The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 18

So that the pretty speech they had, Made murder's heart relent: And they that undertook the deed, Full sore did now repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch that hired him, Had paid him very large.

The other won't agree thereto, So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight About the children's life: And he that was of mildest mood, Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood: The babes did quake for fear!

He took the children by the hand, Tears standing in their eye, And bade them straightway follow him, And look they did not cry; And two long miles he led them on, While they for food complain: 'Stay here,' quoth he, 'I'll bring you bread, When I come back again.'

These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down; But never more could see the man Approaching from the town: Their pretty lips with blackberries Were all besmear'd and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cried.

Thus wandered these poor innocents Till death did end their grief, In one another's arms they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin Redbreast piously Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of G.o.d Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an h.e.l.l: His barns were fired, his goods consumed, His lands were barren made, His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him stayed.

And in the voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die; And to conclude, himself was brought To want and misery.

He p.a.w.n'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about, And now at length this wicked act Did by this means come out:

The fellow that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judged to die, Such was G.o.d's blessed will.

Who did confess the very truth, As here hath been display'd: Their uncle having died in gaol, Where he for debt was laid.

You that executors be made, And overseers eke Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest G.o.d with such like misery Your wicked minds requite.

_Old Ballad_

LVII

_ROBIN REDBREAST_

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!

For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away,-- But Robin's here in coat of brown, And scarlet breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts; The leathery pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?

For pinching days are near.

The fire-side for the cricket, The wheatstack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow,-- Alas! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.

_W. Allingham_

LVIII

_THE OWL_

In the hollow tree in the grey old tower, The spectral owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised in the suns.h.i.+ne hour, But at dusk,--he's abroad and well: Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him; All mock him outright by day; But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, The boldest will shrink away; O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then is the reign of the horned owl!

And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold, And loveth the wood's deep gloom; And with eyes like the s.h.i.+ne of the moons.h.i.+ne cold She awaiteth her ghastly groom!

Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings, As she waits in her tree so still; But when her heart heareth his flapping wings, She hoots out her welcome shrill!

O, when the moon s.h.i.+nes, and the dogs do howl, Then, then is the cry of the horned owl!

Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy plight!

The owl hath his share of good: If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, He is lord in the dark green wood!

Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate; They are each unto each a pride-- Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate Hath rent them from all beside!

So when the night falls, and dogs do howl, Sing Ho! for the reign of the horned owl!

We know not alway who are kings by day, But the king of the night is the bold brown owl.

_B. Cornwall_

LIX

_HART LEAP WELL_

PART I

The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor, With the slow motion of a summer's cloud, And now, as he approach'd a va.s.sal's door, 'Bring forth another horse!' he cried aloud.

'Another horse!' that shout the va.s.sal heard, And saddled his best steed, a comely grey; Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes; The horse and horseman are a happy pair; But though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, And as they galloped made the echoes roar; But horse and man are vanished, one and all; Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain; Blanche, Swift, and Music, n.o.blest of their kind, Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The Knight halloed, he cheered and chid them on With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one, The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?

The bugles that so joyfully were blown?

This chase, it looks not like an earthly chase: Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain-side; I will not stop to tell how far he fled, Nor will I mention by what death he died; But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.

Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn; He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy: He neither cracked his whip nor blew his horn, But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.