Styx River Anthology 525 ANNABEL LEE They may say all they like About germs and micro-crocuses, Or whatever they are! But my set opinion is, If you want to get a good, old-fashioned chills and fever, Just poke around In a damp, messy place by the sea, Without rubbers on. A good cold wind, Blowing out of a cloud, by night, ANGUS MC PHAIRSON Oh, of course, It's always some dratted petticoat! Just because that little flibbertigibbet, Annie Laurie Had a white throat and a blue e'e, She played the very devil with my peace of mind. She'd dimple at me Till I was aboot crazy; And then laugh at me through her dimples! She was my bespoke. And I'd beg her to have the banns called, But there was no pinning her down. Well, she was so bonny That like a fool, I said I'd lay me doon And dee for her. And,—like a fool,— Carolyn Wells. ANSWER TO MASTER WITHER'S SONG, I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?" SHALL I, mine affections slack, Shall my foolish heart be burst, Shall a woman's vices make Or her faults to me made known, Be she of the most accurst, And deserve the name of worst! If she be not so to me, 'Cause her fortunes seem too low, And if that same mind I see What care I how poor she be? "SHALL Song of the Springtide Poor, or bad, or curst, or black, 527 Ben Jonson. SONG OF THE SPRINGTIDE O SEASON supposed of all free flowers, Thy sequence of shower and shine, Why is it that o'er the wild waters Are plagued with perpetual chills, Happy he, O Springtide, who hath found thee, With thy garment of greenery round thee, What lunatic lune, what vain vision, Unknown. THE VILLAGE CHOIR HALF a bar, half a bar, Into an awful ditch Choir and precentor hitch, Into a mess of pitch, They led the Old Hundred. Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Bellowed and thundered. From the Old Hundred! Screeched all the trebles here, Boggled the tenors there, Raising the parson's hair, While his mind wandered; Theirs not to reason why Out the Old Hundred. Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Basses in front of them, Bellowed and thundered. My Foe Stormed they with shout and yell, Dire the percentor's glare, Tenors to right of him, Tenors to left of him, Discords behind him, Bellowed and thundered. Oh, the wild howls they wrought: 529 Unknown. MY FOE JOHN ALCOHOL, my foe, John, But mark ye, how you've treated me, John Alcohol, my foe, John, We've been ower lang together, |