"Never art thou mother of mine, "My mother was white, with cheeks of red, But thou art pale, and like to the dead." "How should I be fair and fine? I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine. "How should I be white and red, When she came in at the chamber door, One she braided, another she brushed, The fifth she took on her lap and pressed, Then to her eldest daughter said she, "Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me.* Into the chamber when he came She spake to him in anger and shame. "I left behind me both ale and bread; My children hunger and are not fed. "I left behind me quilts of blue; "I left behind me the great waxlight; My children lie in the dark at night. "If I come again unto your hall, As cruel a fate shall you befall! "Now crows the cock with feathers red; Back to the earth must all the dead. "Now crows the cock with feathers swart; The gates of heaven fly wide apart. Now crows the cock with feathers white; Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail, They gave the children bread and ale. Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay, They feared lest the dead were on their way. Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark, I myself was young! They feared the dead out there in the dark. Fair words gladden so many a heart. INTERLUDE. TOUCHED by the pathos of these rhymes, And to the bards of simple ways, Who walked with Nature hand in hand, Whose singing robes were homespun brown Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer." To whom the Student answered: "Yes; That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed, But not enough for all our needs; Poets the best of them - are birds Of passage; where their instinct leads The Theologian said again: And thus the sword of Damocles But suddenly, on the Landlord fell, THE LANDLORD'S TALE. THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. Written February 25, 1873. IT was Sir Christopher Gardiner, You should have seen him in the street He had a way of saying things That made one think of courts and kings, Seemed something very little short Such an accomplished knight was he. His dwelling was just beyond the town, But a double life was the life he led, Lord of misrule and riot and sin, Who looked on the wine when it was red. This country-seat was little more Than a cabin of logs; but in front of the door A modest flower-bed thickly sown With sweet alyssum and columbine Made those who saw it at once divine The touch of some other hand than his own. And first it was whispered, and then it was known, That he in secret was harboring there A little lady with golden hair, Whom he called his cousin, but whom he had wed In the Italian manner, as men said, And great was the scandal everywhere. |