Replunged me in the cold, dear, And I feel so very old, dear, Very, very old! Would they put me out of pain, dear, Out of all my pain, Since I may not live again, dear, Never live again! I am lying in the grave, love, In thy little grave, Yet I hear the wind rave, love, And the wild wave! I would lie asleep, darling, With thee lie asleep, Unhearing the world weep, darling, Little children weep! O my little child! II-THE KING AND THE PEASANT. W WORLD-WIDE possessions, populous lands And lordlier kingdoms he commands, Fair realms within the spirit. The monarch had a little son, A child of five years old, The loveliest earth ere looked upon; The king is in the olive grove, The father beats the boughs, and while Dark oval olives fly, The boy, with many a laugh and smile, Pursues them far and nigh. Blue sea between the grey-green leaves Twinkles, and the sun Through them a playful chequer weaves Over the little one. The monarch gazes all unseen, As through black bars that foul the day, Hear the world-envied monarch say, "6 Perish, my bauble crown, my toy, All the science, all the sway, Were as I am, a king, of misery!" III-MUSIC AND THE CHILD. AN I. N organ-player comes rarely round To our lone moorland place; My darling at the welcome sound Runs with laughter in his face To the nursery window, hailing, With melodious mirth unfailing, The sunburnt, black-bearded man, Who greets him in Italian. Then he brings and sets a chair, Humming over every air, Feigns to turn a handle deftly, Feigns to talk Italian swiftly, Fair in little blouse of blue, Sweet of heart and form and hue. II. Pale, my love, with dews of anguish A rill of music from afar : III. Baby lies upon the bed, And our hearts with him lie dead. Than earth's fairest flowers are! ... Draws again the organ near IV. When the little child was going, While upon death's wave he drifted, On our earth-shore he heard his mother, And pure angels on the other; We and they hearing the low voice of him who travelled Between us, darkling, a wee pilgrim who the mystery unravelled! Even so she sang to him, While his lovely eyes grew dim, Now it is more strange and deep. "Jesus," he murmured, hearing the Lord call : "Fear not, My darling, on My heart to fall!" Then in the depth of our despair, A vision found me lying there. Before the swoop of Death's dark wing, For him who shall return no more! But I dreamt that she and I Disused and broken. Then it seemed |