Grandmither, Think Not I Forget" 1033 Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And Honor charmed the air; And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good as fair,- She kept with care her beauties rare For her heart was cold to all but gold, Now walking there was one more fair A slight girl, lily-pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail: "Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray; For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] 'GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET" GRANDMITHER, think not I forget, when I come back to town, An' wander the old ways again, an' tread them up and down. I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass, Without I mind how good ye were unto a little lass. I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through, Without I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you. And if I come not often to your bed beneath the thyme, Mayhap 'tis that I'd change wi' ye, and gie my bed for thine, Would like to sleep in thine. I never hear the summer winds among the roses blow, >< For mine do beat the dark all night, and never find me They grope among the shadows, an' they beat the cold black air, 17 They go seekin' in the darkness, an' they never find him there, They never find him there. # Grandmither, gie me your sightless eyes, that I may never 26 see His own a-burnin' full o' love that must not shine for me. Grandmither, gie me your peaceful lips, white as the kirkyard snow, For mine be tremblin' wi' the wish that he must never know. Grandmither, gie me your clay-stopped ears, that I may My lad a-singin' in the night when I am sick wi' fear; 27 Grandmither, gie me your clay-cold heart that has forgot to For mine be fire within my breast and yet it cannot break. 'So when I plant the rose an' rue above your grave for ye, Willa Sibert Cather [1875– Little Wild Baby 1035 LITTLE WILD BABY THROUGH the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said I was the woman-I!-that he would wed; He sent a boat with men for his own white priest, I will not live for scorning eyes to see. (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) Three moons ago-it was but three moons ago→ (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, I to that town am going, to search the place, And the soul of my baby will never ask me why. I have asked about the river: one answered me, I will take his baby and go away to my rest. (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913] A CRADLE SONG COME little babe, come silly soul, Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. Thou little think'st and less dost know Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? Come, little wretch-ah, silly heart! 'Twas I, I say, against my will, And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face! But come to mother, babe, and play, Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance Tell how by love she purchased blame. Then will his gentle heart soon yield: A lamb in town thou shalt him find: Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament 1037 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, Then may'st thou joy and be right glad; A noble youth of blood and bone: Come, little boy, and rock asleep; Nicholas Breton [1545?-1626?] LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep! When he began to court my love, He cares ne for my babe nor me— Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile, And when thou wak'st thou'll sweetly smile: But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids: nay, God forbid! |