 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
SONG.
Yes, we are lowly, and weak, and frail;
We shrink from the tempest, we bend in the gale,
But the stormy wind and the beating rain
Last not for ever;—the blue domain
Of the sun soon shineth with smiles again:
When the shadow hath vanished from meadow and lea,
Then who so gay and so glad as we?
We shrink from the tempest, we bend in the gale,
But the stormy wind and the beating rain
Last not for ever;—the blue domain
Of the sun soon shineth with smiles again:
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Then who so gay and so glad as we?
All things do love us—the wandering bee,
When he seeketh for blossoms that sweetest be,
Hovering amongst us, or whirling away,
Hath ever some gentle word to say;
E'en the merry lark, though heavenward springing,
Thinketh of us in his rarest singing;
And the merle's last lay, at the evening hour,
Is a lullaby to each folding flower.
When he seeketh for blossoms that sweetest be,
Hovering amongst us, or whirling away,
Hath ever some gentle word to say;
E'en the merry lark, though heavenward springing,
Thinketh of us in his rarest singing;
And the merle's last lay, at the evening hour,
Is a lullaby to each folding flower.
All things do love us—on mossy stone
The little maiden sitteth alone,
And softly smileth, the while she tells
Over her treasure of buds and bells;
And the baby greets us with gleesome eyes,
And croweth loud in his glad surprise,
For he dreams he hath found the stars so bright,
That he saw, and longed for, yesternight.
All things do love us—when day is past,
And her myriad voices are hushed at last,
When the ladye moon peeps over the mountain,
To look at her pale cold face in the fountain,
And a hush in the wood's deep heart doth reign,
From their sparry palaces, subterrain,
Come forth the fairies, and brownies, and all
The elfin folk, to their festival.
The little maiden sitteth alone,
And softly smileth, the while she tells
Over her treasure of buds and bells;
And the baby greets us with gleesome eyes,
And croweth loud in his glad surprise,
For he dreams he hath found the stars so bright,
That he saw, and longed for, yesternight.
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And her myriad voices are hushed at last,
When the ladye moon peeps over the mountain,
To look at her pale cold face in the fountain,
And a hush in the wood's deep heart doth reign,
From their sparry palaces, subterrain,
Come forth the fairies, and brownies, and all
The elfin folk, to their festival.
They crowd around us, the frolicsome throng,
They sip our honey-dew all night long;
They dance before us with antic guise,
And peer in our faces with roguish eyes;
With wild shrill laughter they gambol o'er us,
And shout in our ears their merry chorus;
But they love us well, the fairy folk,
And with constant care, ere the morn hath woke,
They search the rushes and fern alway,
And each noisome creature they bear away;
And they twist the matted boughs aside,
And the brambles and nettles that fain would hide
The sunshine from us, and pearly dew
They shake from their tender leaves anew;
Then with many a quip, and many a joke,
They sing their last song 'neath the trysting oak—
Oh, they love us well, the fairy folk!
They sip our honey-dew all night long;
They dance before us with antic guise,
And peer in our faces with roguish eyes;
With wild shrill laughter they gambol o'er us,
And shout in our ears their merry chorus;
But they love us well, the fairy folk,
And with constant care, ere the morn hath woke,
They search the rushes and fern alway,
And each noisome creature they bear away;
And they twist the matted boughs aside,
And the brambles and nettles that fain would hide
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They shake from their tender leaves anew;
Then with many a quip, and many a joke,
They sing their last song 'neath the trysting oak—
Oh, they love us well, the fairy folk!
All things do love us—thrice happy we,
With no thought of the winter to tame our glee;
And though we be lowly, and weak, and frail,
Though we shrink from the tempest, and bend in the gale,
Yet a spell of magic and might is ours,
For all things do love us—thrice happy flowers!
With no thought of the winter to tame our glee;
And though we be lowly, and weak, and frail,
Though we shrink from the tempest, and bend in the gale,
Yet a spell of magic and might is ours,
For all things do love us—thrice happy flowers!
| Beads from a Rosary | |