Whiskered cats arointed flee— Sturdy stoppers keep from thee Cologne distillations! Nuts lie in thy path for stones, And thy feast-day macaroons Turn to daily rations!
Mock I thee, in wishing weal?— Tears are in my eyes to feel Thou art made so straitly, Blessing needs must straiten too,— Little canst thou joy or do, Thou who lovest greatly.
Yet be blessed to the height Of all good and all delight Pervious to thy nature,— Only loved beyond that line, With a love that answers thine, Loving fellow-creature!
[ ALICE BRAND]
I Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter’s horn is ringing.
’O Alice Brand, my native land Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do!
’O Alice, ’twas all for thy locks so bright, And ’twas all for thine eyes so blue, That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew.
’Now must I teach to hew the beech, The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed, And stakes to fence our cave.