English

XXXVI

Lover of trees wert thou, but loved the best
The ancient yew a-muse in gardens old;
Beneath her branches, as the sun rode west,
Came many a dream too fair to quite unfold,
And many a note of sorrow and of glee;
Ineffable fondness seemed 'twixt her and thee.

XXXVII

Was it because, imprisoned in the bole,
Creature of sylvan glades and twilight moods,
A slim, bright girl yearned toward thee in her soul

XIX

The summer means renewal of old loves:
Again I meet the friendly wayside things
So tenderly recalled from other springs,
And in the mellow murmuring of ringed doves
I seem to hear remembered messages;
It is another youth with all of these.

XX

But how with thee? May we fond mortals take
This blithe rejuvenescence for a sign
That likewise man, death's conqueror, shall break

I

Swift April ardors bring the white of May,
May merges into leafy June, and all
Mid splendors of full summer gild the day
And make the night an odorous festival
'Twixt star and sod; and yet, how wan the cheer,
I miss thee, Arthur, thou no more art here
To taste the beauty, laud the crescent year.

II

Strange is thine absence, since no son of man
Felt deeplier in his blood the summer lure;
Nor sang more sweetly, while the caravan

Cant birds in every bush,
The blackbird and the thrush,
The chirping nightingale,
The mavis and wagtail,
The linet and the lark,
Oh how they begin, hark, hark.

My love can sing no other song,
But still complains I did her wrong.
Believe her not; it was not so,
I did but kiss her and let her go.

And now she swears I did — But what?
Nay, nay, I must not tell you that.
And yet I will, it is so sweet
As " te-he, ta-ha " when lovers meet.

But women's words they are heedless
To tell you more it is needless.
I ran and caught her by the arm,
And then I kissed her; this was no harm.

But she, alas, is angry still,
Which showeth but a woman's will.

Come , my dainty doxies,
My dells, my dells most dear;
We have neither house nor land,
Yet never want good cheer. All:
We never want good cheer. Captain:
We take no care for candle rents. Gipsy:
We lie. Gipsy: We snort. Captain:
We sport in tents.
Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners.
Our store is never taken
Without pigs, hens, or bacon,
And that's good meat for sinners:

Old Tithon must forsake his dear,
The lark doth chant her cheerful lay:
Aurora smiles with merry cheer,
To welcome in a happy day.

The beasts do skip,
The sweet birds sing,
The wood nymphs dance,
The echoes ring.

The hollow cave with joy resounds,
And pleasure everywhere abounds:
The Graces, linking hand in hand,
In love have knit a glorious band.

Satyrs sing, let sorrow keep her cell,
Let warbling echoes ring,
And sounding music yell
Through hills, through dales, sad grief and care to kill
In him long since, alas, hath grieved his fill.

Sleep no more, but wake and live content,
Thy grief the nymphs deplore,
The sylvan gods lament
To hear, to see thy moan, thy loss thy love:
Thy plaints to tears the flinty rocks do move.

Grieve not then, the Queen of Love is mild,
She sweetly smiles on men,
When reason's most beguiled:

43

Genius of Local Life, on whom the first
The links of feudal charity depend;
Whose generous soil our early freedom nursed,
And mutual faith of master, servant, friend!
Once 'twas the Briton's pride, the patriot's end,
To see rich harvests whiten at his door,
Fair profits, made at home, at home to spend,

38

To all their ashes peace! And peace to thine,
Proud Crier, huge in triple cape bedight,
And thee, whose voice gave wakeful ears the sign
Of each slow hour that wore the weary night!
Gone, too, I know, is old Manorial Right.
Where is thy Guild, grey Town thy Freemen, where?
Can Fur and Chain thy fancy more delight