O, O, the waving sky, the white sky-- My snow-bird, thou fliest far; O, O the eagle's cry, the wild cry-- My lost love, my lonely star.

O, O my snow-bird!

THE SCARLET HILLS

Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills-- (Little gold sun, come out of the dawn.) There we will meet in the cedar groves-- (Shining white dew, come down.) There is a bed where you sleep so sound, The little good folk of the Hills will guard, Till the morning wakes and your love comes home-- (Fly away, heart, to the Scarlet Hills.)

THE WOODSMAN LOVER

High in a nest of the tam'rac tree, Swing under, so free, and swing over; Swing under the sun and swing over the world, My snow-bird, my gay little lover-- My gay little lover, don, don! . . . don, don!

When the winter is done I will come back home, To the nest swinging under and over, Swinging under and over and waiting for me, Your rover, my snow-bird, your lover-- My lover and rover, don, don! . . . don, don!

QUI VIVE

Qui vive!

Who is it cries in the dawn, Cries when the stars go down?

Who is it comes through the mist, The mist that is fine like lawn, The mist like an angel's gown?

Who is it comes in the dawn?

Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.

Qui vive!

Who is it pa.s.seth us by, Still in the dawn and the mist-- Tall seigneur of the dawn, A two-edged sword at his thigh, A shield of gold at his wrist?

Who is it hurrieth by?

Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.

Qui vive!

Who saileth into the morn, Out of the wind of the dawn?

"Follow, oh, follow me on!"

Calleth a distant horn.

He is here--he is there--he is gone, Tall seigneur of the dawn!

Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn.

THE LITTLE HOUSE

I

Children, the house is empty, The house behind the tall hill; Lonely and still is the empty house.

There is no face in the doorway, There is no fire in the chimney-- Come and gather beside the gate, Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.

Where has the wild dog vanished?

Where has the swift foot gone?

Where is the hand that found the good fruit, That made a garret of wholesome herbs?

Where is the voice that awoke the morn, The tongue that defied the terrible beasts?

Come and listen beside the door, Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.

II

Sorrowful is the little house, The little house by the winding stream; All the laughter has died away Out of the little house.

But down there come from the lofty hills Footsteps and eyes agleam, Bringing the laughter of yesterday Into the little house, By the winding stream and the hills.

Di ron, di ron, di ron-don!

III

What is there like to the cry of the bird That sings in its nest in the lilac tree?

A voice the sweetest you ever have heard; It is there, it is here, ci, ci!

It is there, it is here, it must roam and roam, And wander from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Till I travel the hills and bring it home, And enter and close my door-- Row along, row along home, ci, ci!

What is there like to the laughing star, Far up from the lilac tree?

A face that's brighter and finer far; It laughs and it shines, ci, ci!

It laughs and it shines, it must roam and roam, And travel from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Till I get me forth and bring it home, And house it within my door-- Row along, row along home, ci, ci!

SPINNING

Spin, spin, belle Mergaton!

The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, And your wedding-gown you must put it on Ere the night hath no moon in the sky Gigoton, Mergaton, spin!