He quite eagerly, with a boyish peal of laughter, complied; and sat down with a very solemn face, his brows uplifted, and sang between the candles to a pathetic air this doggerel:—
There's a dark tree and a sad tree,
Where sweet Alice waits, unheeded,
For her lover long-time absent,
Plucking rushes by the river.
Let the bird sing, let the buck sport,
Let the sun sink to his setting;
Not one star that stands in darkness
Shines upon her absent lover.
But his stone lies 'neath the dark tree,
Cold to bosom, deaf to weeping;
And 'tis gathering moss she touches,
Where the locks lay of her lover.
"A dolesome thing," he said; "but my mother was wont to sing it to the virginals. 'Cold to bosom,'" he reiterated with a plangent cadence; "I remember them all, sir; from the cradle I had a gift for music." And then, with an ample flirt of his bow, he broke, all beams and smiles, into this ingenuous ditty:
The goodman said,
"'Tis time for bed,
Come, mistress, get us quick to pray;
Call in the maids
From out the glades
Where they with lovers stray,
With love, and love do stray."
"Nay, master mine,
The night is fine,
And time's enough all dark to pray;
'Tis April buds
Bedeck the woods
Where simple maids away
With love, and love do stray.
"Now we are old,
And nigh the mould,
'Tis meet on feeble knees to pray;
When once we'd roam,
'Twas else cried, 'Come,
And sigh the dusk away,
With love, and love to stray.'"
So they gat in
To pray till nine;
Then called, "Come maids, true maids, away!
Kiss and begone,
Ha' done, ha' done,
Until another day
With love, and love to stray!"
Oh, it were best
If so to rest
Went man and maid in peace away!
The throes a heart
May make to smart
Unless love have his way,
In April woods to stray!—