Songs of Childhood | Page 8

in the silence--'Trust him not!'?Then cried the Pedlar in a bitter voice,?'What, in the thicket, is this idle noise?'
A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings,?As through the glade, dark in the dim, she flew;?Yet still the Pedlar his old burden sings,--?'What, pretty sweetheart, shall I show to you??Here's orange ribands, here's a string of pearls,?Here's silk of buttercup and pansy glove,?A pin of tortoiseshell for windy curls,?A box of silver, scented sweet with clove:?Come now,' he says, with dim and lifted face,?'I pass not often such a lonely place.'
'Pluck not a hair!' a hidden rabbit cried,?'With but one hair he'll steal thy heart away,?Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide:?Go in! all honest pedlars come by day.'?There was dead silence in the drowsy wood;?'Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep;?And bells for dreams, and fairy wine and food?All day thy heart in happiness to keep';--?And now she takes the scissors on her thumb,--?'O, then, no more unto my lattice come!'
O sad the sound of weeping in the wood!?Now only night is where the Pedlar was;?And bleak as frost upon a too-sweet bud?His magic steals in darkness, O alas!?Why all the summer doth sweet Lettice pine??And, ere the wheat is ripe, why lies her gold?Hid 'neath fresh new-pluckt sprigs of eglantine??Why all the morning hath the cuckoo tolled,?Sad to and fro in green and secret ways,?With lonely bells the burden of his days?
And, in the market-place, what man is this?Who wears a loop of gold upon his breast,?Stuck heartwise; and whose glassy flatteries?Take all the townsfolk ere they go to rest?Who come to buy and gossip? Doth his eye?Remember a face lovely in a wood??O people! hasten, hasten, do not buy?His woful wares; the bird of grief doth brood?There where his heart should be; and far away?Dew lies on grave-flowers this selfsame day!
THE GREY WOLF
'A fagot, a fagot, go fetch for the fire, son!'?'O, Mother, the wolf looks in at the door!'?'Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! thou fierce grey wolf fly, now; Haste thee away, he will fright thee no more.'
'I ran, O, I ran, but the grey wolf ran faster,?O, Mother, I cry in the air at thy door,?Cry Shoo! now, cry Shoo! but his fangs were so cruel,?Thy son (save his hatchet) thou'lt never see more.'
THE OGRE
'Tis moonlight on Trebarwith Vale,?And moonlight on an Ogre keen,?Who prowling hungry through the dale?A lone cottage hath seen.
Small with thin smoke ascending up?Three casements and a door:--?The Ogre eager is to sup,?And here seems dainty store.
Sweet as a larder to a mouse,?So to him staring down,?Seemed the sweet-windowed moonlit house,?With jasmine overgrown.
He snorted, as the billows snort?In darkness of the night,?Betwixt his lean locks tawny-swart,?He glowered on the sight.
Into the garden sweet with peas?He put his wooden shoe,?And bending back the apple trees?Crept covetously through;
Then, stooping, with an impious eye?Stared through the lattice small,?And spied two children which did lie?Asleep, against the wall.
Into their dreams no shadow fell,?Of his disastrous thumb?Groping discreet, and gradual,?Across the quiet room.
But scarce his nail had scraped the cot?Wherein these children lay,?As if his malice were forgot,?It suddenly did stay.
For faintly in the ingle-nook?He heard a cradlesong,?That rose into his thoughts and woke?Terror them among.
For she who in the kitchen sat?Darning by the fire,?Guileless of what he would be at,?Sang sweet as wind or wire:--
'Lullay, thou little tiny child,?By-by, lullay, lullie;?Jesu of glory, meek and mild,?This night remember ye!
'Fiend, witch, and goblin, foul and wild,?He deems 'em smoke to be;?Lullay, thou little tiny child,?By-by, lullay, lullie!'
The Ogre lifted up his eyes?Into the moon's pale ray,?And gazed upon her leopard-wise,?Cruel and clear as day;
He snarled in gluttony and fear:?'The wind blows dismally,?Jesu in storm my lambs be near,?By-by, lullay, lullie!'
And like a ravenous beast which sees?The hunter's icy eye,?So did this wretch in wrath confess?Sweet Jesu's mastery.
He lightly drew his greedy thumb?From out that casement pale,?And strode, enormous, swiftly home,?Whinnying down the dale.
DAME HICKORY
'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,?Here's sticks for your fire,?Furze-twigs, and oak-twigs,?And beech-twigs, and briar!'?But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,?She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.
'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,?Here's meat for your broth,?Goose-flesh, and hare's flesh,?And pig's trotters both!'?But when old Dame Hickory came for to see,?She found 'twas the voice of the false faerie.
'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,?Here's a wolf at your door,?His teeth grinning white,?And his tongue wagging sore!'?'Nay!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie!'?But a wolf 'twas indeed, and famished was he.
'Dame Hickory, Dame Hickory,?Here's buds for your tomb,?Bramble, and lavender,?And rosemary bloom!'?'Hush!' said Dame Hickory, 'ye false faerie,?Ye cry like a wolf, ye do, and trouble poor me.'
THE PILGRIM
'Shall we carry now your bundle,
You old grey man?
Over hill and over meadow,?Lighter than an owlet's shadow,?We will whirl it through the air,?Through blue regions shrill and bare;
Shall we carry now your bundle,
You old grey man?'
The Pilgrim