. Ballads. tay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop? Ca-nute cried; Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenlyride? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command thetide. Will the advancing waves obey me, bishop, if I make the sign ? Said the bishop, bowing lowly, Land and sea, my lord, are turned towards the ocean, — Back ! he said, thou foaming brine. From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat;Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master s seat;Ocean, be thou still! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet! 270 KINO CANUTE. , But the sullen oce
. Ballads. tay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop? Ca-nute cried; Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenlyride? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command thetide. Will the advancing waves obey me, bishop, if I make the sign ? Said the bishop, bowing lowly, Land and sea, my lord, are turned towards the ocean, — Back ! he said, thou foaming brine. From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat;Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master s seat;Ocean, be thou still! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet! 270 KINO CANUTE. , But the sullen ocean answered with a loudir, flcr^per roar,And the i:i|ti(l waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore;Back tlu; keeper and the bishop, back the king and cour-tiers bore. And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human alone to praise and worship that which earth and seas obey;And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that Canute is dead and gone: parasites exist ahvav. 272 FRIAIls SONG. FKIAUS S()N(;. Some love the nuitin-cliimes, wliicli tli. Or eapon drownd in nolth! hauneli on silver (hsli. Full glad I sing my :ive. ]\Iy pulpit is an alehouse bench. Whereon I sit so Jolly;A smiling, rosy country wench :My saint and patron kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave. And if I m blind, yet heaven is kind. And holy saints forgiving;For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good , they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor;Oh, grant! mid all the changes there, Tljey may not change om- liquor. ATRA CURA. 273 ^^4^^
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1881
