The masts that were like the beaten gold
Bent not on the heaving seas;
And the sails that were of the taffetie
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.
They had not sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterly.
'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he, 'Of your weeping now let me be;
I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy.'
'O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?'
"O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said,
Where you will never won.'
'O what a mountain is yon,' she said,
'All so dreary with frost and snow?'
"O yon
is the mountain of hell,' he cried,
'Where you and I will go.'
And aye when she turn'd her round about,
Aye taller he seem'd for to be;
Until that the tops of that gallant ship
No taller were than he.
The clouds grew dark and the wind grew loud,
And the levin filled her ee;
And waesome wail'd the snow-white sprites
Upon the gurlie sea.
He struck the topmast with his hand,
The foremast with his knee;
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW
NIGHTINGALE that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the Glowworm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent :
'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,
'As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song:
For 't was the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.'
The songster heard this short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN
YOU beauteous ladies great and small,
I write unto you, one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffer'd in this land.
I was by birth a lady fair,
My father's chief and only heir,
But when my good old father died,
Then I was made a young knight's bride.
And then my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Than my true love did build for me.
But there came thieves late in the night,
They robb'd my bower, and slew my knight,
And after that my knight was slain
I could no longer there remain.
My servants all from me did fly
In the midst of my extremity,
And left me by myself alone
With a heart more cold than any stone.
Yet, though my heart was full of care, Heaven would not suffer me to despair; Wherefore in haste I changed my name From fair Elise to Sweet William.
And therewithal I cut my hair,
And dress'd myself in man's attire;
And in my beaver, hose, and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.
With a silver rapier by my side,
So like a gallant I did ride;
The thing that I delighted on,
It was to be a serving-man.
Thus in my sumptuous man's array
I bravely rode along the way;
And at the last it chanced so
That I to the king's court did go.
Then to the king I bow'd full low,
My love and duty for to show;
And so much favour I did crave,
That I a serving-man's place might have.
'Stand up, brave youth,' the king replied, "Thy service shall not be denied ; But tell me first what thou canst do; Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
'Wilt thou be usher of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,
To wait on me when I do dine?
'Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,
To make my bed both soft and fine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard?
And I will give thee thy reward.'
Sweet William, with a smiling face,
Said to the king, 'If 't please your Grace
To show such favour unto me,
Your chamberlain I fain would be.'
The king then did the nobles call,
To ask the counsel of them all;
Who gave consent Sweet William he
The king's own chamberlain should be.
Now mark what strange thing came to pass :
As the king one day a-hunting was,
With all his lords and noble train,
Sweet William did at home remain.
Sweet William had no company then
With him at home, but an old man :
And when he saw the house was clear
He took a lute which he had there:
Upon the lute Sweet William play'd,
And to the same he sang and said,
With a sweet and noble voice,
Which made the old man to rejoice:
'My father was as brave a lord
As ever Europe did afford,
My mother was a lady bright,
My husband was a valiant knight :
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