The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 230 : LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep!It grieves me sor

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT

Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep!

It grieves me sore to see thee weep.

Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad, Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: Balow my boy, thy mother's joy, Thy father breeds me great annoy-- Balow, la-low!

When he began to court my love, And with his sugared words me move, His feignings false and flattering cheer To me that time did not appear: But now I see most cruelly He cares ne for my babe nor me-- Balow, la-low!

Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile, And when thou wak'st thou'll sweetly smile: But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids: nay, G.o.d forbid!

But yet I fear thou wilt go near Thy father's heart and face to bear-- Balow, la-low!

I cannot choose but ever will Be loving to thy father still; Where'er he go, where'er he ride, My love with him doth still abide; In weal or woe, where'er he go, My heart shall ne'er depart him fro-- Balow, la-low!

But do not, do not, pretty mine, To feignings false thy heart incline!

Be loyal to thy lover true, And never change her for a new: If good or fair, of her have care For women's banning's wondrous sair-- Balow, la-low!

Bairn, by thy face I will beware; Like Sirens' words, I'll come not near; My babe and I together will live; He'll comfort me when cares do grieve.

My babe and I right soft will lie, And ne'er respect man's cruelty-- Balow, la-low!

Farewell, farewell, the falsest youth That ever kissed a woman's mouth!

I wish all maids be warned by me Never to trust man's courtesy; For if we do but chance to bow, They'll use us then they care not how-- Balow, la-low!

Unknown

A WOMAN'S LOVE

A sentinel angel, sitting high in glory, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!

"I loved,--and, blind with pa.s.sionate love, I fell.

Love brought me down to death, and death to h.e.l.l; For G.o.d is just, and death for sin is well.

"I do not rage against His high decree, Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; But for my love on earth who mourns for me.

"Great Spirit! Let me see my love again And comfort him one hour, and I were fain To pay a thousand years of fire and pain."

Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent Down to the last hour of thy punishment!"

But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go!

I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.

O, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!"

The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upwards, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far.

But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing,

She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,-- She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!"

She wept, "Now let my punishment begin!

I have been fond and foolish. Let me in To expiate my sorrow and my sin."

The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher!

To be deceived in your true heart's desire Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!"

John Hay [1838-1905]

A TRAGEDY

She was only a woman, famished for loving, Mad with devotion, and such slight things; And he was a very great musician, And used to finger his fiddle-strings.

Her heart's sweet gamut is cracking and breaking For a look, for a touch,--for such slight things; But he's such a very great musician Grimacing and fingering his fiddle-strings.

Theophile Marzials [1850-

"MOTHER, I CANNOT MIND MY WHEEL"

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: O, if you felt the pain I feel!

But O, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true-- All other men may use deceit; He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet.

Walter Savage Lander [1775-1864]

AIRLY BEACON

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; O the pleasant sight to see s.h.i.+res and towns from Airly Beacon, While my love climbed up to me!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; O the happy hours we lay Deep in fern on Airly Beacon, Courting through the summer's day!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; O the weary haunt for me, All alone on Airly Beacon, With his baby on my knee!

Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]