Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, The swannerds where their sedges are Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, "The Brides of Mavis Enderby." Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, "And why should this thing be, What danger lowers by land or sea? They ring the tune of Enderby! "For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; 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 downe 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 "The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, Go sailing uppe the market-place.' He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight 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, He looked across the grassy sea, With that he cried and beat his breast; For lo! along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared his crest, 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, Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet: Upon the roofe we sate 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 awsome bells they were to mee, They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I-my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed: And yet he moaned beneath his breath, And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, 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, To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith). And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more From the meads where melick groweth, When the water winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; From your clovers lift the head; Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed.” Edwin Arnold. THE KNIGHT'S GRAVE. I. [NDER painted cross and chalice, UNDER In the flood of light, Lies in marble, with Dame Alice, Andrew Welldon, Knight; And carved stone o'er mingled bone II. Nothing here, above or under, Of fanatic gloom; No fool's fear of death's deep wonder Spoils their simple tomb: Seems it that the sculptor graved it |