'I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.
By a false heart and broken vows,
In early youth I die:

Was I to blame, because his bride
Was thrice as rich as I?

'Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone:

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.
To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient, both prepare!

But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there!

'Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,

This bridegroom blithe to meet,

He, in his wedding trim so gay,

I, in my winding-sheet.'

She spoke, she died, her corse was borne

The bridegroom blithe to meet,

He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept?

The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell :

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,

He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

T. Tickell

LV

THE REDBREAST CHASING THE

BUTTERFLY

RT thou the bird whom man loves best,

A The pious bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English robin?

The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing?
Art thou the Peter of Norway boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The bird, that by some name or other
All men who know thee call their brother:
The darling of children and men?

Could father Adam open his eyes,
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.
— If the butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend;
And find his way to me,

Under the branches of the tree:

In and out, he darts about;

Can this be the bird to man so good,

That after their bewildering,

Cover'd with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ail'd thee, robin, that thou couldst pursue

A beautiful creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky,

From flower to flower let him fly;

'Tis all that he wishes to do.

The cheerer, thou, of our in-door sadness,
He is the friend of our summer gladness:
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together?
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
A crimson as bright as thine own:
Wouldst thou be happy in thy nest,
O pious bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

W. Wordsworth

LVI

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD

N

WOW ponder well, you parents dear,

These words which I shall write ;

A doleful story you shall hear,

In time brought forth to light.

A gentleman of good account

In Norfolk dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,
No help his life could save;
His wife by him as sick did lie,
And both possess'd one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind;

In love they lived, in love they died,
And left two babes behind.

The one, a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three years old;
The other, a girl more young than he,
And framed in beauty's mould.
The father left his little son,

As plainly doth appear,

When he to perfect age should come,

Three hundred pounds a year.

And to his little daughter Jane,
Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on her marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chanced to die
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth;
For so the will did run.

'Now, brother,' said the dying man,

'Look to my children dear;

Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children dear this day;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to stay.

'You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one ;

God knows what will become of them, When I am dead and gone.'

With that bespake their mother dear, 'O brother kind,' quoth she,

'You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or misery.

'And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deeds regard.'
With lips as cold as any stone,

They kiss'd their children small:
'God bless you both, my children dear ';
With that their tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake
To this sick couple there :
'The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not fear.
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear
When you are laid in grave.'

The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them straight unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a day,

But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both away.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong

Which were of furious mood,

That they should take these children young

And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife an artful tale:

He would the children send

To be brought up in fair London,
With one that was his friend.