English Songs and Ballads Part 47

A Well there is in the west country, And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the west country But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside, And behind doth an ash-tree grow, And a willow from the bank above Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne; Joyfully he drew nigh, For from c.o.c.k-crow he had been travelling, And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he, And he sat down upon the bank Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by At the Well to fill his pail; On the Well-side he rested it, And he bade the stranger hail.

'Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?' quoth he, 'For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drunk this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

'Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life She has drunk of the Well of St. Keyne.'

'I have left a good woman who never was here,'

The stranger he made reply, 'But that my draught should be the better for that, I pray you answer me why?'

'St. Keyne,' quoth the Cornish-man, 'many a time Drank of this crystal Well, And before the angel summon'd her, She laid on the water a spell.

'If the husband, of this gifted Well, Shall drink before his wife, A happy man thenceforth is he, For he shall be master for life.

'But if the wife shall drink of it first, G.o.d help the husband then!'

The stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne, And drank of the water again.

'You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?'

He to the Cornish-man said: But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

'I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But i' faith she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church.'

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 'Who fell in that great victory.

'I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out!

For many thousand men,' said he, 'Were slain in that great victory.'

'Now tell us what 'twas all about,'

Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; 'Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.'

'It was the English,' Kaspar cried, 'Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for, I could not well make out; But everybody said,' quoth he, 'That 'twas a famous victory.

'My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.

'With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a tender mother then, And new-born baby, died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

'They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory;

'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.'-- 'Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!'

Said little Wilhelmine.

'Nay--nay--my little girl,' quoth he, 'It was a famous victory;

'And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.'

'But what good came of it at last?'

Quoth little Peterkin.

'Why, that I cannot tell,' said he, 'But 'twas a famous victory.'

FATHER WILLIAM

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks that are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pa.s.s away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death!

Now tell me the reason, I pray.

I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied; Let the cause thy attention engage: In the days of my youth I remember'd my G.o.d!

And He hath not forgotten my age.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST

MRS. c.o.c.kBURN

I've seen the smiling Of Fortune beguiling; I've felt all its favours, and found its decay: Sweet was its blessing, Kind its caressing; But now it is fled--it is fled far away.

I've seen the forest Adorned the foremost With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and gay; Sae bonny was their blooming!

Their scent the air perfuming!

But now they are withered and weeded away.