 | Later Poems |  |
38
A Mill Ballad
In the heart of a country wild,
Where the unbelievers be,
Was a king so good and wise,—
Long, long ago lived he:
He was kind as a father is,
And rich as the earth, ywis.
Where the unbelievers be,
Was a king so good and wise,—
Long, long ago lived he:
He was kind as a father is,
And rich as the earth, ywis.
Turn the mill, turn the mill, Fack;
Not yet have I filled my sack.
Not yet have I filled my sack.
But his subjects they rebelled
Against his majesty,
And drove him from the throne,
Nobody knoweth why:
From town to town he past;
A mill his shelter at last.
Against his majesty,
And drove him from the throne,
Nobody knoweth why:
From town to town he past;
A mill his shelter at last.
Turn the mill, turn the mill, Fack;
Not yet have I filled my sack.
Not yet have I filled my sack.
Nor glory nor fear had he,
This king, as he worked alway;
No murmur lived on his lips;
This miller he sang all day;
All night he slumbered deep:
Of yore could he never sleep.
This king, as he worked alway;
No murmur lived on his lips;
This miller he sang all day;
All night he slumbered deep:
Of yore could he never sleep.
Turn the mill, turn the mill, Fack;
Not yet have I filled my sack.
Not yet have I filled my sack.
39
But once on a day there came
Of those who had driven him away,
A host of folk to his cote,
For changeable souls are they:
“Take back the crown for thine head!”
“Nay! I give it to you instead!”
Of those who had driven him away,
A host of folk to his cote,
For changeable souls are they:
“Take back the crown for thine head!”
“Nay! I give it to you instead!”
Turn the mill, turn the mill, Fack;
Not yet have I filled my sack.
Not yet have I filled my sack.
“My wife is a miller's wife,
And millers my sons shall be:
The water runs in the stream:
The corn in the field grows free:
All else doth change,” he said;
And millers my sons shall be:
The water runs in the stream:
The corn in the field grows free:
All else doth change,” he said;
Stop the mill, stop the mill, Fack;
For now have I filled my sack.
For now have I filled my sack.
| Later Poems | |