English Songs and Ballads Part 29

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder phantom only flies To lure thee to thy doom.

'Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still: And though my portion is but scant, I give it with goodwill.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose.

'No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that power that pities me, I learn to pity them.

'But from the mountain's gra.s.sy side, A guiltless feast I bring; A script, with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.

'Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, His gentle accents fell; The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure, The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire, To take their evening rest, The hermit trimmed his little fire, And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressed and smiled; And, skilled in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries; The cricket chirrups in the hearth, The crackling f.a.got flies.

But nothing could a charm impart, To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering care opprest: 'And whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurned, Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friends.h.i.+p unreturned, Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things More trifling still than they.

'And what is friends.h.i.+p but a name: A charm that lulls to sleep!

A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep!

'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.

'For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the s.e.x,' he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view, Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms; The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms.

'And ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,' she cried, 'Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude Where heaven and you reside.

'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray: Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

'My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was marked as mine; He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms, Unnumbered suitors came; Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feigned, a flame.

'Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed, But never talked of love.

'In humblest, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had; But these were all to me.

'The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display, To emulate his mind.

'The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant s.h.i.+ne; Their charms were his; but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

'For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his pa.s.sion touched my heart, I triumphed in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died!

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.

'And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.'

'Forbid it, Heaven!' the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wondering fair one turned to chide: 'Twas Edwin's self that prest!

'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee.

'Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign; And shall we never, never part, My life--my all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.'

AULD ROBIN GRAY

LADY ANNE BARNARD

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame, And a' the weary warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside; To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea, And the crown and the pound--they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick--my Jamie was at sea, And Auld Robin Gray came a courting me.

My father couldna work--my mither couldna spin-- I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e, Said: 'Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?'

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back, But hard blew the winds, and his s.h.i.+p was a wrack, His s.h.i.+p was a wrack--why didna Jamie die, Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair--my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand--my heart was in the sea-- And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I couldna think it he Till he said: 'I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!'

Oh, sair sair did we greet, and mickle say of a', I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa'-- I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to die, For, though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!