Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
The Miller.
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
The Miller.
Ho! for the stone that crushes;
Hey! for the whirling sail;
When the old mill shakes in every plank
Like a vessel in the gale.
Hey! for the blast that driveth
The ponderous mill-wheel round,
When of the snow-storm showering
We hear the mellow sound.
Hey! for the whirling sail;
When the old mill shakes in every plank
Like a vessel in the gale.
Hey! for the blast that driveth
The ponderous mill-wheel round,
When of the snow-storm showering
We hear the mellow sound.
Hey! for the winds of Winter,
When it never bloweth ill;
For in idle breeze of Summer
The miller sitteth still.
In the dull, grey night,—the long, long night,
When the frost is on the earth,
A weary man's the miller
As he sitteth by his hearth.
When it never bloweth ill;
For in idle breeze of Summer
The miller sitteth still.
In the dull, grey night,—the long, long night,
When the frost is on the earth,
A weary man's the miller
As he sitteth by his hearth.
Hey! for the roaring hurricane
That tears the forest tree:
Ah! the savage din of tempest
Is the miller's melody.
All night in wild December,
The whole cold night along,
O'er the buzz within and the roar without
Is heard the miller's song.
That tears the forest tree:
Ah! the savage din of tempest
Is the miller's melody.
All night in wild December,
The whole cold night along,
O'er the buzz within and the roar without
Is heard the miller's song.
When the bare bleak moor is lying
All white beneath the moon,
The north wind roars a thunder bass
To the lonely miller's tune.
When the mill-sails wild are tossing,
Like a spirit's arms on high,
Like the arms of one beseeching
Help from the murky sky—
All white beneath the moon,
The north wind roars a thunder bass
To the lonely miller's tune.
When the mill-sails wild are tossing,
Like a spirit's arms on high,
Like the arms of one beseeching
Help from the murky sky—
Help from the savage fury
Of the wind that flies above—
The wind that the blanched miller
Can never choose but love.
Hey! for the stout nor'-wester
That shatters the cottage pane:
The wind is the miller's vassal
That grinds his golden grain.
Of the wind that flies above—
The wind that the blanched miller
Can never choose but love.
Hey! for the stout nor'-wester
That shatters the cottage pane:
The wind is the miller's vassal
That grinds his golden grain.
209
It may rush o'er distant mountains,
It may roar across the hill;
It may hurry along the blasted moor,
But first it drives the mill.
Summer's a weary season,
And dull the sunny earth;
The grey cold eve of Winter
Is the time for the miller's mirth.
It may roar across the hill;
It may hurry along the blasted moor,
But first it drives the mill.
Summer's a weary season,
And dull the sunny earth;
The grey cold eve of Winter
Is the time for the miller's mirth.
The miller is no coward,
Though he's pale as a frightened maid;
His cheek's as red as the crimson rose
In a snowy robe arrayed.
Oh! all night long when the piping wind
Is whistling loud without,
'Tween the bars of the old mill window
At the stars he looketh out.
Though he's pale as a frightened maid;
His cheek's as red as the crimson rose
In a snowy robe arrayed.
Oh! all night long when the piping wind
Is whistling loud without,
'Tween the bars of the old mill window
At the stars he looketh out.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |