A Ballad of the Old Time

Sweet Night, drop down from thy starry bower
Thy influence dewy mild;
Softly bend over my love's tender flower,
As a Mother bends over her child.
Hush the hills in a deep, dark dream;

Into slumber stretch valley and lea;
Fold over all thy purple and pall,
And bring my Love to me.

You white witching Moon, with your beautiful smile;

You flowers that fondle his feet;
You weird wee Women of fairyland, wile
Not my Love with your kisses sweet.
For him my bower in the old gray tower
Is dighted daintilie:
All gentle Powers that walk the night-hours,
Hasten my Love to me.

I count my love's rosary over again,
"With its feelings and fancies and fears;
Till it breaks in my brain with the tension of pain,
Arid my pearls are but trembling tears!
I sorrow and sing with the thorn at my breast,
But mine eyes watch unweariedly:
Come crown them, and calm them, and kiss them to
rest;

Dear my Love, hurry to me.

The ripe swelling buds that are quick with spring,
Will peep from their silken fold;
And my broidered belt is too short to cling
Round my waist with its girdling gold.
But my Love he will bring the gay gold ring;

Base-born his Babe shall not be!
Leal in his love as the heaven above:

He never will lightly me.

My Love he hath little of silver or gold j
Of land he hath never a sod;
But my Love is a gay gallant gentleman —
He's a king by the grace of God.
He has borne up the battle-tide broad-sword in hand,
He is comely as any ladye!
O and were I a King's daughter,
None other should marry me.

My Love shall not wait at the Castle-gate,
My Love shall not tirl at the pin;
My Love he shall climb to my bower- window;

Sing O, but I'll let my Love in.
The dragon below lieth weary and old,
Sleeping all under the tree;
While I feast my Love upon apples of gold —
But soft! He is coming to me.