Count not Spanish ladies wayward, Though to thee my love was bent: Joy and true prosperity go still with thee!' 'The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady,' Old Ballad CXVII LITTLE WHITE LILY Little white Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little white Lily Sunshine has fed; Little white Lily Little white Lily Drest like a bride! Shining with whiteness, Little white Lily Little white Lily Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full.' Little white Lily Smells very sweet: On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. 'Thanks to the sunshine, Is happy again! G. MacDonald CXVIII MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA O sing unto my roundelay; O drop the briny tear with me ; Dance no more at holiday; Like a running river be; My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his neck as summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning light, Cold he lies in the grave below. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Sweet his tongue as throstle's note, O, he lies by the willow-tree! Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Hark! the raven flaps his wing Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. See, the white moon shines on high; Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. T. Chatterton CXIX AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islington there was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, R The wound it seem'd both sore and sad And while they swore the dog was mad, But soon a wonder came to light, The dog it was that died. O. Goldsmith CXX NONGTONGPAW John Bull for pastime took a prance, And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts. John, to the Palais-Royal come, Its splendour almost struck him dumb. I say, whose house is that there here?' 'House! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.' 'What, Nongtongpaw again!' cries John; 'This fellow is some mighty Don: No doubt he's plenty for the maw, I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw.' John saw Versailles from Marli's height, |