_(A Country Dance)_
_Queen Bess was Harry"s daughter. Stand forward partners all!
She danced King Philip down-a down, And left her shoe to show "twas true-- (The very tune I"m playing you) In Norgem at Brickwall!_
The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old, Her petticoat was satin, and her stomacher was gold.
Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pa.s.s, Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-gla.s.s.
The cruel looking-gla.s.s that will never show a la.s.s As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!
_Queen Bess was Harry"s daughter. Now hand your partners all!_ The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair.
There came Queen Mary"s spirit and It stood behind her chair.
Singing, "Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pa.s.s, But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-gla.s.s.
The cruel looking-gla.s.s that will never show a la.s.s As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!"
_Queen Bess was Harry"s daughter.--Now turn your partners all!_ The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore.
There came Lord Leicester"s spirit and It scratched upon the door, Singing, "Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pa.s.s, But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-gla.s.s.
The cruel looking-gla.s.s that will never show a la.s.s As hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!"
_Queen Bess was Harry"s daughter. Now kiss your partners all!_
The Queen was in her chamber; her sins were on her head.
She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said:-- Backwards and forwards and sideways though I"ve been, Yet I am Harry"s daughter and I am England"s Queen!"
And she faced the looking-gla.s.s (and whatever else there was), And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pa.s.s In the cruel looking-gla.s.s, that can always hurt a la.s.s More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!
THE QUEEN"S MEN
Valour and Innocence Have latterly gone hence To certain death by certain shame attended.
Envy--ah! even to tears!-- The fortune of their years Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended.
Scarce had they lifted up Life"s full and fiery cup, Than they had set it down untouched before them.
Before their day arose They beckoned it to close-- Close in confusion and destruction o"er them.
They did not stay to ask What prize should crown their task, Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for; But pa.s.sed into eclipse, Her kiss upon their lips-- Even Belphoebe"s, whom they gave their lives for!
THE CITY OF SLEEP
Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams.
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams-- Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, And the sick may forget to-weep?
But we--pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us!-- We must go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep!
Weary they turn from the scroll and crown, Fetter and prayer and plough-- They that go up to the Merciful Town, For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night Body and soul to steep, But we--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!-- We must go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep!
Over the edge of the purple down, Ere the tender dreams begin, Look--we may look--at the Merciful Towns But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall Back to our watch we creep: We--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!-- We that go back with Policeman Day-- Back from the City of Sleep!
THE WIDOWER
For a season there must be pain-- For a little, little s.p.a.ce I shall lose the sight of her face, Take back the old life again While She is at rest in her place.
For a season this pain must endure-- For a little, little while I shall sigh more often than smile, Till Time shall work me a cure, And the pitiful days beguile.
For that season we must be apart, For a little length of years, Till my life"s last hour nears, And, above the beat of my heart, I hear Her voice in my ears.
But I shall not understand-- Being set on some later love, Shall not know her for whom I strove, Till she reach me forth her hand, Saying, "Who but I have the right?"
And out of a troubled night Shall draw me safe to the land.
THE PRAYER OF MIRIAM COHEN
From the wheel and the drift of Things Deliver us, Good Lord, And we will face the wrath of Kings, The f.a.ggot and the sword!
Lay not Thy Works before our eyes, Nor vex us with Thy Wars, Lest we should feel the straining skies O"ertrod by trampling stars.
Hold us secure behind the gates Of saving flesh and bone, Lest we should dream what dream awaits The soul escaped alone.
Thy Path, Thy Purposes conceal From our beleaguered realm, Lest any shattering whisper steal Upon us and o"erwhelm.
A veil "twixt us and Thee, Good Lord, A veil "twixt us and Thee, Lest we should hear too clear, too clear, And unto madness see!
THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER
Ere Mor the Peac.o.c.k flutters, ere the Monkey People cry, Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer, Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh-- He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he pa.s.ses even now-- He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!