From The Water-Babies. 1862

THE SUMMER SEA

   Soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding,
Waft thy silver cloud webs athwart the summer sea;
   Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining
Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.

   Deep deep Love, within thine own abyss abiding,
Pour Thyself abroad, O Lord, on earth and air and sea;
   Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding,
Shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me.

From The Water-Babies. 1862

MY LITTLE DOLL

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
   The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
   And her hair was so charmingly curled. 
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
   As I played in the heath one day;
And I cried for more than a week, dears,
   But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,
   As I played in the heath one day: 
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
   For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears
   And her hair not the least bit curled: 
Yet for old sakes’ sake she is still, dears,
   The prettiest doll in the world.

From The Water-Babies. 
Eversley, 1862.

THE KNIGHT’S LEAP:  A LEGEND OF ALTENAHR

’So the foemen have fired the gate, men of mine;
   And the water is spent and gone? 
Then bring me a cup of the red Ahr-wine: 
   I never shall drink but this one.

’And reach me my harness, and saddle my horse,
   And lead him me round to the door: 
He must take such a leap to-night perforce,
   As horse never took before.

’I have fought my fight, I have lived my life,
   I have drunk my share of wine;
From Trier to Coln there was never a knight
   Led a merrier life than mine.

’I have lived by the saddle for years two score;
   And if I must die on tree,
Then the old saddle tree, which has borne me of yore,
   Is the properest timber for me.

’So now to show bishop, and burgher, and priest,
   How the Altenahr hawk can die: 
If they smoke the old falcon out of his nest,
   He must take to his wings and fly.’

He harnessed himself by the clear moonshine,
   And he mounted his horse at the door;
And he drained such a cup of the red Ahr-wine,
   As man never drained before.

He spurred the old horse, and he held him tight,
   And he leapt him out over the wall;
Out over the cliff, out into the night,
   Three hundred feet of fall.

They found him next morning below in the glen,
   With never a bone in him whole—­
A mass or a prayer, now, good gentlemen,
   For such a bold rider’s soul.