'To Noroway, to Noroway, The first word that Sir Patrick read, The neist word that Sir Patrick read, 'O wha is this has done this deed, To send us out, at this time of the year, 'Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, The king's daughter of Noroway, They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, And they hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wedensday. They hadna been a week, a week In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say: 'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd And a' our queenis fee.' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lie! 'For I hae brought as much white monie As gane my men and me And I hae brought a half-fou' o' gude red gowd Out o'er the sea wi' me. 'Make ready, make ready, my merry men a'! Our gude ship sails the morn.' 'Now ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! 'I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.' They hadna sail'd a league, a league, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship O where will I get a gude sailor, "O here am I, a sailor gude, Till ye get up to the tall top-mast ; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.' He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in. 'Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, And letna the sea come in.' They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship's side, But still the sea came in. O laith laith were our gude Scots lords To wet their cork-heeled shoon ! And mony was the feather-bed And mony was the gude lord's son The ladyes wrang their fingers white- O lang lang may the ladyes sit, And lang lang may the maidens sit, O forty miles off Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, La Belle Dame Sans Mercy AH! what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge is withered from the lake, Ah! what can ail thee, wretched wight, The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever-dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful-a fairy's child; I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean and sing A fairy's song. I made a garland for her head, She found me roots of relish sweet, She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gazed and sighed deep; And there we slumbered on the moss, On the cold hill-side! I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors-death-pale were they all; Who cried, 'La Belle Dame Sans Mercy Hath thee in thrall!' I saw their starved lips in the gloom, And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering: Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing. KEATS. The Child and the Snake HENRY was every morning fed With a full mess of milk and bread. One day the boy his breakfast took, And ate it by a purling brook. Which through his mother's orchard ran. Finding the child delight to eat When she saw the infant take His bread and milk close to a snake! The least small noise, O have a care The least small noise that may be made, If he hear the lightest sound, He will inflict th' envenom'd wound. She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe, As she stands the trees beneath; No sound she utters; and she soon Sees the child lift up his spoon, And tap the snake upon the head, Fearless of harm; and then he said, As speaking to familiar mate, Keep on your own side, do, Grey Pate :' The snake then to the other side, As one rebukèd, seems to glide; |