66

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain;

For violets plucked the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again."

66

Oh,
, say not so, thou holy friar,

I

pray thee say not so;

For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again? Will he ne'er come again?

Ah, no! he is dead and laid in his grave, Forever to remain.

"His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he;

But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!"

"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more;
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy ;

For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer-trees were leafy."

306

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

"Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not so;

My love he had the truest heart,

Oh, he was ever true!

"And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth,

And didst thou die for me?

Then, farewell home; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay.”

"Yet stay, fair lady, rest awhile
Beneath this cloister wall;

See, through the hawthorn blows the wind,

And drizzly rain doth fall."

"Oh, stay me not, thou holy friar,

Oh, stay me not, I pray!
No drizzly rain that falls on me

Can wash my fault away."

"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray
Thy own true-love appears.

Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought,

And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

"But haply, for my year of grace
Is not yet passed away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy,
Once more unto my heart;

For since I've found thee, lovely youth,

We never more will part."

PERCY,

308

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind!

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude!

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh, ho sing heigh, ho! unto the green holly, Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then heigh, ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly!

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky!
Thou dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot!

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not.

Heigh, ho! etc., etc.

SHAKESPEARE

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheer❜ly smiled the morn;
And many a dog, and many a hound,
Attend Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a louder cheer;
"Come, Gelert! why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?

"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam,

The flower of all his race?

That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart or hare,

And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.