ATHULF'S SONG. [From Death's Jest Book, Act iv.] A cypress-bough, and a rose-wreath sweet, A wedding-robe, and a winding-sheet, A bridal bed and a bier. Thine be the kisses, maid, And smiling Love's alarms; Now tremble dimples on your cheek, By her the bride-god fair, In youthful power and force; By him the grizard bare, Pale knight on a pale horse, Death and Hymen both are here, SAILORS' SONG. [From Death's Jest Book, Act i.] To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er; To sea, to sea! our wide-winged ́bark Like mighty eagle soaring light O'er antelopes on Alpine height. The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, The sails swell full. To sea, to sea! HESPERUS' SONG. [From The Bride's Tragedy, Act i.] Poor old pilgrim Misery, Beneath the silent moon he sate, Anon a wanton imp astray His piteous moaning hears, And from his bosom steals away With his plunder fled that urchin elf, Then tell me back the stolen pelf, Or your cry shall be ever, alack! SONG OF THE STYGIAN NAIADES. Proserpine may pull her flowers, And comes home nightly, laden, 'Mongst the reeds and flowers of Styx, Yesterday, Where the Furies made their hay For a bed of tiger-cubs, A great fly of Beelzebub's, The bee of hearts, whom mortals name Cupid, Love, and Fie for shame. Proserpine may weep in rage, Bird or serpent, wild or tame, She shall guess, and ask in vain ; It shall sing out loud his shame. What hast caught then? What hast caught? Which so light did fall and fix 'Mongst the reeds and flowers of Styx, Where the Furies made their hay For a bed of tiger-cubs,— A great fly of Beelzebub's, The bee of hearts, whom mortals name Cupid, Love, and Fie for shame. WOLFRAM'S SONG. [From Death's Jest Book, Act v.] Old Adam, the carrion crow, The old crow of Cairo ; He sat in the shower, and let it flow Leaked the wet weather; And the bough swung under his nest; It's only two devils, that blow Ho! Eva, my grey carrion wife, When we have supped on kings' marrow, Where shall we drink and make merry our life? Our nest it is Queen Cleopatra's skull, 'Tis cloven and cracked, VOL. IV. But with tears of blue eyes it is full: FROM DREAM-PEDLARY.' If there were dreams to sell Some cost a passing bell; That shakes from Life's fresh crown Only a rose-leaf down. If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell, And the crier rang the bell, A cottage lone and still, With bowers nigh, Shadowy, my woes to still, Such pearl from Life's fresh crown Fain would I shake me down. |