Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems by the late Thomas Haynes Bayly; Edited by his Widow. With A Memoir of the Author. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| SONGS FOR WINTER NIGHTS. |
|
|
| II. |
 | Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems |  |
227
SONGS FOR WINTER NIGHTS.
I. SIGH NOT FOR SUMMER FLOWERS.
Sigh not for summer flowers;
What, though the dark sky lowers,
Welcome ye wintry hours!
Our sunshine is within.
Though to the west retreating,
Daylight so soon is fleeting,
Now happy friends are meeting,
And now their sports begin.
Sigh not for summer flowers.
What, though the dark sky lowers,
Welcome ye wintry hours!
Our sunshine is within.
Though to the west retreating,
Daylight so soon is fleeting,
Now happy friends are meeting,
And now their sports begin.
Sigh not for summer flowers.
Leaves that our path once shaded
Now lie around us faded;
Groves where we serenaded
Are desolate and chill;
Nature awhile reposes,
Art his gay realm uncloses,
Beauty displays her roses,
And we are happy still!
Sigh not for summer flowers.
Now lie around us faded;
Groves where we serenaded
Are desolate and chill;
Nature awhile reposes,
Art his gay realm uncloses,
Beauty displays her roses,
And we are happy still!
Sigh not for summer flowers.
Round us 'tis deeply snowing;
Hark! the loud tempest blowing;
See! the dark torrent flowing;
How wild the skies appear!
But can the whirlwind move us?
No! with this roof above us,
Near to the friends that love us,
We still have sunshine here.
Sigh not for summer flowers.
Hark! the loud tempest blowing;
See! the dark torrent flowing;
How wild the skies appear!
But can the whirlwind move us?
No! with this roof above us,
Near to the friends that love us,
We still have sunshine here.
Sigh not for summer flowers.
228
II. THE DARK WINTER TIME.
A goblet with gems may be shining,
Though bitter the poison within;
So gay wreaths are often entwining
The lure that entices to sin.
Oh! turn from the false tongues that flatter,
They cannot ennoble a crime.
Oh! think of the thorns they would scatter
O'er thy path, in the dark winter time.
Though bitter the poison within;
So gay wreaths are often entwining
The lure that entices to sin.
Oh! turn from the false tongues that flatter,
They cannot ennoble a crime.
Oh! think of the thorns they would scatter
O'er thy path, in the dark winter time.
The home of thy youth may be lonely,
The friends of thy youth may be cold;
The morals they teach may seem only
Fit chains for the feeble and old.
Yet, though they may fetter a spirit
That soars in the pride of its prime;
The friends of thy infancy merit
All thy love in the dark winter time.
The friends of thy youth may be cold;
The morals they teach may seem only
Fit chains for the feeble and old.
Yet, though they may fetter a spirit
That soars in the pride of its prime;
The friends of thy infancy merit
All thy love in the dark winter time.
The stranger in gems would array thee:
More pure are the braids thou hast worn;
Say—would not their lustre betray thee,
Attracting the finger of scorn?
Go—gaze once again on thy dwelling,
The porch where the wild flowers climb;
Go, pray while thy young heart is swelling,
Pray for peace in the dark winter time!
More pure are the braids thou hast worn;
Say—would not their lustre betray thee,
Attracting the finger of scorn?
Go—gaze once again on thy dwelling,
The porch where the wild flowers climb;
Go, pray while thy young heart is swelling,
Pray for peace in the dark winter time!
III. HO! HELM A-LEE.
Ho! helm a-lee! now homeward steer,
There'll be a storm to-night;
But never fear, the shore is near,
I see the beacon light.
The white foam dances on the sea,
More dark and dark it grows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!
There'll be a storm to-night;
But never fear, the shore is near,
I see the beacon light.
229
More dark and dark it grows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!
Another tack! and now again
We scud across the bay;
The sea-birds strain their wings in vain
To pass us on the way.
And now our mountain home we see,
How bright the taper glows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!
We scud across the bay;
The sea-birds strain their wings in vain
To pass us on the way.
And now our mountain home we see,
How bright the taper glows!
Ho! helm a-lee! Ho! helm a-lee!
About—about she goes!
IV. EVERGREEN TREE.
I love thee, evergreen tree!
Thou art what friendship should be;
But friendship oft is as brief
As the rose's delicate leaf.
In winter, brambles will show
Where summer's fair blossoms grow;
And sorrow too often turns
Love's roses into love's thorns!
Thou art what friendship should be;
But friendship oft is as brief
As the rose's delicate leaf.
In winter, brambles will show
Where summer's fair blossoms grow;
And sorrow too often turns
Love's roses into love's thorns!
