And we between her wings will sit, while Night PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. XXXIV MY BONNY MARY Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, A service to my bonnie lassie. Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonny Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The battle closes thick and bloody; It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary! XXXV BALLAD OF THE BIRD-BRIDE (ESKIMO) THEY never come back, though I loved them well; I watch the South in vain ; The snow-bound skies are blear and gray, And she comes never again. Years agone, on the flat, white strand, Wrapped in my coat of the snow-white fur, One, the greatest of all the flock, Perched on an ice-floe bare, Called and cried as her heart were broke, And straight they were changed, that fleet bird-folk, To women young and fair. Swift I sprang from my hiding-place, And held the fairest fast; I held her fast, the sweet, strange thing: I bore her safe to my warm snow house; And yet, whenever the shrill winds blew, But I took her to wife, and clothed her warm Her wandering glances sank to rest When she held a babe to her fair, warm breast, And she loved me dear and leal. Together we tracked the fox and the seal, And at her behest I swore That bird and beast my bow might slay A weariful watch I kept for aye 'Mid the snow and the changeless frost : Woe is me for my broken word! Have ye forgotten the old keen life? Once the quarry was scarce and shy, Sharp hunger gnawed us sore, My spoken oath was clean forgot, My bow twanged thrice with a swift, straight shot, And slew me sea-gulls four. The sun hung red on the sky's dull breast, The snow was wet and red; Her voice shrilled out in a woeful cry, She beat her long white arms on high, "The hour is here," she said. E 50 She beat her arms, and she cried full fain They ran to her side, our children three, "Babes of mine, of the wild wind's kin, Oh, oho! but the wild winds blow! Up, dear hearts, and away! And lo! the gray plumes covered them all, I felt the wind of their whirling flight: Dear, will you never relent, come back? O winged white wife, and our children three, Ay, ye once were mine, and, till I forget, And the skies are blear and gray. GRAHAM ROSAMUND TOMSON. XXXVI JOCK OF HAZELDEAN "WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa', "Now let this wilful grief be done, His sword in battle keen". But aye she loot the tears down fa', "A chain o' gold ye sall not lack, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen' دو But aye she loot the tears down fa', |