Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves, Sing my fair Love good-morrow To give my Love good-morrow; Sing, birds, in every furrow! --THOMAS HEYWOOD. IN MARCH The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun: The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest: The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising, There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated, The snow has retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon: There's joy in the mountains; There's life in the fountains, Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing, The rain is over and gone! --WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. CHORAL SONG TO THE ILLYRIAN PEASANTS 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 may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. --SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. THE FORSAKEN MERMAN Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below. Now my brothers call from the bay; Now the great winds shoreward blow; Now the salt tides seaward flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away. This way, this way!