a, lullay, thou tiny little child,
Lulla, lullay, lullay;
Suck at my breast that am thereat beguiled,
Lulla, lullay, lullay."

She moaned to herself, "I have seen the village women go to the well,
carrying their babies with them, and they laugh as they go by on the
way. Their babies hold them tight round the neck, and their mothers
comfort them, saying, 'Hey, hey, my little son; hey, hey, my
sweeting.' Christ and the blessed Saints know that I have never felt a
baby's little hand in my bosom--and now I shall die without it, for I
am old and past the age of bearing children."

"Lulla, lullay, thou tiny little boy,
Lulla, lullay, lullay;
To feel thee suck doth soothe my great annoy,
Lulla, lullay, lullay."

"I have heard them on a May morning, with their pipes and tabors and
jolly, jolly music," cried Sister Helen; "I have seen them too, and my
heart has gone with them to bring back the white hawthorn from the
woods. 'A man and a maid to a hawthorn bough,' as it says in the song.
They sing outside my window all Saint John's Eve so that I cannot say
my prayers for the wild thoughts they put into my brain, as they go
dancing up and down in the churchyard; I cannot forget the pretty
words they say to each other, 'Sweet love, a kiss'; 'kiss me, my love,
nor let me go'; 'As I went through the garden gate'; 'A bonny black
knight, a bonny black knight, and what will you give to me? A kiss,
and a kiss, and no more than a kiss, under the wild rose tree.' Oh,
Mary Mother, have pity on a poor girl's heart, I shall die, if no one
love me, I shall die."

"In faith, I am truly sorry, William," said Sister Agnes, who was
gaunt and hollow-eyed with long vigils and overfasting, for which the
good father had rebuked her time after time, saying that she
overtasked the poor weak flesh. "I am truly sorry that I could not
wait. But the neighbours made such a clamour, and my father and mother
buffeted me too sorely. It is under the oak tree, no more than a foot
deep, and covered with the red and brown leaves. It was a pretty sight
to see the red blood on its neck, as white as whalebone, and it
neither cried nor wept, so I put it down among the leaves, the pretty
poppet; and it was like thee, William, it was like thee. I am sorry I
did not wait, and now I'm worn and wan for thy sake, this many a long
year, and all in vain, for thou never comst. I am an old woman now,
and I shall soon be quiet and not