Peacock Pie Part 3

All, all were sleeping, page and fiddler, Cook, scullion, free from care; Only Robin's Stallions from their stables Neighed as he climbed the stair.

A wee wan light the Moon did shed him, Hanging above the sea, And he counted into his bag (of beaten Silver) Platters thirty-three.

Of Spoons three score; of jolly golden Goblets He stowed in four save one, And six fine three-branched Cupid Candlesticks, Before his work was done.

Nine bulging bags of Money in a cupboard, Two Snuffers, and a Dish He found, the last all studded with great Garnets And shapen like a Fish.

Then tiptoe up he stole into a Chamber, Where on Ta.s.selled Pillows lay Robin and his Daule in dreaming slumbers Tired with the summer's day.

That Thief he mimbled round him in the gloaming, Their treasure for to spy, Combs, Brooches, Chains, and, Rings, and Pins and Buckles All higgledy, Piggle-dy.

A Watch shaped in the shape of a flat Apple In purest crystal set He lifted from the hook where it was ticking And crammed in his Pochette.

He heaped the pretty Baubles on the table, Trinketsi Knick-knackerie, Pearls, Diamonds, Sapphires, Topazes, and Opals- All in his bag put he.

And there in night's pale Gloom was Robin dreaming He was hunting the mountain Bear, While his Dame in peaceful slumber in no wise heeded A greedy Thief was there.

And that ravenous Thief he climbed up even higher, Till into a chamber small He crept where lay poor Robin's beauteous Children, Lovelier in sleep withal.

Oh, fairer was their Hair than Gold of Goblet, 'Yond Silver their Cheeks did s.h.i.+ne, And their little hands that lay upon the linen Made that Thief's hard heart to pine.

But though a moment there his hard heart faltered, Eftsoones be took them twain, And slipped them into his Bag with all his Plunder, And soft stole down again.

Spoon, Platter, Goblet, Ducats, Dishes, Trinkets, And those two Children dear, A-quaking in the clinking and the clanking, And half bemused with fear,

He carried down the stairs into the Courtyard, But there he made no stay, He just tied up his Garters, took a deep breath, And ran like the wind away.

Past Forest, River, Mountain, River, Forest- He coursed the whole night through, Till morning found him come into a Country, Where none his bad face knew.

Past Mountain, River, Forest, River, Mountain- That Thief's lean shanks sped on, Till Evening found him knocking at a Dark House, His breath now well-nigh gone.

There came a little maid and asked his Business; A Cobbler dwelt within; And though she much misliked the Bag he carried, She led the Bad Man in.

He bargained with the Cobbler for a lodging And soft laid down his Sack- In the Dead of Night, with none to spy or listen- From off his weary back.

And he taught the little Chicks to call him Father, And he sold his stolen Pelf, And bought a Palace, Horses, Slaves, and Peac.o.c.ks To ease his wicked self.

And though the Children never really loved him, He was rich past all belief; While Robin and his Dame o'er Delf and Pewter Spent all their Days in Grief.

PLACES AND PEOPLE

A WIDOW'S WEEDS

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep, And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip.

Up shone May, like gold, and soon Green as an arbour grew leafy June.

And now all summer she sits and sews Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows, Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet, Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells; Like Oberon's meadows her garden is Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.

Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs, And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes; And all she has is all she needs -- A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

'SOOEEP!'

Black as a chimney is his face, And ivory white his teeth, And in his bra.s.s-bound cart he rides, The chestnut blooms beneath.

'Sooeep, Sooeep!' he cries, and brightly peers This way and that, to see With his two light-blue s.h.i.+ning eyes What custom there may be.

And once inside the house, he'll squat, And drive his rods on high, Till twirls his sudden sooty brush Against the morning sky.

Then, 'mid his bulging bags of soot, With half the world asleep, His small cart wheels him off again, Still hoa.r.s.ely bawling, 'Sooeep!'

MRS. MACQUEEN (OR THE LOLLIE-SHOP)

With gla.s.s like a bull's-eye, And shutters of green, Down on the cobbles Lives Mrs. MacQueen,

At six she rises; At nine you see Her candle s.h.i.+ne out In the linden tree:

And at half-past nine Not a sound is nigh But the bright moon's creeping Across the sky;

Or a far dog baying; Or a twittering bird In its drowsy nest, In the darkness stirred;

Or like the roar Of a distant sea A long-drawn S-s-sh In the linden tree.

THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD

Some one is always sitting there, In the little green orchard; Even when the sun is high In noon's unclouded sky, And faintly droning goes The bee from rose to rose, Some one in shadow is sitting there In the little green orchard.

Yes, when the twilight's falling softly In the little green orchard; When the grey dew distills And every flower-cup fills; When the last blackbird says, 'What - what!' and goes her way - ss.h.!.+

I have heard voices calling softly In the little green orchard

Not that I am afraid of being there, In the little green orchard; Why, when the moon's been bright, Shedding her lonesome light, And moths like ghosties come, And the horned snail leaves home: I've sat there, whispering and listening there, In the little green orchard.

Only it's strange to be feeling there, In the little green orchard; Whether you paint or draw, Dig, hammer, chop or saw; When you are most alone, All but the silence gone...

Some one is watching and waiting there, In the little green orchard.

POOR 'MISS 7'

Lone and alone she lies, Poor Miss 7, Five steep flights from the earth, And one from heaven; Dark hair and dark brown eyes, - Not to be sad she tries, Still - still it's lonely lies Poor Miss 7.

One day-long watch hath she, Poor Miss 7, Not in some orchard sweet In April Devon - Just four blank walls to see, And dark come shadowily, No moon, no stars, ah me!

Poor Miss 7.

And then to wake again, Poor Miss 7, To the cold night, to have Sour physic given; Out of some dream of pain, Then strive long hours in vain Deep dreamless sleep to gain: Poor Miss 7.

Yet memory softly sings Poor Miss 7 Songs full of love and peace And gladness even; Clear flowers and tiny wings, All tender, lovely things, Hope to her bosom brings - Happy Miss 7.