Next day did many widows come,
Their husbands to bewail;

They washed their wounds in brinish tears,
But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,
They bore with them away;

They kissed them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were clad in clay.

The news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain :

"Oh heavy news," King James did say,
"Scotland can witness be

I have not any captain more
Of such account as he."

Like tidings to King Henry came
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slain in Chevy-Chase :

"Now God be with him," said our king,

"Since 'twill no better be;

I trust I have within my realm
Five hundred good as he:

"Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say

But I will vengeance take:

I'll be revengèd on them all,

For brave Earl Percy's sake."

This vow full well the king performed
After at Humbledown;

In one day fifty knights were slain,
With lords of high renown:

arrant!

And of the rest, of small account,

Did many hundreds die;

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Earl Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land,
With plenty, joy, and peace;

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate
Twixt noblemen may cease.

* 160*

THE LIE.

Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best-
The truth shall be thy warrant!
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Go tell the court it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Go tell the church it shows

What's good, and doth no good;
If church and court reply
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates they live

Acting by others actions

Not loved unless they give,

Not strong but by their factions;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,

Anon.

Their practice,only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending
Who in their greatest cost
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

Tell zeal it lacks devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust;

And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honor how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favor how she falters;
And as they then reply,
Give each of them the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In fickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness;
And if they do reply,

Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;

Tell skill it is pretension;

Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention;

And as they yield reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness,
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness,
Tell justice of delay;

And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming ;

Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming;
If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell, manhood shakes off pity;
Tell, virtue least preferreth;
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So, when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing—

Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing-
Yet stab at thee who will,

No stab the soul can kill.

* 161

Walter Raleigh.

THE IVY GREEN.

Oh! a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.

The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim;

And the mouldering dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he!
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
To his friend the huge oak-tree!
And sly he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,

And he joyously twines and hugs around
The rich mould of dead men's graves.
Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,
And nations scattered been;

But the stout old Ivy shall never fade
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant, in its lonely days,
Shall fatten upon the past;

For the stateliest building man can raise
Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

*162*

Charles Dickens.

THE SHEPHERD'S HOME.

My banks they are furnished with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;

My grottoes are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep.