Young and Old

from The Water Babies

WHEN all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;

And all the sport is stale, lad,

And all the wheels run down:

Creep home and take your place there,

The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,

You loved when all was young.

Charles Kingsley

Airly Beacon

AIRLY Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh, the pleasant sight to see

Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,

While my love climbed up to me!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh, the happy hours we lay

Deep in fern on Airly Beacon,

Courting through the summer's day!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh, the weary haunt for me,

All alone on Airly Beacon,

With his baby on my knee!

Charles Kingsley

The Sands of Dee

"O MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

       Across the sands of Dee!"

The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

       And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

       As far as eye could see.

The rolling mist came down and hid the land--

       And never home came she.

"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair--

A tress of golden hair,

A drownèd maiden's hair

       Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

       Among the stakes on Dee."

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

       To her grave beside the sea;

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home

       Across the sands of Dee.

Charles Kingsley

The Three Fishers

THREE fishers went sailing away to the West,

Away to the West as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him the best;

And the children stood watching them out of the town;

For men must work, and women must weep,

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;

They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,

And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.

But men must work, and women must weep,

Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,

And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands

For those who will never come home to the town;

For men must work, and women must weep,

And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep;

And good-by to the bar and its moaning.

Charles Kingsley

A Farewell: To C.E.G

MY fairest child, I have no song to give you;

No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;

Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,

For every day.

I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol

Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down;

To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel

Than Shakespeare's crown.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;

Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;

And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,

One grand sweet song.

Charles Kingsley

Ode to the Northeast Wind

WELCOME, wild Northeaster!

Shame it is to see

Odes to every zephyr;

Ne'er a verse to thee.

Welcome, black Northeaster!

O'er the German foam;

O'er the Danish moorlands,

From thy frozen home.

Tired are we of summer,

Tired of gaudy glare,

Showers soft and steaming,

Hot and breathless air.

Tired of listless dreaming,

Through the lazy day--

Jovial wind of winter

Turn us out to play!

Sweep the golden reed-beds;

Crisp the lazy dike;

Hunger into madness

Every plunging pike.

Fill the lake with wild fowl;

Fill the marsh with snipe;

While on dreary moorlands

Lonely curlew pipe.

Through the black fir-forest

Thunder harsh and dry,

Shattering down the snowflakes

Off the curdled sky.

Hark! The brave Northeaster!

Breast-high lies the scent,

On by holt and headland,

Over heath and bent.

Chime, ye dappled darlings,

Through the sleet and snow.

Who can override you?

Let the horses go!

Chime, ye dappled darlings,

Down the roaring blast;

You shall see a fox die

Ere an hour be past.

Go! and rest tomorrow,

Hunting in your dreams,

While our skates are ringing

O'er the frozen streams.

Let the luscious Southwind

Breathe in lovers' sighs,

While the lazy gallants

Bask in ladies' eyes.

What does he but soften

Heart alike and pen?

'Tis the hard gray weather

Breeds hard English men.

What's the soft Southwester?

'Tis the ladies' breeze,

Bringing home their trueloves

Out of all the seas.

But the black Northeaster,

Through the snowstorm hurled,

Drives our English hearts of oak

Seaward round the world.

Come, as came our fathers,

Heralded by thee,

Conquering from the eastward,

Lords by land and sea.

Come; and strong, within us

Stir the Vikings' blood;

Bracing brain and sinew;

Blow, thou wind of God!

Charles Kingsley