Oh, Winter! dearly I love
Thy own dark evergreen grove;
Thy laurel the warrior wears,
It twines round the banner he bears:
Thy cypress deepens the gloom
That shades a conqueror's tomb;
Thy holly wreathed on the wall,
At Christmas, is dearer than all.
Thy own dark evergreen grove;
Thy laurel the warrior wears,
It twines round the banner he bears:
Thy cypress deepens the gloom
That shades a conqueror's tomb;
Thy holly wreathed on the wall,
At Christmas, is dearer than all.
230
V. ARE THERE TIDINGS IN YON VESSEL.
Are there tidings in yon vessel
Proudly bounding o'er the wave?
Are there tidings for a mother
Who is mourning for the brave?
No, no, no!
She is freighted with fond tidings,
But no tidings from the grave.
Proudly bounding o'er the wave?
Are there tidings for a mother
Who is mourning for the brave?
No, no, no!
She is freighted with fond tidings,
But no tidings from the grave.
Do not ask me why I hasten
To each vessel that appears;
Why I seem to cling so wildly
To one cherished hope for years;
No, no, no!
Though my search proves unvailing,
What have I to do with tears?
To each vessel that appears;
Why I seem to cling so wildly
To one cherished hope for years;
No, no, no!
Though my search proves unvailing,
What have I to do with tears?
Do not blame me when I seek him,
With these wan and weary eyes;
Can you tell me where he perished?
Can you shew me where he lies?
No, no, no!
Yet there surely is some record,
When a brave young hero dies.
With these wan and weary eyes;
Can you tell me where he perished?
Can you shew me where he lies?
No, no, no!
Yet there surely is some record,
When a brave young hero dies.
Had I watched beside his pillow,
Had I seen him on his bier;
Oh! I must have died of weeping,
But I cannot shed a tear!
No, no, no!
Let me still think I shall see him,
Let me still think he is near.
Had I seen him on his bier;
Oh! I must have died of weeping,
But I cannot shed a tear!
No, no, no!
Let me still think I shall see him,
Let me still think he is near.
231
VI. OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS.
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads,
When snow lies on the hills;
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And chrystalized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.
When snow lies on the hills;
When frost has spoiled their mossy beds,
And chrystalized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip,
Till green leaves come again.
Perhaps, in small blue diving bells,
They plunge beneath the wave;
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
That lie in coral caves.
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius,
Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.
They plunge beneath the wave;
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
That lie in coral caves.
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius,
Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.
When they return, there will be mirth,
And music in the air;
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
When green leaves come again.
And music in the air;
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
When green leaves come again.
VII. A WINTER'S NIGHT.
In fragrant Spring, the flowers of May
Throw all their sheltering folds away;
Reviving Nature waves her wand,
On every tree the leaves expand;
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.
Throw all their sheltering folds away;
Reviving Nature waves her wand,
On every tree the leaves expand;
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.
232
In Summer time, each little stem
Is deck'd with its leafy diadem;
Each rose holds fast, with a fond caress,
A captive bee in its sweet recess.
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.
Is deck'd with its leafy diadem;
Each rose holds fast, with a fond caress,
A captive bee in its sweet recess.
But mine be the hearth that blazes bright,
And a circle of friends on a winter's night.
VIII. THE MISLETOE BOUGH.
------The happiest of the happy,
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever.
Rogers.
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever.
Rogers.
The misletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.
The baron beheld, with a father's pride;
His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride;
While she, with her bright eyes, seem'd to be
The star of the goodly company.
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.
The baron beheld, with a father's pride;
His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride;
While she, with her bright eyes, seem'd to be
The star of the goodly company.
“I'm weary of dancing now;” she cried;
“Here tarry a moment—I'll hide—I'll hide!
“And, Lovell, be sure thou'rt first to trace
“The clue to my secret lurking place.”
Away she ran—and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, “Oh! where dost thou hide?
“I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.”
“Here tarry a moment—I'll hide—I'll hide!
“And, Lovell, be sure thou'rt first to trace
“The clue to my secret lurking place.”
Away she ran—and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, “Oh! where dost thou hide?
“I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.”
They sought her that night! and they sought her next day!
And they sought her in vain, when a week pass'd away!
In the highest—the lowest—the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly—but found her not.
And years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovell appear'd the children cried,
“See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.”
And they sought her in vain, when a week pass'd away!
In the highest—the lowest—the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly—but found her not.
233
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovell appear'd the children cried,
“See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.”
At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid
Was found in the castle—they raised the lid—
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!
Oh! sad was her fate!—in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring!—and, dreadful doom,
The bride lay clasp'd in her living tomb!
Was found in the castle—they raised the lid—
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!
Oh! sad was her fate!—in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring!—and, dreadful doom,
The bride lay clasp'd in her living tomb!
| Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems | |