They're sleeping beneath the roses; Oh, kiss them before they rise, And tickle their tiny noses, And sprinkle the dew on their eyes. Make haste, make haste; The fairies are caught; Make haste. We'll put them in silver cages, And send them full-drest to court, And maids of honour and pages Shall turn the poor things to sport. Be quick, be quick; Be quicker than thought; Be quick. Their scarfs shall be pennons for lancers, We'll tie up our flowers with their curls, Their plumes will make fans for dancers, Their tears shall be set with pearls. Be wise, be wise, Make the most of the prize; Be wise. They'll scatter sweet scents by winking, With sparks from under their feet; They'll save us the trouble of thinking, Their voices will sound so sweet. Oh stay, oh stay! They're up and away; Oh stay! ADRIENNE AND MAURICE (Words For The Air Commonly Called "Pestal") I. Fly, poor soul, fly on, No early clouds shall stop thy roaming; Fly, till day be gone, Nor fold thy wings before the gloaming. He thou lov'st will soon be far beyond thy flight, Other lands to light, Leaving thee in night. Let no fear of loss thy heavenly pathway cross; Better then to lose than now. II. Now, faint heart, arise, And proudly feel that he regards thee; Draw from godlike eyes Some grace to last when love discards thee. Once thou hast been blest by one too high for thee; Fate will have him be Great and fancy-free, When some noble maid her hand in his hath laid, Give him up, poor heart, and break. THE HALLOWING OF THE FLEET Her captains for the Baltic bound In silent homage stood around; Silent, whilst holy dew Dimmed her kind eyes. She stood in tears, For she had felt a mother's fears, And wifely cares she knew. She wept; she could not bear to say, "Sail forth, my mariners, and slay The liegemen of my foe." Meanwhile on Russian steppe and lake Are women weeping for the sake Of them that seaward go. Oh warriors, when you stain with gore, If this indeed must be, the floor Whereon that lady stept, When the fierce joy of battle won Hardens the heart of sire and son, Remember that she wept THE CAIRN AND THE CHURCH A Prince went down the banks of Dee That widen out from bleak Braemar, To drive the deer that wander free Amidst the pines of Lochnagar. And stepping on beneath the birks On the road-side he found a spot, Which told of pibrochs, kilts, and dirks, And wars the courtiers had forgot; Where with the streams, as each alone Down to the gathering river runs, Each on one heap to cast a stone, Came twice three hundred Farquharsons.