Practice Book | Page 7

in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by
Silver, Burdett & Company.]
Oh, such a commotion under the ground
When March called, "Ho,
there! ho!"
Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,
Such
whispering to and fro.
And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked;

"'Tis time to start, you know."
"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied;

"I'll follow as soon as you go."
Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came

Of laughter soft and low
From the millions of flowers under the
ground--
Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said,
"When I hear the
bluebirds sing."
And straight thereafter Narcissus cried,
"My silver
and gold I'll bring."
"And ere they are dulled," another spoke,
"The
Hyacinth bells shall ring."
And the violet only murmured, "I'm here,"

And sweet grew the breath of spring.
Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus
came
Of laughter soft and low
From the millions of flowers under

the ground--
Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,
Imprisoned in
walls of brown,
They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud,

And the sleet and the hail came down,
But patiently each wrought her
beautiful dress,
Or fashioned her beautiful crown;
And now they are
coming to brighten the world,
Still shadowed by winter's frown;

And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!"
In a chorus soft and low,

The millions of flowers hid under the ground--

Yes--millions--beginning to grow.

CAVALIER TUNES.
0. GIVE A ROUSE.
King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's
ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King
Charles!
Who gave me the goods that went since?
Who raised me the house
that sank once?
Who helped me to gold I spent since?
Who found
me in wine you drank once?
Cho. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite
now,
King Charles!
To whom used my boy George quaff else,
By the old fool's side that
begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,
While Noll's
damned troopers shot him.
Cho. King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite

now,
King Charles!
II. BOOT AND SADDLE.
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day

Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there,
will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!"
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the
Roundhead's array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk
of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
Cho. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
ROBERT BROWNING.

ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.
From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile
to the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne
Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.
How often in the summer tide,
His graver business set aside,
Has
stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed,
As to the pipe of Pan
Stepped
blithsomely with lover's pride
Across the fields to Anne!

It must have been a merry mile,
This summer-stroll by hedge and
stile,
With sweet foreknowledge all the while
How sure the
pathway ran
To dear delights of kiss and smile,
Across the fields to
Anne.
The silly sheep that graze to-day,
I wot, they let him go his way,

Nor once looked up, as who should say:
"It is a seemly man."
For
many lads went wooing aye
Across the fields to Anne.
The oaks, they have a wiser look;
Mayhap they whispered to the
brook:
"The world by him shall yet be shook,
It is in nature's plan;

Though now he fleets like any rook
Across the fields to Anne."
And I am sure, that on some hour
Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and
shower,
He stooped and broke a daisy-flower
With heart of tiny
span,
And bore it as a lover's dower
Across the fields to Anne.
While from her cottage garden-bed
She plucked a jasmine's
goodlihede,
To scent his jerkin's brown instead;
Now since that
love began,
What luckier swain than he who sped
Across the fields
to Anne?
The winding path wheron I pace,
The hedgerows green, the summer's
grace,
Are still before me face to face;
Methinks I almost can

Turn poet and join the singing race
Across the fields to Anne!
RICHARD BURTON.

GREEN THINGS GROWING.
The green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet
smell of the green