THE SAILOR. A ROMAIC BALLAD. THOU that hast a daughter For one to woo and wed, Give her to a husband With snow upon his head; O, give her to an old man, Though little joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea! How luckless is the sailor He sees no tender mother, No sweetheart standing by. Only the captain speaks to him : "Stand up, stand up, young man! And steer the ship to haven, As none beside thee can." Thou say'st to me, "Stand up, stand up!" I say to thee, Take hold! Lift me a little from the deck; My hands and feet are cold. And let my head, I pray thee, With handkerchiefs be bound; THE SAILOR. There! take my love's gold handkerchief, Now bring the chart, the doleful chart; Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safe The little anchor on the right, And now to thee, O captain, For there will come the sailors; Farewell, my love, for to thy bay WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. THE MERRY CHASSEUR. O, a gallant sans-peur Is the merry chasseur, With his fanfaron horn, and his rifle, ping-pang! And his grand haversack Of gold on his back: His pistol, cric-crac! And his sword, cling-clang! O, to see him blithe and gay From some hot and bloody day, Come to dance the night away till the bugle blows "au rang!" With a wheel and a whirl, And a wheeling waltzing girl, And his bow, "place aux dames!" and his oath, "feu et sang!" And his hop and his fling, Till his gold and silver ring To the clatter and the clash of his sword, cling-clang! But hark! Through the dark Up goes the well-known shout! The drums beat the turn-out! Cut short your courting, Monsieur l'Amant! Saddle! mount! march! trot! Down comes the storm of shot! The foe is at the charge! En avant! DELIGHT IN DISORDER. His jolly haversack Of gold is on his back; Hear his pistol, cric-crac! hear his rifle, ping-pang! Vive l'Empereur! And where's the chasseur ? He's in Among the din, Steel to steel-cling-clang! SYDNEY DOBELL. DELIGHT IN DISORDER. A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : A lawn about the shoulders, thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there A cuff neglectful, and thereby A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoestring, in whose tie I see a wild civility; Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part. ROBERT HERRICK. |