Song

A sunny shaft did I behold,

From sky to earth it slanted :

And poised therein a bird so bold--

Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted !

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled

Within that shaft of sunny mist ;

His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,

All else of amethyst !

And thus he sang : `Adieu ! adieu !
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms they make no delay :
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.

Sweet month of May,
We must away ;
Far, far away !
To-day ! to-day !'

Hunting Song

Up, up ! ye dames, ye lasses gay !
To the meadows trip away.
'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn.

Not a soul at home may stay :
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse :
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet.

Not a soul at home must stay :
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

(proofed against E. H. Coleridge's 1927 edition of STC's poems and a ca. 1898 edition of STC's Poetical Works, ``reprinted from the early editions'')

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