No.18

THE FOUR MARYS

Anon

Last night there were four Marys,
Tonight there'll be but three,
There was Mary Seaton and Mary Beaton
And Mary Carmichael and me.

Oh, often have I dressed my Queen
And put on her braw silk gown,
But all the thanks I've got tonight
Is to be hanged in Edinburgh Town.

Full often have I dressed my Queen
Put gold upon her hair,
But I have got for my reward
The gallows to be my share.

Oh, little did my mother know
The day she cradled me
The land I was to travel in,
The death I was to dee.

Oh, happy, happy is the maid
That's born of beauty free,
Oh, it was my rosy, dimpled cheeks
That's been the devil to me.

They'll tie a kerchief around my eyes
That I may not see to dee,
And they'll never tell my father or mother
But that I'm across the sea.

This information comes from www.marie-stuart.co.uk

"The four Marys were Mary, Queen of Scots' ladies-in-waiting, but these were Mary Seton, Mary Beaton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston. There was no Mary Carmichael but this popular song was believed to be relating to Mary, Queen of Scots until it was traced back to the court of the Tsar. The ballad dates between 1719 and 1764 and narrates the story of Mary Hamilton, a Scottish maid of Peter the Great's wife Catherine, who was executed for the murder of her illegitimate child, product of an affair with the Tsar Peter.
The two stories of Mary Hamilton and Mary, Queen of Scots were grafted onto each other."

-o0o-

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP
Emily Bronte 1818-48

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree -
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.

-o0o-

LUCY
William Wordsworth 1770-1850

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!

-o0o-

HOPE
Emily Dickinson 1830-86

    Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul
    And sings the tune without the words
    And never stops at all.
 

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

 

-o0o-

 

MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY

No.17

BEGIN THE BEGUINE
Cole Porter 1891-64

When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender,
It brings back a night of tropical splendour,
It brings back a memory ever green.

I'm with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra's playing,
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine.

To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when that tune clutches my heart,
And there we are swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part.

What moments divine, what rapture serene,
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted,
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean.

So don't let them begin the beguine,
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember,
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember,
When they begin the beguine.

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play,
Till the stars that were there before return above you,
Till you whisper to me once more, darling I love you,
And we suddenly know what heaven we're in,
When they begin the beguine.

-o0o-

FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-94

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,   
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;   
And charging along like troops in a battle,   
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:   
All of the sights of the hill and the plain            
Fly as thick as driving rain;   
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,   
Painted stations whistle by.   
 
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,   
All by himself and gathering brambles;     
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;   
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!   
Here is a cart run away in the road   
Lumping along with man and load;   
And here is a mill and there is a river:     
Each a glimpse and gone for ever!

-o0o-

OH! EVER THUS
Thomas Moore 1779-1852

 Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,
   I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
 I never loved a tree or flower,
   But 'twas the first to fade away.
 I never nursed a dear gazelle,
   To glad me with its soft black eye,
 But when it came to know me well,
   And love me, it was sure to die!

-o0o-

TWAS EVER THUS
Henry Sambrooke Leigh 1837-83

  

I never rear'd a young gazelle,
(Because, you see, I never tried);
But, had it known and loved me well,
No doubt the creature would have died.
My rich and aged uncle John
Has known me long and loves me well,
But still persists in living on -
I would he were a young gazelle.

I never loved a tree or flower;
But, if I had, I beg to say,
The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower,
Would soon have withered it away.
I've dearly loved my uncle John,
From childhood till the present hour,
And yet he will go living on, -
I would he were a tree or flower!

-o0o-

MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY

No.16

BEAUTIFUL DREAMER
Stephen Foster 1826-1864

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapours are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

-o0o-

ADLESTROP
Edward Thomas 1878-1917

Yes, I remember Adlestrop -
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop - only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

-o0o-

UPHILL
Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830–1894

Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you waiting at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

-o0o-

I’LL NEVER USE TOBACCO
Anon, from The Temperance Orator and Reciter 19th cent

“I’ll never use tobacco, no,
It is a filthy weed!
I’ll never put it in my mouth,”
Said little Robert Reid.

