And, sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye chylde,
And sendeth angells singing whereby it ben beguiled—
They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his playe
And bear him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye.
I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me—
If I colde sing that angell songe, hoy joysome I sholde bee!
For, with my arms about him my music in his eare,
What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare?
Soe come, my lyttel chylde, and lie upon my breast to-night,
For yonder fares an angell, yclad in raimaunt white,
And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may,
And hys songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.
ALASKAN BALLADRY.
Krinken was a little child—
It was summer when he smiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling: "Sun-Child, come to me,
Let me warm my heart with thee"—
But the child heard not the sea
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play—
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair and very fair was she—
Just a little child was he.
"Krinken," said the maiden Nis
"Let me have a little kiss—
Just a kiss and go with me
To the summer lands that be
Down within the silver sea!"
Krinken was a little child—
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he—
And 'twas summer in the sea!
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him—
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
But upon the misty shore
Winter brooded evermore.
With that winter in my heart,
Oft in dead of night I start—
Start and lift me up and weep,
For those visions in my sleep
Mind me of the yonder deep!
'Tis his face lifts from the sea—
'Tis his voice calls out to me—
Thus the winter bides with me.
Krinken was the little child
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Calling: "Sun-Child, come to me,
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the sea calls out no more
And 'tis winter on the shore—
Summer in the silver sea
Where with maiden Nis went he—
And the winter bides with me!