Read Ebook: Signelil A Tale from the Cornish and Other Ballads by Borrow George Wise Thomas James Editor

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Ebook has 75 lines and 6222 words, and 2 pages

To the cushion Dame Ingeborg points with a smile: "Go thither, Sir Verner, and rest thee awhile.

"Now hark thou, Sir Verner, what I to thee say: I beg thou wilt sing me a pretty love lay."

"A love lay I've never learnt up to this hour, But I'll sing to oblige thee the best in my power."

Sir Verner began, and he sang such a lay, That soon in deep slumber Dame Ingeborg lay.

The Dames and the maids fell to sleep and to doze, Dame Ingeborg sank to a peaceful repose.

Sir Verner he glanced then so cautiously round, The keys great and small in a nook he has found.

To the door hied Sir Verner as fast as he might, He forgot to bid Dame Ingeborg a good-night.

When out of the castle himself he perceived, His voice in a ditty again he upheaved.

Sir Verner he waved up his hat with delight: "Dame Ingeborg bid ye a very good night!

"And hear thou, Sir Warden, who stand'st on thy watch, Of my ditty the burden I pray thee to catch.

"She'd this e'en not have taken a bushel of gold, Now no penny for me shall she ever behold."

So fast to the door went Sir Verner the knight, He forgot to bid Damsel or Lady good-night.

THE HEDDEBY SPECTRE

FROM GOUDELI

Yestere'en when the bat, and the owl, and his mate, Were holding discourse their small matters about; And the sun, that the wee little stars might shine out, Had extinguished the lamp of his lustre so great.

A shepherd exclaimed: "O 'twas folly that I My love should bestow upon one never kind, Upon Siris the lovely, whose cold, cruel mind, Would suffer unmoved a true lover to die.

"Often times, when our flocks on the common did browse, I'd approach her to pour in her ear my fond vows, But unto her companions to haste she was sure. O, light of my eyes! wouldst thou render me blest, And wouldst grant me two kisses on thy snowy breast, I swear that each one should an hour endure!"

PEASANT SONGS OF SPAIN

And when they all were mustered, 'Twas thus to them he spake: "O which of ye, my children, Will perish for my sake?"

Then, gazing on each other, They stood abashed and still; All save Saint John the Baptist, And Peter of the Hill.

"We'll die for thee, O Jesus, Upon to-morrow's morn." For him died John the Baptist, And suffered pain and scorn.

There stands a stone, a rounded stone, 'Midst ocean's surges hoary, On which sweet Jesus set his foot When mounting to his glory.

There grows a rose, a blooming rose, 'Midst ocean's briny waters, That o'er may pass, to hear the mass, Havanah's dusky daughters.

LONDON: Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.

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