The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 44

Philomel with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!

Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh!

So good-night, with lullaby.

_W. Shakespeare_

Cx.x.xI

_LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR_

Lord Thomas he was a bold forester, And a chaser of the king's deer; Fair Ellinor was a fine woman, And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.

'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he said, 'And riddle us both as one; Whether I shall marry with fair Ellinor, And let the brown girl alone?'

'The brown girl she has got houses and land, And fair Ellinor she has got none; Therefore I charge you on my blessing, Bring me the brown girl home.'

As it befell on a high holiday, As many more did beside, Lord Thomas he went to fair Ellinor, That should have been his bride.

But when he came to fair Ellinor's bower, He knocked there at the ring; But who was so ready as fair Ellinor For to let Lord Thomas in.

'What news, what news, Lord Thomas?' she said, 'What news hast thou brought unto me?'

'I am come to bid thee to my wedding, And that is bad news for thee.'

'O, G.o.d forbid, Lord Thomas,' she said, 'That such a thing should be done.

I thought to have been thy bride my own self, And you to have been the bridegroom.'

'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she said, 'And riddle it all in one; Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding, Or whether I shall tarry at home?'

'There are many that are your friends, daughter, And many that are your foe; Therefore I charge you on my blessing, To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.'

'There's many that are my friends, mother And if a thousand more were my foe, Betide my life, betide my death, To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.'

She clothed herself in gallant attire, And her merry men all in green; And as they rid through every town, They took her to be some queen.

But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate, She knocked there at the ring; But who was so ready as Lord Thomas, To let fair Ellinor in.

'Is this your bride?' fair Ellinor said; 'Methinks she looks wonderful brown; Thou might'st have had as fair a woman, As ever trod on the ground.'

'Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he said, 'Despise her not unto me; For better I love thy little finger, Than all her whole body.'

This brown bride had a little penknife, That was both long and sharp, And betwixt the short ribs and the long, p.r.i.c.k'd fair Ellinor to the heart.

'Now Heaven save thee,' Lord Thomas he said, 'Methinks thou look'st wondrous wan: Thou used to look with as fresh a colour, As ever the sun shined on.'

'O, art thou blind, Lord Thomas?' she said, 'Or canst thou not very well see?

O, dost thou not see my own heart's blood Run trickling down my knee?'

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side; As he walked about the hall, He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders, And threw it against the wall.

He set the hilt against the ground, And the point against his heart; There never were three lovers met, That sooner did depart.

_Old Ballad_

Cx.x.xII

_QUEEN MAB_

O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the fore-finger of an alderman; Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs: The cover, of the wings of gra.s.shoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash, of film; Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm, p.r.i.c.ked from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers.

And in this state she gallops night by night, Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; On courtiers' knees that dream on court'sies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.

_W. Shakespeare_

Cx.x.xIII

_YOUNG LOCHINVAR_

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West!

Through all the wide Border his steed is the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none; He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!

He stay'd not for brake and he stopt not for stone; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented; the gallant came late; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So bravely he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all, Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, 'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'

'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now I am come with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!'

The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup; She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar; 'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace: While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!'

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door; and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur, They'll have fleet steeds that follow!' cried young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cann.o.bie lea; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar!