They lighted a great torch then,
When his arms were pinioned
fast,

Sir John the knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

I am threescore and ten,

And my hair is all turned grey, But I met Sir John of the Fen Long ago on a summer day, And am glad to think of the moment when

I took his life away.

I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly passed,

But long ago I and my men,

When the sky was overcast, And the smoke rolled over the reeds of the fen,

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

And now, knights all of you,

I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
A good knight and a true,
And for Alice, his wife, pray
too.

692. OLD LOVE

You must be very old, Sir Giles,
I said; he said: Yea, very old!
Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
Creased his dry skin with many a fold.
They hammered out my basnet point
Into a round salade, he said,
The basnet being quite out of joint,
Natheless the salade rasps my head.

He gazed at the great fire awhile:

And you are getting old, Sir John;
(He said this with that cunning smile

That was most sad) we both wear on;
Knights come to court and look at me,
With eyebrows up; except my lord,
And my dear lady, none I see

That know the ways of my old sword.

(My lady at that word no pang

W. MORRIS.

Stopped all my blood.) But tell me, John,
Is it quite true that Pagans hang

So thick about the east, that on

The eastern sea no Venice flag

Can fly unpaid for? True, I said,
And in such way the miscreants drag
Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread

That Constantine must fall this year.
Within my heart: These things are small;
This is not small, that things outwear
I thought were made for ever, yea, all,

All things go soon or late; I said.
I saw the duke in court next day;
Just as before, his grand great head
Above his gold robes dreaming lay,
Only his face was paler; there

I saw his duchess sit by him;
And she, she was changed more; her hair
Before my eyes that used to swim,
And make me dizzy with great bliss
Once, when I used to watch her sit,
Her hair is bright stili, yet it is

As though some dust were thrown on it.

Her eyes are shallower, as though

Some grey glass were behind; her brow And cheeks the straining bones show through, Are not so good for kissing now.

Her lips are drier now she is

A great duke's wife these many years,
They will not shudder with a kiss

As once they did, being moist with tears.
Also her hands have lost that way
Of clinging that they used to have;
They looked quite easy, as they lay
Upon the silken cushions brave

With broidery of the apples green
My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.
Her face, alas! that I have seen
Look fresher than an April field,
This is all gone now; gone also

Her tender walking; when she walks
She is most queenly I well know,

And she is fair still. As the stalks

Of faded summer-lilies are,

So is she grown now unto me
This spring-time, when the flowers star
The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.

I warrant once she used to cling

About his neck and kissed him so, And then his coming step would ring Joy-bells for her; some time ago.

Ah! sometimes like an idle dream

That hinders true life overmuch, Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem This love is not so hard to smutch.

W. MORRIS.

693. BEAUTY BATHING

BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring,
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
To see what was forbidden :
But better memory said Fie;
So vain desire was chidden-
Hey nonny nonny O!
Hey nonny nonny!

Into a slumber then I fell,

And fond imagination

Seemed to see, but could not tell,

Her feature or her fashion :

But even as babes in dreams do smile,
And sometimes fall a-weeping,

So I awaked as wise that while
As when I fell a-sleeping.

694. THE LAND O' THE LEAL

I'm wearin' awa', John,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John!
I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal!
There's nae sorrow there, John;
There's neither cauld nor care,
John;

The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And, oh, we grudged her sair

To the land o' the leal!
But sorrow's sel' wears past,
John !

And joy's a-comin' fast, John !
The joy that's aye to last

In the land o' the leal.

A. MUNDAY.

Sae dear that joy was bought,
John,

Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought

To the land o' the leal.
Oh, dry your glist'ning e'e, John,
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me

To the land o' the leal.

Oh, haud ye leal and true, John!
Your day, it's wearin' thro',
John;

And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain John!
This warld's cares are vain, John;
We'll meet and we'll be fain

In the land o' the leal!

CAROLINA, LADY NAIRNE.

696. I NEVER LOVED AMBITIOUSLY TO CLIMB

I NEVER loved ambitiously to climb,

Or thrust my hand too far into the fire.

To be in heaven sure is a blessed thing;

But, Atlas-like, to prop heaven on one's back
Cannot but be more labour than delight.
Such is the state of men in honour placed:
They are gold vessels made for servile uses;

High trees that keep the weather from low houses,
But cannot shield the tempest from themselves.

I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales,
Neither to be so great as to be envied,

Nor yet so poor the world should pity me.

T. NASH.

697. SPRING

SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! the sweet Spring!

T. NASH (Summer's Last Will and Testament).

698. LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT

LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on.

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene: one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead Thou me on.

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

J. H. NEWMAN.

699. FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT

PRUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control
That o'er thee swell and throng;

They will condense within thy soul,

And change to purpose strong.

But he who lets his feelings run

In soft luxurious flow,

Shrinks when hard service must be done,

And faints at every woe.