“Why, there was idle Jerry Jones,
As dirty as a pig,
Who smoked when only ten years old,
And thought it made him big.

“He’d puff along the open street,
As if he had no shame;
He’s sit beside the tavern-door,
And there he’d do the same.

“He spent his time and money too,
And made his mother sad,
She feared a worthless man would come
From such a worthless lad.

“Oh no, I’ll never smoke or chew,
‘Tis very wrong indeed,
It hurts the health, it makes bad breath,”
Said little Robert Reid.

-o0o-

MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY

No.15

BALLADE OF AUTUMN
Andrew Lang 1844-1912

We built a castle in the air,
In summer weather, you and I,
The wind and sun were in your hair,
Gold hair against a sapphire sky:
When autumn came, with leaves that fly
Before the storm, across the plain,
You fled from me, with scarce a sigh,
My Love returns no more again!

The windy lights of autumn flare:
I watch the moonlit sails go by;
I marvel how men toil and fare,
The weary business that they ply!
Their voyaging is vanity,
And fairy gold is all their gain,
And all the winds of winter cry,
"My Love returns no more again!"

Here, in my Castle of Despair,
I sit alone with memory;
The wind-fed wolf has left his lair,
To keep the outcast company.
The brooding owl he hoots hard by,
The hare shall kindle on thy hearth-stane,
The Rhymer's soothest prophecy,
My Love returns no more again!

-o0o-

THE MOON
Anon

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon:
This way, and that, she peers and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

-o0o-

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY MARCH 13, 1719
Jonathan Swift 1667-1745

Stella this day is thirty-four,
(We shan't dispute a year or more:)
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green;
So little is thy form declined;
Made up so largely in thy mind.

Oh, would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit;
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;
With half the lustre of your eyes,
With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either nymph might have her swain,)
To split my worship too in twain

 

-o0o-

DREAMS 

Langston Hughes 1902-67 

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

-o0o-

More poetry next Monday

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

No.14

THE GREENWOOD SIDE
John Clare 1793-1864

I wandered down a green wood side
On Sunday noon in spring,
Where little birds their dwellings hide
And Thrushes sweetly sing,
The moss so green round Hazel roots,
The Primrose by its side,
That in its brimstone livery shoots
In bunches far and wide.

Oh there I met a pretty maid
The fairest of her kind,
She stood beneath the Hazels shade
Where lightly blew the wind.
I gave her cheek a hearty smack
As leaning on her neck
Her soft hair trailed adown her back
Without a mark or Speck,

Within the dyke the bullrush grew
Although the place was dry,
And Thrushes nest wi’ Eggs o' blue
Did on the hedge ribs lye.
The Woodbines in green leaves look'd wan,
The Bluebell stooped i' pride,
And there I claspt my bonny Ann
Along the greenwood side.

Oh bonny Ann, Oh bonny Ann,
What makes you look so fair,
Is it the love for some fond man
Or is't for none you care.
My love to thee my bonny Ann
Where primrose blooms wi’ pride,
I’ll talk and please thee all I can
Down by the greenwood side.

-o0o-

LAZY BONES
Johnny Mercer 1909-76 

Long as there is chicken gravy on your rice,
Ev'rything is nice.
Long as there's watermelon on the vine,
Ev'rything is fine.
You got no time to work,
You got no time to play,
Busy doin' nothin' all the live long day.
You won't ever change no matter what I say,
You're just made that way.

Lazybones, sleepin' in the sun,
How you 'spec' to get your day's work
done?
Never get your day's work done,

Sleepin' in the noonday sun.
Lazybones, sleepin' in the shade,
How you 'spec' to get your corn meal
made?
Never get your corn meal made
Sleepin' in the evenin' shade.

When 'taters need sprayin',
I bet you keep prayin'
The bugs fall off the vine
And when you go fishin'
I bet you keep wishin'
The fish won't grab at your line.

