Blooms of the Berry Part 21

THE RIDE.

She rode o'er hill, she rode o'er plain, She rode by fields of barley, By morning-glories filled with rain, And beechen branches gnarly.

She rode o'er plain, she rode o'er hill, By orchard land and berry; Her face was buoyant as the rill, Her eyes and heart were merry,

A bird sang here, a bird sang there, Then blithely sang together, Sang sudden greetings every where, "Good-morrow!" and "good weather!"

The sunlight's laughing radiance Laughed in her radiant tresses; The bold breeze set her curls a-dance, Made red her lips with kisses.

"Why ride ye here, why ride ye there, Why ride ye here so merry?

The sunlight living in your hair, And in your cheek the cherry?

"Why ride ye with your sea-green plumes, Your sea-green silken habit, By balmy bosks of faint perfumes Where squats the cunning rabbit?"

"The morning's feet are wrought of gold, The hunter's horn is jolly; Sir Richard bold was rich and old, Was old and melancholy.

"A wife they'd have me to his bed, And to the kirk they hurried; But now, gramercy! he is dead, Perdie! is dead and buried.

"I ride by tree, I ride by rill, I ride by rye and clover, For by the kirk beyond the hill Awaits a better lover."

THE SLEEPER.

She sleeps and dreams; one milk-white, lawny arm Pillowing her heavy hair, as might cold Night Meeting her sister Day, with glory warm, Subside in languor on her bosom's white.

The naked other on the damask cloth,-- White, smooth, and light as the light thistle-down, Or the pink, fairy, fluffy evening moth On June-drunk beds of roses red,--lies thrown.

And one sweet cheek, kissed with the enamored moon, Grown pale with anger at the liberty.

While, dusk in darkness, at the favor shown The pouting other frowns still envity.

Hangs fall'n in folds the rich, dark covering, With fretfulness thrust partly from her breast; As through storm-broken clouds the moon might spring, From this the orb of one pure bosom prest.

She sleeps; and where the silent moonbeams sink Thro' diamond panes,--soft as a ghost of snow,-- In wide, white jets, the lion-fur seems to drink With tawny jaws its wasted, winey glow.

Light-lidded sleep and holy dreams to her, Unborn of feverish sorrow or of care, Soft as the gust that makes the arras stir, Tangling gold moonbeams in her fragrant hair.

A MELODY.

I.

There be Fairies bright of eye, Who the wild-flowers warders are; There be Fairies subtlely Nourished in a blossom's star; Fairies tripping merrily Singing in faint echoes far, Singing fairy melodies Murmured by the burly bees, By the wild brown bees.

II.

Well I wot that Fairies be there,-- Fairies, Fairies that at eve Lurking in a blossom-lair, In some rose-bud's scented hair From white beams of starlight weave Glinting gown and s.h.i.+ning shoe.

I have proven sure and true Fairies be there, fays of dew, Lying laughing in its spark Floating in a rose's sark; Singing fairy melodies, When asleep the dusty bees Can not steal their melodies, Fairy melodies.

THE ELF'S SONG.

I.

Where thronged poppies with globed s.h.i.+elds Of fierce red Warrior all the harvest fields Is my bed.

Here I tumble with the bee, Robber bee of low degree Gay with dust: Wit ye of a bracelet bold Broadly belting him with gold?

It was I who bound it on When a-gambol on the lawn-- It can never rust.

II.

Where the glow-worm lights his lamp There am I; Where within the gra.s.ses damp Crickets cry.

Cheer'ly, cheer'ly in the burne Where the lins the torrents churn Into foam, Leap I on a whisp of broom,-- Cheer'ly, cheer'ly through the gloom,-- All aneath a round-cheeked moon, Treading on her silver shoon Lightly o'er the gloam,

III.

Or the cowslip on the bent Lift her head, Or the glow-worm's lamp be spent, Whitely dead: 'Neath lank ferns I laughing lie, 'Neath the ferns full warily Hid away, Where the drowsy musk-rose blows And a fussy runnel flows, Sleeping with the Faery Under leafy canopy All the holyday.

THE NIXES' SONG.

Vague, vague 'neath darkling waves, With emerald-curving caves For the arched skies, Red-walled with dark dull gold The Nixes' city old Deep-glimmering lies.

And thro' the long green nights the spangling spars Twinkle like milky stars.

Where the wind-ripple plays On tufts of dipping sprays Sparkling we rock; With blooming fingers bare Comb down our golden hair In many a lock; While, poured o'er naked ease of cool, moist limbs, An amber glamour swims.

Or in the middle night When cold damp fire-flies light Pale flitting brands Down all the woodland aisles, With swift mysterious smiles Link we white hands, And where the moonlight haunts the drowsy lake Bask in its silver wake.

Come join, come join our dance While the warm starbeams glance, And the kind moon Spills all her flowers of light At the dark feet of Night, And soon, full soon, Thou'lt sleep in shadowy halls where dim and cold Our city's walled with gold.

"THE FAIRY RADE."