THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA. See the white moon shines on high! Whiter than the evening cloud. Here, upon my true-love's grave, Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a maid. With my hands I'll bind the briers, Come, with acorn-cup and thorn! Life and all its good I scorn: Dance by night, or feast by day! My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. Water-witches, crowned with reytes, Bear me to your deadly tide! I die! I come! My true-love waits! I GIVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE. I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well; Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood Be thou whene'er it sees the sun : At Mercy's voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. The eye which marked its peerless edge, Are gone, with all their flame and noise; WILLIAM MAGINN. THE MAHOGANY TREE. CHRISTMAS is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill. Little care we; Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Laughter and wit Flashing so free. THE MAHOGANY TREE. Life is but short; Round the old tree. Evenings we knew Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! Care, like a dun, Drain we the cup: In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Let us forget, Round the old tree. THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY Sorrows, begone! Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite! Leave us to-night, Round the old tree! WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY. STILL to be neat, still to be drest Though art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. BEN JONSON. |