And I mon waxe wod;
Mulch sorwe I walke with
For best of bon and blod.
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There were three ravens sat on a tree,
The one of them said to his mate,‘Where shall we our breakefast take?’‘ Downe in yonder greene field,There lies a knight slain under his shield.‘His hounds they lie downe at his feete,So well they can their master keepe.‘ His haukes they flie so eagerly,There’s no fowle dare come him nie.’Downe there comes a fallow doe,As…
This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs,
parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.See these poor souls from Africa,Transported to America:We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.See wives and husbands sold apart,The children’s screams!-it breaks my heart;There’s a better day a coming, will you go…
Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,And each bold heart is filled with cheer;The slave has seen the Northern star,He’ll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!Though many still are writhing underThe cruel whips of ‘chevaliers,’Who mothers from their children sunder,And scourge them for their helpless tears-Their safe deliverance is not far!The day draws nigh!-hurrah, hurrah!Just ere the dawn…
In the best chamber of the house,
There stood an antique chest of drawers,Of foreign wood, with brasses bright.One day a woman, frail and gray,Stepped totteringly across the floor–‘Let in,’ said she, ‘the light of day,Then, Jean, unlock the bottom drawer.The girl, in all youth’s loveliness,Knelt down with eager, curious face;Perchance she dreamt of Indian silks,Of jewels, and of rare old lace.But…
Lyth and lystyn, gentilmen,
Of Litell Johnn, that was the knighes man,Goode myrth ye shall here.It was upon a mery dayThat yonge men wolde go shete;Lytell Johnn fet his bowe anone,And sayde he wolde them mete.Thre tymes Litell Johnn shet aboute,And alwey he slet the wande;The proud sherif of NotinghamBy the marks can stande.The sherif swore a full greate…
I wear a splendid uniform;
I talk both loud and valiantlyOf Honor and the Flag;But let the South be easy still,Her soldiers need not fear.Ne’er shot nor blow shall lay them lowWhile I’m a Brigadier.I canter gaily through the streets,Attended by my staff,Unheeding vulgar little boysWho hoot and stare and chaff;And such a staff! all foreign names,Quite wonderful to hear,Plain…
And I mon waxe wod;
Mulch sorwe I walke with
For best of bon and blod.
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On yonder hill a castle standes,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,A younge and comely knighte.The Child of Elle to his garden wente,And stood at his garden pale,Whan, lo! he beheld faire Emmelines pageCome trippinge downe the dale.The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,Y-wis he stoode not stille,And soone he mette faire Emmelines pageCome climbing up the hille.‘Nowe Christe…
A PERILOUS path, it proved, he trod
wealth under wall! Its watcher had killedone of a few, and the feud was avengedin woful fashion. Wondrous seems it,what manner a man of might and valoroft ends his life, when the earl no longerin mead-hall may live with loving friends.So Beowulf, when that barrow’s wardenhe sought, and the struggle; himself knew notin what wise…
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
in fame with all folk, since his father had goneaway from the world, till awoke an heir,haughty Healfdene, who held through life,sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.Then, one after one, there woke to him,to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;and I heard that — was — ‘s queen,the Heathoscylfing’s helpmate…
Westron wynde when wyll thou blow,
Cryst, yf my love wer in my armysAnd I yn my bed agayne!
Gil Morrice was an erles son,
It was nae for his great riches,Nor zet was mickle pride;Bot it was for a lady gay,That livd on Carron side.‘Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,That will win hose and shoen;That will gae to Lord Barnard’s ha’,And bid his lady cum?And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,And ze may rin wi’ pride;Quhen other boys…
THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,
houses and high burg. Hengest stillthrough the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,holding pact, yet of home he minded,though powerless his ring-decked prow to driveover the waters, now waves rolled fiercelashed by the winds, or winter locked themin icy fetters. Then fared anotheryear to men’s dwellings, as yet they do,the sunbright skies, that their season everduly…