Songs of Childhood Part 9

I carried you, My little Ann, long since on this same quest, And from the painted windows a pale hue Lit golden on your breast;

And then you woke, Chill as the holy water trickled down, And, weeping, cast the window a strange look, Half smile, half infant frown.

I scarce could hear The larks a-singing in the green meadows, 'Twas summertide, and budding far and near The hedges thick with rose.

And now you're grown A little girl, and this same helpless mite Is come like such another bud half-blown, Out of the wintry night.

Time flies, time flies!

And yet, bless me! 'tis little changed am I; May Jesu keep from tears those infant eyes, Be love their lullaby!

THE MOTHER BIRD

Through the green twilight of a hedge I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed, And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes she had beseeching me Meekly and brave, and her brown breast Throbb'd hot and quick above her heart; And then she oped her dagger bill,-- 'Twas not a chirp, as sparrows pipe At break of day; 'twas not a trill, As falters through the quiet even; But one sharp solitary note, One desperate, fierce, and vivid cry Of valiant tears, and hopeless joy, One pa.s.sionate note of victory: Off, like a fool afraid, I sneaked, Smiling the smile the fool smiles best, At the mother bird in the secret hedge Patient upon her lonely nest.

THE CHILD IN THE STORY GOES TO BED

I prythee, Nurse, come smooth my hair, And prythee, Nurse, unloose my shoe, And trimly turn my silken sheet Upon my quilt of gentle blue.

My pillow sweet of lavender Smooth with an amiable hand, And may the dark pa.s.s peacefully by As in the hour-gla.s.s droops the sand.

Prepare my cornered manchet sweet, And in my little crystal cup Pour out the blithe and flowering mead That forthwith I may sup.

Withdraw my curtains from the night, And let the crisped crescent shine Upon my eyelids while I sleep, And soothe me with her beams benign.

From far-away there streams the singing Of the mellifluent nightingale,-- Surely if goblins hear her lay, They shall not o'er my peace prevail.

Now quench my silver lamp, prythee, And bid the harpers harp that tune Fairies which haunt the meadowlands Sing clearly to the stars of June.

And bid them play, though I in dreams No longer heed their pining strains, For I would not to silence wake When slumber o'er my senses wanes.

You Angels bright who me defend, Enshadow me with curved wing, And keep me in the darksome night Till dawn another day do bring.

THE CHILD IN THE STORY AWAKES

The light of dawn rose on my dreams, And from afar I seemed to hear In sleep the mellow blackbird call Hollow and sweet and clear.

I prythee, Nurse, my cas.e.m.e.nt open, Wildly the garden peals with singing, And hooting through the dewy pines The goblins all are winging.

O listen the droning of the bees, That in the roses take delight!

And see a cloud stays in the blue Like an angel still and bright.

The gentle sky is spread like silk, And, Nurse, the moon doth languish there, As if it were a perfect jewel In the morning's soft-spun hair.

The greyness of the distant hills Is silvered in the lucid East, See, now the sheeny-plumed c.o.c.k Wags haughtily his crest.

'O come you out, O come you out, Lily, and lavender, and lime; The kingcup swings his golden bell, And plumpy cherries drum the time.

'O come you out, O come you out!

Roses, and dew, and mignonette, The sun is in the steep blue sky, Sweetly the morning star is set.'

THE LAMPLIGHTER

When the light of day declineth, And a swift angel through the sky Kindleth G.o.d's tapers clear, With ashen staff the lamplighter Pa.s.seth along the darkling streets To light our earthly lamps;

Lest, prowling in the darkness, The thief should haunt with quiet tread, Or men on evil errands set; Or wayfarers be benighted; Or neighbours bent from house to house Should need a guiding torch.

He is like a needlewoman Who deftly on a sable hem St.i.tches in gleaming jewels; Or, haply, he is like a hero, Whose bright deeds on the long journey Are beacons on our way.

And when in the East cometh morning, And the broad splendour of the sun, Then, with the tune of little birds Ringing on high, the lamplighter Pa.s.seth by each quiet house, And putteth out the lamps.

CECIL

Ye little elves, who haunt sweet dells, Where flowers with the dew commune, I pray you hush the child, Cecil, With windlike song.

O little elves, so white she lieth, Each eyelid gentler than the flow'r Of the bramble, and her fleecy hair Like smoke of gold.

O little elves, her hands and feet The angels muse upon, and G.o.d Hath shut a glimpse of Paradise In each blue eye.

O little elves, her tiny body Like a white flake of snow it is, Drooping upon the pale green hood Of the chill snowdrop.

O little elves, with elderflower, And pimpernel, and the white hawthorn, Sprinkle the journey of her dreams: And, little elves,

Call to her magically sweet, Lest of her very tenderness She do forsake this rough brown earth And return to us no more.

I MET AT EVE