou did'st, thou did'st, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear, Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith), And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my soune's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, "Cusha! Cusha!" all along Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth ; From the meads where melick groweth, When the water winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Stand beside the sobbing river, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head; Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, THE MAY QUEEN. Tennyson. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline; But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say; So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,- He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be: They say his heart is breaking, mother what is that to me? And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen; The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers; hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play, So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; NEW-YEAR'S EVE. If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear, It is the last New-Year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me. To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light On the ont-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool |