Part 8

I hear a twittering of birds, And now they burst in song. How sweet, although it wants the words! It shall not want them long, For I will set some to the note Which bubbles from the thrush's throat.

O jewelled night, that reign'st on high, Where is thy crescent moon? Thy stars have faded from the sky, The sun is coming soon. The summer night is passed away, Sing welcome to the summer day.

CAIRNSMILL DEN--TUNE: 'A ROVING'

As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown, With love o'erthrown, with love o'erthrown, And this is truth I tell, As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown, Was sadly walking all alone,

I met my love one morning In Cairnsmill Den. One morning, one morning, One blue and blowy morning, I met my love one morning In Cairnsmill Den.

A dead bough broke within the wood Within the wood, within the wood, And this is truth I tell. A dead bough broke within the wood, And I looked up, and there she stood.

I asked what was it brought her there, What brought her there, what brought her there, And this is truth I tell. I asked what was it brought her there. Says she, 'To pull the primrose fair.'

Says I, 'Come, let me pull with you, Along with you, along with you,' And this is truth I tell. Says I, 'Come let me pull with you, For one is not so good as two.'

But when at noon we climbed the hill, We climbed the hill, we climbed the hill, And this is truth I tell. But when at noon we climbed the hill, Her hands and mine were empty still.

And when we reached the top so high, The top so high, the top so high, And this is truth I tell. And when we reached the top so high Says I, 'I'll kiss you, if I die!'

I kissed my love in Cairnsmill Den, In Cairnsmill Den, in Cairnsmill Den, And this is truth I tell. I kissed my love in Cairnsmill Den, And my love kissed me back again.

I met my love one morning In Cairnsmill Den. One morning, one morning, One blue and blowy morning, I met my love one morning In Cairnsmill Den.

A LOST OPPORTUNITY

One dark, dark night--it was long ago, The air was heavy and still and warm-- It fell to me and a man I know, To see two girls to their father's farm.

There was little seeing, that I recall: We seemed to grope in a cave profound. They might have come by a painful fall, Had we not helped them over the ground.

The girls were sisters. Both were fair, But mine was the fairer (so I say). The dark soon severed us, pair from pair, And not long after we lost our way.

We wandered over the country-side, And we frightened most of the sheep about, And I do not think that we greatly tried, Having lost our way, to find it out.

The night being fine, it was not worth while. We strayed through furrow and corn and grass We met with many a fence and stile, And a quickset hedge, which we failed to pass.

At last we came on a road she knew; She said we were near her father's place. I heard the steps of the other two, And my heart stood still for a moment's space.

Then I pleaded, 'Give me a good-night kiss.' I have learned, but I did not know in time, The fruits that hang on the tree of bliss Are not for cravens who will not climb.

We met all four by the farmyard gate, We parted laughing, with half a sigh, And home we went, at a quicker rate, A shorter journey, my friend and I.

When we reached the house, it was late enough, And many impertinent things were said, Of time and distance, and such dull stuff, But we said little, and went to bed.

We went to bed, but one at least Went not to sleep till the black turned grey, And the sun rose up, and the light increased, And the birds awoke to a summer day.

And sometimes now, when the nights are mild, And the moon is away, and no stars shine, I wander out, and I go half-wild, To think of the kiss which was not mine.

Let great minds laugh at a grief so small, Let small minds laugh at a fool so great. Kind maidens, pity me, one and all. Shy youths, take warning by this my fate.

THE CAGED THRUSH

Alas for the bird who was born to sing! They have made him a cage; they have clipped his wing; They have shut him up in a dingy street, And they praise his singing and call it sweet. But his heart and his song are saddened and filled With the woods, and the nest he never will build, And the wild young dawn coming into the tree, And the mate that never his mate will be. And day by day, when his notes are heard They freshen the street--but alas for the bird

MIDNIGHT