Victorian Songs Part 16

I.

"What will you do, love, when I am going With white sail flowing, The seas beyond-- What will you do, love, when waves divide us, And friends may chide us For being fond?"

"Tho' waves divide us--and friends be chiding, In faith abiding, I 'll still be true!

And I 'll pray for thee on the stormy ocean, In deep devotion-- That 's what I 'll do!"

II.

"What would you do, love, if distant tidings Thy fond confidings Should undermine?-- And I abiding 'neath sultry skies, Should think other eyes Were as bright as thine?"

"Oh, name it not:--tho' guilt and shame Were on thy name I 'd still be true: But that heart of thine--should another share it-- I could not bear it!

What would I do?"

III.

"What would you do, love, when home returning With hopes high burning, With wealth for you, If my bark, which bounded o'er foreign foam, Should be lost near home-- Ah! what would you do?"-- "So thou wert spared--I 'd bless the morrow, In want and sorrow, That left me you; And I 'd welcome thee from the wasting billow, This heart thy pillow-- That 's what I 'd do!"

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CHARLES MACKAY.

1814-1889.

_I LOVE MY LOVE._

I.

What is the meaning of the song That rings so clear and loud, Thou nightingale amid the copse-- Thou lark above the cloud?

What says the song, thou joyous thrush, Up in the walnut-tree?

"I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me."

II.

What is the meaning of thy thought, O maiden fair and young?

There is such pleasure in thine eyes, Such music on thy tongue; There is such glory on thy face-- What can the meaning be?

"I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me."

III.

O happy words! at Beauty's feet We sing them ere our prime; And when the early summers pa.s.s, And Care comes on with Time, Still be it ours, in Care's despite, To join the chorus free-- "I love my Love, because I know My Love loves me."

_O YE TEARS!_

O ye tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow, Ye are welcome to my heart,--thawing, thawing, like the snow; I feel the hard clod soften, and the early snow-drop spring, And the healing fountains gush, and the wildernesses sing.

O ye tears! O ye tears! I am thankful that ye run; Though ye trickle in the darkness, ye shall glitter in the sun.

The rainbow cannot shine if the rain refuse to fall, And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all.

O ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt you on my cheek, I was selfish in my sorrow, I was stubborn, I was weak.

Ye have given me strength to conquer, and I stand erect and free, And know that I am human by the light of sympathy.

O ye tears! O ye tears! ye relieve me of my pain: The barren rock of pride has been stricken once again; Like the rock that Moses smote, amid h.o.r.eb's burning sand, It yields the flowing water to make gladness in the land.

There is light upon my path, there is sunshine in my heart, And the leaf and fruit of life shall not utterly depart.

Ye restore to me the freshness and the bloom of long ago-- O ye tears! happy tears! I am thankful that ye flow!

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FRANCIS MAHONEY.

1805-1866.

_THE BELLS OF SHANDON._

Sabbata pango; Funera plango; Solemnia clango.

--_Inscription on an old bell._

With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells.

On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee,-- With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

I 've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glibe rate Bra.s.s tongues would vibrate; But all their music Spoke naught like thine.

For memory, dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry, knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

I 've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican,-- And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame;

But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly.

Oh! the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

There 's a bell in Moscow; While on tower and kiosk O In St. Sophia The Turkman gets, And loud in air Calls men to prayer, From the tapering summit Of tall minarets.

Such empty phantom I freely grant them; But there 's an anthem More dear to me,-- 'T is the bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.

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