Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free.

[Sidenote: And ever and anon throughout his future life and agony constraineth him to travel from land to land,]

Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns; And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns.

I pa.s.s, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!

The wedding-guests are there; But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are; And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that G.o.d himself Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!--

To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!

[Sidenote: And to teach by his own example, love and reverence to all things that G.o.d made and loveth.]

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us, He made and loveth all.'

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is h.o.a.r, Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.

THE VICAR OF BRAY

ANONYMOUS

In good King Charles's golden days, When loyalty no harm meant, A zealous High Churchman was I, And so I got preferment; To teach my flock I never miss'd, Kings were by G.o.d appointed; And d.a.m.n'd are those who do resist, Or touch the Lord's anointed.

And this is law, that I'll maintain, Until my dying day, sir, That whatsoever King shall reign, I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.

When royal James obtained the crown, And Pop'ry came in fashion, The penal laws I hooted down, And read the Declaration; The Church of Rome I found would fit Full well my const.i.tution; And had become a Jesuit, But for the Revolution.

When William was our King declared, To ease the nation's grievance, With this new wind about I steered, And swore to him allegiance; Old principles I did revoke, Set conscience at a distance; Pa.s.sive obedience was a joke, A jest was non-resistance.

When gracious Anne became our Queen, The Church of England's glory, Another face of things was seen, And I became a Tory; Occasional Conformists base, I d.a.m.n'd their moderation, And thought the Church in danger was, By such prevarication.

When George in pudding-time came o'er, And moderate men looked big, sir, I turned a cat-in-pan once more, And so became a Whig, sir; And thus preferment I procured, From our new faith's defender, And almost every day abjured The Pope and the Pretender.

The ill.u.s.trious house of Hanover, And Protestant succession, To these I do allegiance swear, While they can keep possession; For in my faith and loyalty I never more will falter, And George my lawful King shall be, Until the times do alter.

And this is law, that I'll maintain, Until my dying day, sir, That whatsoever King shall reign, I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE

But are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?

Ye jauds, fling by your wheel.

There's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's nae luck about the house, When our gudeman's awa'.

Is this a time to think o' wark, When Colin's at the door?

Rax down my cloak--I'll to the key, And see him come ash.o.r.e.

Rise up and make a clean fireside, Put on the mickle pat; Gie little Kate her cotton goun, And Jock his Sunday's coat.

And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their stockins white as snaw; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman-- He likes to see them braw.

There are twa hens into the crib, Hae fed this month and mair, Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare.

Bring down to me my bigonet, My bishop's sattin gown, For I maun tell the bailie's wife, That Colin's come to town.

My Turkey slippers I'll put on, My stockins pearl blue-- It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he's baith leal and true.

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his tongue; His breath's like caller air; His very fit has music in 't As he comes up the stair.

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought: In troth, I'm like to greet.

THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME

ANONYMOUS

I'm lonesome since I cross'd the hill, And o'er the moor and valley; Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill, Since parting with my Sally.

I seek no more the fine or gay, For each does but remind me How swift the hours did pa.s.s away, With the girl I've left behind me.

Oh, ne'er shall I forget the night The stars were bright above me, And gently lent their silv'ry light When first she vowed to love me.

But now I'm bound to Brighton camp Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me, And send me safely back again To the girl I've left behind me.