English Songs and Ballads Part 56

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pa.s.sed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning Sank chill on my brow-- It felt like the warning Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame.

They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me-- Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well:-- Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-- In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee?-- With silence and tears.

SONG

There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes, and starry skies: And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace, Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent.

A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

KING DEATH

B.W. PROCTER

King Death was a rare old fellow, He sat where no sun could s.h.i.+ne, And he lifted his hand so yellow, And poured out his coal-black wine Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!

There came to him many a maiden Whose eyes had forgot to s.h.i.+ne, And widows with grief o'erladen, For a draught of his coal-black wine.

Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!

The scholar left all his learning, The poet his fancied woes, And the beauty her bloom returning, Like life to the fading rose.

Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!

All came to the rare old fellow, Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine, And he gave them his hand so yellow, And pledged them in Death's black wine.

Hurrah, for the coal-black wine!

SONG FOR TWILIGHT

Hide me, O twilight air, Hide me from thought, from care, From all things foul or fair, Until to-morrow!

To-night I strive no more; No more my soul shall soar: Come, sleep, and shut the door 'Gainst pain and sorrow!

If I must see through dreams, Be mine Elysian gleams, Be mine by morning streams To watch and wander; So may my spirit cast (Serpent-like) off the past, And my free soul at last Have leave to ponder.

And shouldst thou 'scape control, Ponder on love, sweet soul; On joy, the end and goal Of all endeavour: But if earth's pains will rise, (As damps will seek the skies,) Then, night, seal thou mine eyes, In sleep for ever.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA

CHARLES WOLFE