Lazybones, loafin' thru' the day,

How you spec to make a dime that way?
Never make a dime that way
(Well looky here)
He never heard a word I say!

-o0o-

THE STAR
Jane Taylor 1783–1824

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

-o0o-

A CURE FOR HAVING DRUNK MUCH

Alexis c350BC

 

Last evening you were drinking deep,

So now your head aches, go to sleep;

Take boiled cabbage when you wake,

And there's the end of your headache.

-o0o-

Now online

OH WHAT A PICTURE

updated every week-end

http://ohwhatapicture.blogspot.com

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

No.13

FAIRIES’ SONG
Leigh Hunt 1784-1859

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world is bobbing,
Then’s the time for orchard robbing,
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

-o0o-

THE SKYE BOAT SONG
Sir Harold Boulton 1859-1935

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air;
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed.
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head.

Many's the lad fought on that day,
Well the Claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay
Dead in Culloden's field.

Burned are their homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

These verses recall the escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie to the Isle of Skye after his defeat at Culloden in 1746. The prince disguised as a servant girl made his escape in a small boat with the help of Flora MacDonald.
 

-o0o-

MYFANWY
Richard Davies 1833-1877

Why is it anger, O Myfanwy,
That fills your eyes so dark and clear?
Your gentle cheeks, O sweet Myfanwy,
Why blush they not when I draw near?

Where is the smile that once most tender
Kindled my love so fond, so true?
Where is the sound of your sweet words,
That drew my heart to follow you?

What have I done, O my Myfanwy,
To earn your frown? What is my blame?
Was it just play, my sweet Myfanwy,
To set your poet's love aflame?

You truly once to me were promised,
Is it too much to keep your part?
I wish no more your hand, Myfanwy,
If I no longer have your heart.

Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
And on your cheeks O may the roses
Dance for a hundred years or so.
 

Forget now all the words of promise
You made to one who loved you well,
Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,
But one last time, to say "farewell".

-o0o-
 

RESUME

 Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

    Razors pain you,
    Rivers are damp,
    Acids stain you,
    And drugs cause cramp.
    Guns aren't lawful,
    Nooses give,
    Gas smells awful.
    You might as well live.

 THE NEXT POST HERE WILL BE ON MONDAY 29TH JULY

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

No.12

WHERE OR WHEN
Lorenz Hart 1896-1943

When you're awake, the things you think
Come from the dream you dream
Thought has wings, and lots of things
Are seldom what they seem.

Sometimes you think you’ve lived before
All that you live today,
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way -
Oh, the tricks your mind can play.

It seems we stood and talked like this before,
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I can't remember where or when,

The clothes you're wearing are the close you wore,
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when.

Some things that happen for the first time
Seem to be happening again,
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before and loved before,
But who knows where or when.

-o0o-

 TWO LOVERS
George Eliot 1819-80

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!

-o0o-

IF YOU’LL PARDON MY SAYING SO
Warren Hastings and Herberte Jordan

A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.
The matter appears to be pressing.
Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,
I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know,
There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.
I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,
And also a whisky and “polly,“
I don't know what time you retired to bed,
But the party sir, must have been jolly -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The lady in question a-waiting below,
Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,
And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,
A pugnacious character one might infer,
Whom the lady describes as her brother.
The elderly female is quite commonplace,
A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,
Who shouts in a nerve-wracking falsetto voice,
And her language is painful to hear, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.
He refers to you, sir, as a “twister“,
He threatens to alter the shape of your “clock,”
To break you in half, sir, and knock off your “block”
Unless you do right by his sister.
The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,
That you made her a promise of marriage.
She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,
While you, sir, ride by in your carriage -
If you'll pardon me saying so.

Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,
He is fuming to beat all creation.
My lady, your mother, is up in the air.
She’s having hysterics and tearing her hair,
And borders on nervous prostration.
Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,
And look up the times of the trains, sir?
Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,
And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

-o0o-

MY PRETTY ROSE TREE
William Blake 1757-1827

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, "I've a pretty rose tree,"

And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

-o0o-