Eversley, 1853.

BALLAD OF EARL HALDAN’S DAUGHTER

   It was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
      She looked across the sea;
   She looked across the water;
      And long and loud laughed she: 
   ’The locks of six princesses
      Must be my marriage fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat! 
      Who comes a wooing me?’

   It was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
      She walked along the sand;
   When she was aware of a knight so fair,
      Came sailing to the land. 
   His sails were all of velvet,
      His mast of beaten gold,
And ’Hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat! 
      Who saileth here so bold?’

   ’The locks of five princesses
      I won beyond the sea;
   I clipt their golden tresses,
      To fringe a cloak for thee. 
   One handful yet is wanting,
      But one of all the tale;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat! 
      Furl up thy velvet sail!’

   He leapt into the water,
      That rover young and bold;
   He gript Earl Haldan’s daughter,
      He clipt her locks of gold: 
   ’Go weep, go weep, proud maiden,
      The tale is full to-day. 
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat! 
      Sail Westward ho! away!’

Devonshire, 1854
   From Westward Ho!

FRANK LEIGH’S SONG.  A.D. 1586

Ah tyrant Love, Megaera’s serpents bearing,
   Why thus requite my sighs with venom’d smart? 
Ah ruthless dove, the vulture’s talons wearing,
   Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart? 
Is this my meed?  Must dragons’ teeth alone
In Venus’ lawns by lovers’ hands be sown?

Nay, gentlest Cupid; ’twas my pride undid me;
   Nay, guiltless dove; by mine own wound I fell. 
To worship, not to wed, Celestials bid me: 
   I dreamt to mate in heaven, and wake in hell;
For ever doom’d, Ixion-like, to reel
On mine own passions’ ever-burning wheel.

Devonshire, 1854. 
   From Westward Ho!

ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND

Welcome, wild North-easter. 
   Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
   Ne’er a verse to thee. 
Welcome, black North-easter! 
   O’er the German foam;
O’er the Danish moorlands,
   From thy frozen home. 
Tired we are of summer,
   Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
   Hot and breathless air. 
Tired of listless dreaming,
   Through the lazy day: 
Jovial wind of winter
   Turns us out to play! 
Sweep the golden reed-beds;
   Crisp the lazy dyke;
Hunger into madness
   Every plunging pike. 
Fill the lake with wild-fowl;
   Fill the marsh with snipe;
While on dreary moorlands
   Lonely curlew pipe. 
Through the black fir-forest