"Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: 'Tis like the brave. They find no bed to joy in rightly Before they find the grave. "Their love is for their own undoing. And east and west They scour about the world a-wooing The bullet in their breast. "Sail away the ocean over, Oh sail away, And lie there with your leaden lover For ever and a day." XIV. THE CULPRIT The night my father got me His mind was not on me; He did not plague his fancy To muse if I should be The son you see. The day my mother bore me She was a fool and glad, For all the pain I cost her, That she had borne the lad That borne she had. My mother and my father Out of the light they lie; The warrant would not find them, And here 'tis only I Shall hang so high. Oh let not man remember The soul that God forgot, But fetch the county kerchief And noose me in the knot, And I will rot. For so the game is ended That should not have begun. My father and my mother They had a likely son, And I have none. XV. EIGHT O'CLOCK He stood, and heard the steeple Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. One, two, three, four, to market-place and people It tossed them down. Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck. XVI. SPRING MORNING Star and coronal and bell April underfoot renews, And the hope of man as well Flowers among the morning dews. Now the old come out to look, Winter past and winter's pains. How the sky in pool and brook Glitters on the grassy plains. Easily the gentle air Wafts the turning season on; Things to comfort them are there, Though 'tis true the best are gone. Now the scorned unlucky lad Rousing from his pillow gnawn Mans his heart and deep and glad Drinks the valiant air of dawn. Half the night he longed to die, Now are sown on hill and plain Pleasures worth his while to try Ere he longs to die again. Blue the sky from east to west Arches, and the world is wide, Though the girl he loves the best Rouses from another's side. XVII. ASTRONOMY The Wain upon the northern steep Descends and lifts away. Oh I will sit me down and weep For bones in Africa. For pay and medals, name and rank, Things that he has not found, He hove the Cross to heaven and sank The pole-star underground.