Sometimes the roses by the latch
Or scarlet vine-leaves from her thatch
Come sailing down like birds;
When from their drifts her board I clear,
She thanks me, but I scarce can hear
The shyly uttered words.

Oft have I wooed sweet Lettice White
By daylight and by candlelight
When we two were apart.
Some better day come on apace,
And let me tell her face to face,
"Maiden, thou hast my heart."

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored!
She sees them all, sweet Lettice White;
I'll e'en go sit again to-night
Beside her ironing-board!

Why, you young rascal! who would think it, now?
No sooner do I stop than you look up.
What would you have your poor old father do?
'Twas a brave song, long-winded, and not loud.

_M._ He heard the bacon sputter on the fork,
And heard his mother's step across the floor.
Where did you get that song?--'tis new to me.

_G._ I bought it of a peddler.

_M._ Did you so?
Well, you were always for the love-songs, George.

_F._ My dear, just lay his head upon your arm.
And if you'll pace and sing two minutes more
He needs must sleep--his eyes are full of sleep.

_G._ Do you sing, mother.

_F._ Ay, good mother, do;
'Tis long since we have heard you.

_M._ Like enough;
I'm an old woman, and the girls and lads
I used to sing to sleep o'ertop me now.
What should I sing for?

_G._ Why, to pleasure us.
Sing in the chimney corner, where you sit,
And I'll pace gently with the little one.

[_Mother sings._]

When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth,
My old sorrow wakes and cries,
For I know there is dawn in the far, far north,
And a scarlet sun doth rise;
Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads,
And the icy founts run free,
And the bergs begin to bow their heads,
And plunge, and sail in the sea.

O my lost love, and my own, own love,
And my love that loved me so!
Is there never a chink in the world above
Where they listen for words from below?
Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore,
I remember all that I said,
And now thou wilt hear me no more--no more
Till the sea gives up her dead.

Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail
To