We watched it glide from the silver sands, | A scar, brought from some well-won field, And all our sunshine grew strangely Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. dark. JEAN INGELOW. If it be long, aye, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF Againe I hear the Lindis flow, LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571.) THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pulled before; Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. "Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe The Brides of Enderby.' Men say it was a stolen tyde — The Lord that sent it, he knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall: And there was naught of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the old sea wall. Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; And all the aire it seemeth me Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. JEAN INGELOW. Then some looked uppe into the sky, What danger lowers by land or sea? "For evil news from Mablethorpe, But while the west bin red to see, I looked without, and lo! my sonne main, He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth! (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) "The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" "Good sonne, where Lindis winds away With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song.' With that he cried and beat his breast; And uppe the Lindis raging sped. And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 281 Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by: I marked the lofty beacon-light Stream from the church-tower, red and high, A lurid mark and dread to see; And awesome bells they were to mee, They rang the sailor-lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed, And I my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed: And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O come in life, or come in death! O lost my love, Elizabeth." And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. The pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith). And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more From the meads where melick groweth, Here's two bonny boys, and here's I pray you hear my song of a boat, mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedgesparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow," Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks on you now. For it is but short: My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, Long I looked out for the lad she bore, For he came not back to me Ah me! A song of a nest :There was once a nest in a hollow; Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, Soft and warm and full to the brim. I pray you hear my song of a nest, You shall never light in a summer quest |