aten gold
Bent not on the heaving seas;
And the sails that were of the taffetie
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.

They had not sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterly.

'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he,
'Of your weeping now let me be;
I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy.'

'O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?'
'O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said,
'Where you will never won.'

'O what a mountain is yon,' she said,
'All so dreary with frost and snow?'
'O yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried,
'Where you and I will go.'

And aye when she turn'd her round about
Aye taller he seem'd for to be;
Until that the tops of that gallant ship
No taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark and the wind grew loud,
And the levin filled her ee;
And waesome wail'd the snow-white sprites
Upon the gurlie sea.

He struck the topmast with his hand,
The foremast with his knee;
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea.

_Old Ballad_

CXXXVIII

_THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM_

A Nightingale that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the Glowworm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,
'As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song:
For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.'
The songster heard this short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

_W. Cowper_

CXXXIX

_THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN_

You beauteous ladies