And we between her wings will sit, while Night PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. XXXIV MY BONNY MARY Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, That may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonny Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; XXXV BALLAD OF THE BIRD-BRIDE (ESKIMO) THEY never come back, though I loved them well; I watch the South in vain ; The snow-bound skies are blear and gray, And she comes never again. Years agone, on the flat, white strand, Wrapped in my coat of the snow-white fur, One, the greatest of all the flock, Perched on an ice-floe bare, Called and cried as her heart were broke, Swift I sprang from my hiding-place, And held the fairest fast; I held her fast, the sweet, strange thing: I bore her safe to my warm snow house; But I took her to wife, and clothed her warm Her wandering glances sank to rest When she held a babe to her fair, warm breast, And she loved me dear and leal. Together we tracked the fox and the seal, And at her behest I swore That bird and beast my bow might slay A weariful watch I kept for aye 'Mid the snow and the changeless frost : Woe is me for my broken word! Have ye forgotten the old keen life? Once the quarry was scarce and shy, Sharp hunger gnawed us sore, My spoken oath was clean forgot, My bow twanged thrice with a swift, straight shot, And slew me sea-gulls four. The sun hung red on the sky's dull breast, The snow was wet and red; Her voice shrilled out in a woeful cry, She beat her long white arms on high, "The hour is here," she said. E She beat her arms, and she cried full fain They ran to her side, our children three, Then she bent her down and drew them near, 'Mid the snow and the salt sea-spray. "Babes of mine, of the wild wind's kin, Feather ye quick, nor stay. Oh, oho! but the wild winds blow! Babes of mine, it is time to go: Up, dear hearts, and away! And lo! the gray plumes covered them all, I felt the wind of their whirling flight: Dear, will you never relent, come back? I loved you long and true. O winged white wife, and our children three, Ay, ye once were mine, and, till I forget, GRAHAM ROSAMUND TOMSON. XXXVI JOCK OF HAZELDEAN "WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa', "Now let this wilful grief be done, His step is first in peaceful ha', But aye she loot the tears down fa', For Jock of Hazeldean. "A chain o' gold ye sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen But aye she loot the tears down fa', For Jock of Hazeldean. |