All that I wrought for, all that I fought for, Delight her nothing at all.

My crown is of withered leaves, For she sits in the dust and grieves.

_Now we are come to our Kingdom!_

TARRANT MOSS

I closed and drew for my love's sake That now is false to me, And I slew the Reiver of Tarrant Moss And set Dumeny free.

They have gone down, they have gone down, They are standing all arow-- Twenty knights in the peat-water, That never struck a blow!

Their armour shall not dull nor rust, Their flesh shall not decay, For Tarrant Moss holds them in trust, Until the Judgment Day.

Their soul went from them in their youth, Ah G.o.d, that mine had gone, Whenas I leaned on my love's truth And not on my sword alone!

Whenas I leaned on lad's belief And not on my naked blade-- And I slew a thief, and an honest thief, For the sake of a worthless maid.

They have laid the Reiver low in his place, They have set me up on high, But the twenty knights in the peat-water Are luckier than I.

And ever they give me gold and praise And ever I mourn my loss-- For I struck the blow for my false love's sake And not for the Men of the Moss!

SIR RICHARD'S SONG

(A.D. 1066)

I followed my Duke ere I was a lover, To take from England fief and fee; But now this game is the other way over-- But now England hath taken me!

I had my horse, my shield and banner, And a boy's heart, so whole and free; But now I sing in another manner-- But now England hath taken me!

As for my Father in his tower, Asking news of my ship at sea; He will remember his own hour-- Tell him England hath taken me!

As for my Mother in her bower, That rules my Father so cunningly, She will remember a maiden's power-- Tell her England hath taken me!

As for my Brother in Rouen City, A nimble and naughty page is he, But he will come to suffer and pity-- Tell him England hath taken me!

As for my little Sister waiting In the pleasant orchards of Normandie, Tell her youth is the time for mating-- Tell her England hath taken me!

As for my Comrades in camp and highway, That lift their eyebrows scornfully, Tell them their way is not my way-- Tell them England hath taken me!

Kings and Princes and Barons famed, Knights and Captains in your degree; Hear me a little before I am blamed-- Seeing England hath taken me!

Howso great man's strength be reckoned, There are two things he cannot flee; Love is the first, and Death is the second-- And Love in England hath taken me!

A TREE SONG

(A.D. 1200)

Of all the trees that grow so fair, Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun, Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs (All of a Midsummer morn)!

Surely we sing no little thing, In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oak of the Clay lived many a day Or ever aeneas began; Ash of the Loam was a lady at home When Brut was an outlaw man.

Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town (From which was London born); Witness hereby the ancientry Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Yew that is old in churchyard mould, He breedeth a mighty bow; Alder for shoes do wise men choose, And beech for cups also.

But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled, And your shoes are clean outworn, Back ye must speed for all that ye need, To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth Till every gust be laid, To drop a limb on the head of him That anyway trusts her shade: But whether a lad be sober or sad, Or mellow with ale from the horn, He will take no wrong when he lieth along 'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, Or he would call it a sin; But--we have been out in the woods all night, A-conjuring Summer in!

And we bring you news by word of mouth-- Good news for cattle and corn-- Now is the Sun come up from the South, With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs (All of a Midsummer morn)!

England shall bide till Judgment Tide, By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

CUCKOO SONG

Spring begins in Southern England on the 14th April, on which date the Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair--locally known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.

Tell it to the locked-up trees, Cuckoo, bring your song here!

Warrant, Act and Summons, please.

For Spring to pa.s.s along here!

Tell old Winter, if he doubt, Tell him squat and square--a!

Old Woman!

Old Woman!

Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out At Heffle Cuckoo Fair--a!

March has searched and April tried-- 'Tisn't long to May now, Not so far to Whitsuntide, And Cuckoo's come to stay now!

Hear the valiant fellow shout Down the orchard bare--a!

Old Woman!

Old Woman!

Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out At Heffle Cuckoo Fair--a!

When your heart is young and gay And the season rules it-- Work your works and play your play 'Fore the Autumn cools it!