THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY

I sat within a valley green

Sat there with my true love

And my fond heart strove to choose between

The old love and the new love

The old for her, the new that made

Me think on Ireland dearly

While soft the wind blew down the glade

And shook the golden barley

'Twas hard the mournful words to frame

To break the ties that bound us

Ah, but harder still to bear the shame

Of foreign chains around us

And so I said, "The mountain glen

I'll seek at morning early

And join the brave united men"

While soft wind shook the barley

'Twas sad I kissed away her tears

Her arms around me clinging

When the foeman's shot burst on our ears

Come out the wildwood ringing

The bullet pierced my true love's breast

In life's young spring so early

And there upon my breast she died

While soft wind shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain stream

And many's the summer blossom

I placed with branches soft and green

About her gore-stained bosom

I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse

Then rushed o'er vale and valley

My vengeance on the foe to wreak

While soft wind shook the barley

'Twas blood for blood without remorse

I've taken at Oulart Hollow

I placed my true love's clay-cold corpse

Where mine full soon may follow

Around her grave I wondered drear

Noon, night and morning early

With aching heart when e'er I hear

The wind that shakes the barley

Melrose Tower

(Walter Scott "THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN")

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'er looks upon the sun;

There is a monk in Melrose tower,

He speaketh word to none;

That nun who ne'er beholds the day,

That monk who speaks to none—

That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,

That monk the bold Baron.

Tarry trowsers

One fine morning as I was walking,

The weather being bright and clear,

I overheard a tender mother,

Talking to her daughter dear.

"Daughter, I would have you marry,

No longer lead a single life."

"O no," said she, "I'd rather tarry,

For my jolly sailor bright."

"Sailors they are given to roving,

Into foreign parts they go;

Then they leave you broken-hearted,

Full of sorrow, grief and woe."

"Mother, would you have me wed a farmer,

Take from me my heart's delight!

Give me the lad whose tarry tarry trowsers

Shine to my eyes like diamonds bright."

Dark Lake

(From R. Southey poetry)

High on a rock whose castled shade darkened the lake below,

In ancient strength majestic stood the tower

The fisher in the lake below

Durst never cast his net, nor ever swallow in its waves

Her passing wings would wet.

The cattle from its ominous banks

In wild alarm would run, though parched with thirst, and faint beneath the summer

For sometimes when no passing breeze

The long lank sedges waved, All white with foam, and heaving high

Its deafening billows raved;

Three Nights

(Walter Scott "THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN")

'My lady each night sought the lonely light

That burns on the wild Watchfold;

To the eiry Beacon Hill.

'I watch'd her steps, and silent came

Where she sat her on a stone;

No watchman stood by the dreary flame,

It burned all alone.

'The second night I kept her in sight

Till to the fire she came,

And, by Mary's might! an armed Knight

Stood by the lonely flame.

'And many a word that warlike lord

Did speak to my lady there;

'The third night there the sky was fair,

And the mountain-blast was still,

As again I watch'd the secret pair

On the lonesome Beacon Hill.

On Beacon Hill

(Walter Scott "THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN")

"Come this night to thy lady's bower;

Ask no bold Baron's leave.

'"He lifts his spear with the truth;

His lady is all alone;

The door she'll undo to her knight so true

On the eve of good Saint John."

'"I cannot come, I must not come,

I dare not come to thee;

On the eve of good Saint John I must wander alone,."

'"Now out on thee, fainthearted knight!

Thou shouldst not say me nay;

For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet

Is worth the whole summer's day.

'"And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,

And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;

So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy Saint John,

I conjure thee, my love, to be there!"

"Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,

And the warder his bugle should not blow,

Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,

And my footstep he would know.

' "О fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east,

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en;

And there to say mass, till three days do pass,

For the soul of a knight that is slayne."

"He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight

May as well say mass for me.

'"At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,

In thy chamber will I be."

With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,

And no more did I see.'

Dance Song

(A Maypole Haste Away)

Come ye young men come along

With your music, dance, and song

Bring your lasses in your hands

For tis that which love commands

Chorus:

Then to the maypole haste away

For tis now our holiday

Then to the maypole haste away

For tis now our holiday

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 1092