Country Sentiment | Page 7

webs of murk.
Look up, else your eye must drown
In a moving sea of black

Between the tree-tops, upside down
Goes the sky-track.
Look up, else your feet will stray
Towards that dim ambuscade,

Where spider-like they catch their prey
In nets of shade.
For though creeds whirl away in dust,
Faith fails and men forget,

These aged gods of fright and lust
Cling to life yet.
Old gods almost dead, malign,
Starved of their ancient dues,

Incense and fruit, fire, blood and wine
And an unclean muse.
Banished to woods and a sickly moon,
Shrunk to mere bogey things,

Who spoke with thunder once at noon
To prostrate kings.
With thunder from an open sky
To peasant, tyrant, priest,
Bowing
in fear with a dazzled eye
Towards the East.
Proud gods, humbled, sunk so low,
Living with ghosts and ghouls,

And ghosts of ghosts and last year's snow
And dead toadstools.
BALOO LOO FOR JENNY.
Sing baloo loo for Jenny
And where is she gone?
Away to spy her
mother's land,
Riding all alone.
To the rich towns of Scotland,
The woods and the streams,
High
upon a Spanish horse
Saddled for her dreams.
By Oxford and by Chester,
To Berwick-on-the-Tweed,
Then once

across the borderland
She shall find no need.
A loaf for her at Stirling,
A scone at Carlisle,
Honeyed cakes at
Edinbro'--
That shall make her smile.
At Aberdeen clear cider,
Mead for her at Nairn,
A cup of wine at
John o' Groats--
That shall please my bairn.
Sing baloo loo for Jenny,
Mother will be fain
To see her little truant
child
Riding home again.
HAWK AND BUCKLE.
Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Master
Straddler this hot summer weather?
He's along in the tap-room with
broad cheeks a-chuckle,
And ten bold companions all drinking
together.
Where is the daughter of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Mistress
Jenny this hot summer weather?
She sits in the parlour with smell of
honeysuckle,
Trimming her bonnet with red ostrich feather.
Where is the ostler of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Willy
Jakeman this hot summer weather?
He is rubbing his eyes with a
slow and lazy knuckle
As he wakes from his nap on a bank of fresh
heather.
Where is the page boy of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of our
young Charlie this hot summer weather?
He is bobbing for tiddlers in
a little trickle-truckle,
With his line and his hook and his breeches of
leather.
Where is the grey goat of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of pretty
Nanny this hot summer weather?
She stays not contented with little
or with muckle,
Straining for daisies at the end of her tether.

For this is our motto at old Hawk and Buckle,
We cling to it close
and we sing all together,
"Every man for himself at our old Hawk and
Buckle,
And devil take the hindmost this hot summer weather."
THE "ALICE JEAN".
One moonlit night a ship drove in,
A ghost ship from the west,

Drifting with bare mast and lone tiller,
Like a mermaid drest
In
long green weed and barnacles:
She beached and came to rest.
All the watchers of the coast
Flocked to view the sight,
Men and
women streaming down
Through the summer night,
Found her
standing tall and ragged
Beached in the moonlight.
Then one old woman looked and wept
"The 'Alice Jean'? But no!

The ship that took my Dick from me
Sixty years ago
Drifted back
from the utmost west
With the ocean's flow?
"Caught and caged in the weedy pool
Beyond the western brink,

Where crewless vessels lie and rot
in waters black as ink.
Torn out
again by a sudden storm
Is it the 'Jean', you think?"
A hundred women stared agape,
The menfolk nudged and laughed,

But none could find a likelier story
For the strange craft.
With fear
and death and desolation
Rigged fore and aft.
The blind ship came forgotten home
To all but one of these
Of
whom none dared to climb aboard her:
And by and by the breeze

Sprang to a storm and the "Alice Jean"
Foundered in frothy seas.
THE CUPBOARD.
Mother
What's in that cupboard, Mary?

Mary
Which cupboard, mother dear?
Mother
The cupboard of red mahogany
With handles shining clear.
Mary
That cupboard, dearest mother,
With shining crystal handles?

There's nought inside but rags and jags
And yellow tallow candles.
Mother
What's in that cupboard, Mary?
Mary
Which cupboard, mother mine?
Mother
That cupboard stands in your sunny chamber,
The silver corners
shine.
Mary
There's nothing there inside, mother,
But wool and thread and flax,

And bits of faded silk and velvet,
And candles of white wax.
Mother
What's in that cupboard, Mary?
And this time tell me true.
Mary
White clothes for an unborn baby, mother,
But what's the truth to

you?
THE BEACON.
The silent shepherdess,
She of my vows,
Here with me exchanging
love
Under dim boughs.
Shines on our mysteries
A sudden spark--
"Dout the candle,
glow-worm,
Let all be dark.
"The birds have sung their last notes,
The Sun's to bed,
Glow-worm,
dout your candle."
The glow-worm said:
"I also am a lover;
The lamp I display
Is beacon for my true love

Wandering astray.
"Through the thick bushes
And the grass comes she
With a
heartload of longing
And love for me.
"Sir, enjoy your fancy,
But spare me harm,
A lover is