THE THREE FISHERS. CHARLES KINGSLEY. THREE fishers went sailing out into the West— Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the rack it came rolling up ragged and brown. But men must work and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbor bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are watching and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the town; For men must work, and women must weep, PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. WALTER SCOTT. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Wake thy wild voice anew, Come from deep glen and The war-pipe and pennon True heart that wears one; Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterred, Broadswords and targes. Fast they come, fast they come, Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset! THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BÉRANGER. ANONYMOUS, In the evening, I sit near my poker and tongs, And I dream in the firelight's glow, And sometimes I quaver forgotten old songs That I listened to long ago. Then out of the cinders there cometh a chirp Like an echoing, answering cry, — Little we care for the outside world, My friend the cricket, and I. For my cricket has learnt, I am sure of it quite, And perhaps he's been beaten and hurt in the fight, Perhaps he has loved, and perhaps he has lost, And tired of life's torrent, so turbid and tost, SONG: ON MAY MORNING. JOHN MILTON. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire TURN, FORTUNE, TURN THY WHEEL! ALFRED TENNYSON. TURN, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud; Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm and cloud! Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd! TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. JOHN SKELTON. MERRY Margaret As midsummer flower Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower; |