"To God and you I do commend "You must be father, mother both, "And uncle, all in one; God knows what will become of them When I am dead and gone." With that bespoke the mother dear, "O brother kind!" quoth she, "You are the man must bring my babes To wealth or misery. "If you do keep them carefully, With lips as cold as any stone, She kissed her children small; "God bless you both, my children dear!" With that the tears did fall. These speeches then the brother spoke To the sick couple there; "The keeping of your children dear, Sweet sister, never fear. "God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, The parents being dead and gone, He had not kept these pretty babes He bargained with two ruffians rude, And slay them in a wood; And told his wife and all he had, Away then went these pretty babes, Rejoicing at the tide, And smiling with a merry mind, They on cock-horse should ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly So that the pretty speech they had Yet one of them, more hard of heart, The other would not agree thereto, And he that was of mildest mood Where babes do quake for fear. He took the children by the hand, And see they did not cry. And two long miles he led them thus, While they for bread complain; "Stay here," quoth he: "I'll bring you bread When I do come again." These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down; Their pretty lips with blackberries They sat them down and cried. Thus wandered these two little babes She weeps not for the wedding-day He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, "Let there be In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, The stately Priory was reared; And the lady prayed in heaviness "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, "For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, If it be long, aye, long ago, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main. He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) "The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" "Good sonne, where Lindis winds I shall never see her more Stand beside the sobbing river, Mellow, mellow; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow. Lightfoot, Whitefoot, JEAN INGELOW. |