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Read Ebook: Ballads of Beauty by Baker George M George Melville Editor
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Ebook has 217 lines and 16511 words, and 5 pages
AUGUSTA.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A chieftain to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief,--I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady.
"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."
But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arm?d men, Their trampling sounded nearer.
"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, When, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore: His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried, in grief, "Across this stormy water, And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! O my daughter!"
'Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.
WINTER SONG.
Wintry winds are calling, Whereso'er I go; Dismally is falling, The melancholy snow! Birds from off the bough, Long have taken flight; There is no singing now, And scant sunlight. I weary for the old days, When all the world looked gay; These are the cold days,-- Summer hath fled away!
Love and peace and gladness, Stayed a little space; Solitude and sadness Meet me in their place. Love passed idly by, Soon was gladness flown; Peace was last to fly,-- I am alone! And I weary for the old days, And those who would not stay; These are the cold days,-- Summer hath fled away!
Heart! hast thou a reason Thus to throb and yearn In the wintry season? Why should he return In the wintry hours? 'Tis too late to gain One who mid the flowers Would not remain. And I weary for the old days, And one who would not stay; These are the cold days,-- Summer hath fled away!
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear; For, hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.
And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.
And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night.
OH, WERE MY LOVE A COUNTRY LASS.
Oh, were my love a country lass, That I might see her every day; And sit with her on hedge-row grass Beneath a bough of May; And find her cattle when astray, Or help to drive them to the field, And linger on our homeward way, And woo her lips to yield A twilight kiss before we parted, Full of love, yet easy-hearted!
Oh, were my love a cottage maid, To spin through many a winter night, Where ingle-corner lends its shade From fir-wood blazing bright. Beside her wheel what dear delight To watch the blushes go and come, With tender words that took no fright Beneath the friendly hum; Or rising smile, or tear-drop swelling, At a fireside legend's telling!
Oh, were my love a peasant girl, That never saw the wicked town; Was never dight with silk or pearl, But graced a homely gown. How less than weak were fashion's frown To vex our unambitious lot! How rich were love and peace to crown Our green secluded cot, Where age would come serene and shining, Like an autumn day's declining!
THE SIESTA.
Airs! that wander and murmur round, Bearing delight where'er ye blow, Make in the elms a lulling sound, While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest, Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er; Sweet be her slumbers,--though in my breast The pain she has waked may slumber no more. Breathing soft from the blue profound, Bearing delight where'er ye blow, Make in the elms a lulling sound, While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Airs! that over the bending boughs, And under the shade of pendent leaves, Murmur soft, like my timid vows, Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves,-- Gently sweeping the grassy ground, Bearing delight where'er ye blow, Make in the elms a lulling sound, While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
THE QUEEN'S RIDE.
'Tis that fair time of year, Lady mine! When stately Guinevere In her sea-green robe and hood, Went a-riding through the wood, Lady mine!
And as the Queen did ride, Lady mine! Sir Launcelot at her side Laughed and chatted, bending over, Half her friend and all her lover, Lady mine!
And as they rode along, Lady mine! The throstle gave them song, And the buds peeped through the grass To see youth and beauty pass, Lady mine!
And on, through deathless time, Lady mine! These lovers in their prime Ride, with sea-green robe and feather, Lady mine!
And so we two will ride, Lady mine! At your pleasure, side by side, Laugh and chat,--I bending over, Half your friend and all your lover, Lady mine!
But if you like not this, Lady mine! And take my love amiss, Then I'll ride unto the end, Half your lover, all your friend, Lady mine!
So come which way you will, Lady mine! Vale, upland, plain, and hill Wait your coming. For one day Loose the bridle, and away! Lady mine!
MARY MORISON.
O Mary, at thy window be-- It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor. How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, Of lovely Mary Morison!
Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,-- I sat, but neither heard nor saw, Though this was fair, and that was braw, And you the toast of a' the town, I sighed, and said, amang them a', Ye are na Mary Morison!
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown: A thought ungentle canna be The thought of Mary Morison.
MARGARET AND DORA.
Margaret's beauteous,--Grecian arts Ne'er drew form completer; Yet why, in my heart of hearts, Hold I Dora's sweeter?
Dora's eyes of heavenly blue Pass all painting's reach,-- Ringdoves' notes are discord to The music of her speech.
Artists! Margaret's smile receive, And on canvas show it; But for perfect worship, leave Dora to her poet.
OUT IN THE COLD.
Under a bough without berries or leaves, Where the keen winter's slave silver webs weaves, Where the bleak, bitter blast swoops o'er the hill, Where the swift-flying flake never is still, Maidens three, Here are we, Surely not old. Pity us, Succor us, Out in the cold!
New Year's morn tempted us out in the snow, Rudely the blast came down, making cheeks glow, Snatching at wrap and veil, seeking to hurl Dead leaf and flake at us, tangled each curl. Company Maidens three Are not, 'tis told; 'Tis not fair; We despair, Out in the cold.
Shelter we seek in vain here mid the storm, Waiting most patiently some welcome warm; 'Tis but a secret to you told apart-- The shelter that we would have lies in some heart. Sad our lot, Blame us not, Think us not bold; Even Eve Sure would grieve, Left in the cold.
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