FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   72   73   74   75   76   77   78   79   80   81   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96  
97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106   107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   >>   >|  
t the more to be revenged on them, And shame their ancient pride, if they should know, Works hard as any horse for his degree, And takes to writing verses." "Ay," he said, Half laughing at himself. "Yet you and I, But for those tresses which enrich us yet With somewhat of the hue that partial fame Calls auburn when it shines on heads of heirs, But when it flames round brows of younger sons, Just red--mere red; why, but for this, I say, And but for selfish getting of the land, And beggarly entailing it, we two, To-day well fed, well grown, well dressed, well read, We might have been two horny-handed boors-- Lean, clumsy, ignorant, and ragged boors-- Planning for moonlight nights a poaching scheme, Or soiling our dull souls and consciences With plans for pilfering a cottage roost. "What, chorus! are you dumb? you should have cried, 'So good comes out of evil;'" and with that, As if all pauses it was natural To seize for songs, his voice broke out again: Coo, dove, to thy married mate-- She has two warm eggs in her nest: Tell her the hours are few to wait Ere life shall dawn on their rest; And thy young shall peck at the shells, elate With a dream of her brooding breast. Coo, dove, for she counts the hours, Her fair wings ache for flight: By day the apple has grown in the flowers, And the moon has grown by night, And the white drift settled from hawthorn bowers, Yet they will not seek the light. Coo, dove; but what of the sky? And what if the storm-wind swell, And the reeling branch come down from on high To the grass where daisies dwell, And the brood beloved should with them lie Or ever they break the shell? Coo, dove; and yet black clouds lower, Like fate, on the far-off sea: Thunder and wind they bear to thy bower, As on wings of destiny. Ah, what if they break in an evil hour, As they broke over mine and me? What next?--we started like to girls, for lo! The creaking voice, more harsh than rusty crane, Of one who stooped behind us, cried aloud "Good lack! how sweet the gentleman does sing-- So loud and sweet, 'tis like to split his throat. Why, Mike's a child to him, a two years child-- Chrisom child." "Who's Mike?" my brother growled A little roughly. Quoth the fisherman-- "Mike, Sir? he's just a fisher lad, no more; But he can sing, when he takes on to s
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   72   73   74   75   76   77   78   79   80   81   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96  
97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106   107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

beloved

 

ancient

 

Thunder

 
destiny
 
daisies
 

clouds

 
settled
 

hawthorn

 

bowers

 

flowers


branch
 

reeling

 

Chrisom

 

throat

 

brother

 
growled
 

fisher

 

fisherman

 

roughly

 
creaking

laughing

 
started
 

gentleman

 

stooped

 

ignorant

 

clumsy

 

ragged

 
Planning
 

moonlight

 

handed


nights

 

consciences

 

pilfering

 

cottage

 

poaching

 

scheme

 

auburn

 

soiling

 

selfish

 

flames


younger

 

revenged

 

writing

 

dressed

 

shines

 

verses

 
beggarly
 

entailing

 

tresses

 

counts