Songs from Vagabondia | Page 8

Gamelbar!

Glory for Gamel,
Gold for Gamel,
Yellow gold for Gamelbar!
Armorers for Gamelbar,
Rivet and forge and fear no scar!
Heave a
hammer
With anvil clamor,
To weld and brace for Gamelbar!

Ring for Gamel!
Rung for Gamel!
_Ring-rung-ring_ for Gamelbar!
Yeomen, shout for Gamelbar,
And his battle-hand in war!
Heave
his pennon;
Cheer his men on,
In the ranks of Gamelbar!
Strength
for Gamel,
Song for Gamel,

One war-song for Gamelbar!
Roncliffe, shout for Gamelbar!
Menthorpe, Bryan, Castelfar!
Heave,
Thorparch
Of the Waving Larch,
And Spofford's thane, for
Gamelbar!
Blaise for Gamel,
Brame for Gamel,
Rougharlington
for Gamelbar!

Maidens; strew for Gamelbar
Roses down his way to war!
Heave a
handful,
Fill the land full
Of your gifts to Gamelbar!
Dream of
Gamel,
Dance for Gamel,
Dance in the halls for Gamelbar!
Servitors, shout for Gamelbar!
Roast the ox and stick the boar!

Heave a bone
To gaunt Harone,
The great war-hound of Gamelbar!

Mead for Gamel,
Mirth for Gamel,
Mirth at the board for
Gamelbar!
Trumpets, speak for Gamelbar!
Blare as ye never blared before!

Heave a bray
In the horns to-day,
The red war-horns of Gamelbar!

To-night for Gamel,
The North for Gamel,
With fires on the hills
for Gamelbar!
Shout for Gamel, Gamelbar,
Till your throats can shout no more!

Heave a cry
As he rideth by,
Sons of Orm, for Gamelbar!
Folk for
Gamel,
Fame for Gamel,
Years and fame for Gamelbar!
CHORUS:--Oh, sleep for a knave
With his sins in the sod!
And death for the brave,
With his glory up
to God!
And joy for the girl,
And ease for the churl!
But the great
game of war
For our lord Gamelbar,
Gamelbar!
THE OUTLAW.
Oh, let my lord laugh in his halls
When he the tale shall tell!
But
woe to Jarlwell and its walls
When I shall laugh as well!
And he
that laughs the last, lads,
Laughs well, laughs well!
He's lord of many a burg and farm
And mickle thralls and gold,


And I am but my own right arm,
My dwelling-place the wold.
But
when we twain meet face to face,
He will hot laugh so bold.
The shame he chuckles as he shows
This time he need not tell;
I'll

give his body to the crows,
And his black soul to Hell.
For he that
laughs the last, lads,
Laughs well, laughs well!
THE KING'S SON.
"Daughter, daughter, marry no man,
Though a king's son come to
woo,
If he be not more than blessing or ban
To the secret soul of
you."
"'Tis the King's son, indeed, I ween,
And he left me even but now,

And he shall make me a dazzling queen,
With a gold crown on my
brow."
"And are you one that a golden crown,
Or the lust of a name can lure?

You had better wed with a country clown,
And keep your young
heart pure."
"Mother, the King has sworn, and said
That his son shall wed but me;

And I must gang to the prince's bed,
Or a traitor I shall be."
"Oh, what care you for an old man's wrath?
Or what care you for a
king?
I had rather you fled on an outlaw's path,
A rebel, a hunted
thing."
"Mother, it is my father's will,
For the King has promised him fair

A goodly earldom of hollow and hill,
And a coronet to wear."
"Then woe is worth a father's name,
For it names your dourest foe!

I had rather you came the child of shame
Than to have you fathered
so."
"Mother, I shall have gold enow,
Though love be never mine,
To
buy all else that the world can show
Of good and fair and fine."
"Oh, what care you for a prince's gold,
Or the key of a kingdom's till?

I had rather see you a harlot bold
That sins of her own free will.

"For I have been wife for the stomach's sake,
And I know whereof I
say;
A harlot is sold for a passing slake,
But a wife is sold for aye.
"Body and soul for a lifetime sell,
And the price of the sale shall be

That you shall be harlot and slave as well
Until Death set you free."
LAURANA'S SONG. FOR "A LADY OF VENICE."
Who'll have the crumpled pieces of a heart?
Let him take mine!

Who'll give his whole of passion for a part,
And call't divine?

Who'll have the soiled remainder of desire?
Who'll warm his fingers
at a burnt-out fire?
Who'll drink the lees of love, and cast i' the mire

The nobler wine?
Let him come here, and kiss me on the mouth,
And have his will!

Love dead and dry as summer in the South
When winds are still

And all the leafage shrivels in the heat!
Let him come here and linger
at my feet
Till he grow weary with the over-sweet,
And die, or kill.
LAUNA DEE.
Weary, oh, so weary
With it all!
Sunny days or dreary--
How they
pall!
Why should we be heroes,
Launa Dee,
Striving to no
winning?
Let the world be Zero's!
As in the beginning
Let it be!
What good comes of toiling,
When all's done?
Frail green sprays
for spoiling
Of the sun;
Laurel leaf or myrtle,
Love or fame--

Ah, what odds what spray, sweet?
Time, that makes life fertile,

Makes its blooms decay, sweet,
As they came.
Lie here with me dreaming,
Cheek to cheek,
Lithe limbs twined and
gleaming,
Brown and sleek;

Like two serpents coiling
In their lair.

Where's the good of wreathing
Sprays for Time's despoiling?
Let
me feel your breathing
In my hair.

You and I together--
Was