Peacock Pie Part 2

Something has gone, and ink and print Will never bring it back; I long for the green fields again, I'm tired of books,' said Jack.

THE QUARTETTE

Tom sang for joy and Ned sang for joy and old Sam sang for joy; All we four boys piped up loud, just like one boy; And the ladies that sate with the Squire - their cheeks were all wet, For the noise of the voice of us boys, when we sang our Quartette.

Tom he piped low and Ned he piped low and old Sam he piped low; Into a sorrowful fall did our music flow; And the ladies that sate with the Squire vowed they'd never forget How the eyes of them cried for delight, when we sang our Quartette.

MISTLETOE

Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on, Shadows lurking everywhere: Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go Nodding under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely, Stooped in the still and shadowy air Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

THE LOST SHOE

Poor little Lucy By some mischance, Lost her shoe As she did dance - 'Twas not on the stairs, Not in the hall; Not where they sat At supper at all.

She looked in the garden, But there it was not; Henhouse, or kennel, Or high dovecote.

Dairy and meadow, And wild woods through Showed not a trace Of Lucy's shoe.

Bird nor bunny Nor glimmering moon Breathed a whisper Of where 'twas gone.

It was cried and cried, Oyez and Oyez!

In French, Dutch, Latin, And Portuguese.

Ships the dark seas Went plunging through, But none brought news Of Lucy's shoe; And still she patters In silk and leather, O'er snow, sand, shingle, In every weather; Spain, and Africa, Hindustan, Java, China, And lamped j.a.pan; Plain and desert, She hops-hops through, Pernambuco To gold Peru; Mountain and forest, And river too, All the world over For her lost shoe.

THE TRUANTS

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children Magic hath stolen away.

The primroses scattered by April, The stars of the wide Milky Way, Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children Magic hath stolen away.

The b.u.t.tercup green of the meadows, The snow of the blossoming may, Lovelier are not than the legions of children Magic hath stolen away.

The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam, The albatross lone on the spray, Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children Magic hath stolen away.

In vain: for at hush of the evening, When the stars twinkle into the grey, Seems to echo the far-away calling of children Magic hath stolen away.

THREE QUEER TALES

BERRIES

There was an old woman Went blackberry picking Along the hedges From Weep to Wicking. - Half a pottle- No more she had got, When out steps a Fairy From her green grot; And says, 'Well, Jill, Would 'ee pick ee mo?'

And Jill, she curtseys, And looks just so.

Be off,' says the Fairy, 'As quick as you can, Over the meadows To the little green lane That dips to the hayfields Of Farmer Grimes: I've berried those hedges A score of times; Bushel on bushel I'll promise'ee, Jill, This side of supper If'ee pick with a will.'

She glints very bright, And speaks her fair; Then lo, and behold!

She had faded in air.

Be sure Old Goodie She trots betimes Over the meadows To Farmer Grimes.

And never was queen With jewelry rich As those same hedges From twig to ditch; Like Dutchmen's coffers, Fruit, thorn, and flower - They shone like William And Mary's bower.

And be sure Old Goodie Went back to Weep, So tired with her basket She scarce could creep.

When she comes in the dusk To her cottage door, There's Towser wagging As never before, To see his Missus So glad to be Come from her fruit-picking Back to he.

As soon as next morning Dawn was grey, The pot on the hob Was simmering away; And all in a stew And a hugger-mugger Towser and Jill A-boiling of sugar, And the dark clear fruit That from Faerie came, For syrup and jelly And blackberry jam.

Twelve jolly gallipots Jill put by; And one little teeny one, One inch high; And that she's hidden A good thumb deep, Half way over From Wicking to Weep.

OFF THE GROUND

Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground.

Out of their coats They slipped right soon, And neat and nicesome, Put each his shoon.

One - Two - Three! - And away they go, Not too fast, And not too slow; Out from the elm-tree's Noonday shadow, Into the sun And across the meadow.

Past the schoolroom, With knees well bent Fingers a-flicking, They dancing went.

Up sides and over, And round and round, They crossed click-clacking, The Parish bound, By Tupman's meadow They did their mile, Tee-t-tum On a three-barred stile.

Then straight through Whipham, Downhill to Week, Footing it lightsome, But not too quick, Up fields to Watchet, And on through Wye, Till seven fine churches They'd seen skip by - Seven fine churches, And five old mills, Farms in the valley, And sheep on the hills; Old Man's Acre And Dead Man's Pool All left behind, As they danced through Wool.

And Wool gone by, Like tops that seem To spin in sleep They danced in dream; Withy - Wellover - Wa.s.sop-Wo- Like an old clock Their heels did go.

A league and a league And a league they went, And not one weary, And not one spent.

And Io, and behold!

Past Willow-c.u.m-Leigh Stretched with its waters The great green sea.

Says Farmer Bates, I puffs and I blows, What's under the water, Why, no man knows!'

Says Farmer Giles, 'My wind comes weak, And a good man drownded Is far to seek.'

But Farmer Turvey, On twirling toes Up's with his gaiters, And in he goes: Down where the mermaids Pluck and play On their tw.a.n.gling harps In a sea-green day; Down where the mermaids, Finned and fair, Sleek with their combs Their yellow hair....

Bates and Giles- On the shingle sat, Gazing at Turvey's Floating hat.

But never a ripple Nor bubble told Where he was supping Off plates of gold.

Never an echo Rilled through the sea Of the feasting and dancing And minstrelsy.

They called-called-called: Came no reply: Nought but the ripples'

Sandy sigh.

Then glum and silent They sat instead, Vacantly brooding On home and bed, Till both together Stood up and said.- 'Us knows not, dreams not, Where you be, Turvey, unless In the deep blue sea; But axcusing silver- And it comes most willing - Here's us two paying Our forty shilling; For it's sartin sure, Turvey, Safe and sound, You danced us square, Turvey, Off the ground!'

THE THIEF AT ROBIN'S CASTLE

There came a Thief one night to Robin's Castle, He climbed up into a Tree; And sitting with his head among the branches, A wondrous Sight did see.

For there was Robin supping at his table, With Candles of pure Wax, His Dame and his two beauteous little Children, With Velvet on their backs.

Platters for each there were shin-shining, Of Silver many a pound, And all of beaten Gold, three br.i.m.m.i.n.g Goblets, Standing the table round.

The smell that rose up richly from the Baked Meats Came thinning amid the boughs, And much that greedy Thief who snuffed the night air- His Hunger did arouse.

He watched them eating, drinking, laughing, talking, Busy with finger and spoon, While three most cunning Fiddlers, clad in crimson, Played them a supper-tune.

And he waited in the tree-top like a Starling, Till the Moon was gotten low; When all the windows in the walls were darkened, He softly in did go.

There Robin and his Dame in bed were sleeping, And his Children young and fair; Only Robin's Hounds from their warm kennels Yelped as he climbed the stair.