THE WANDERING SINGER Lady, lady, my apple-gold lady, But will you not hear a Serena, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall dream on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my apple-gold lady! THE LADIES O if you play a Serena, singer, How can that harm the Emperor's Daughter? She would not hear though we danced a year With her heart a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer! THE WANDERING SINGER But if I play a Serena, lady, Let me guard the key of the Emperor's Daughter, Lest her body should follow her heart like a swallow And fly a thousand leagues over the water, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my apple-gold lady! THE LADIES (They give the key of the Tower into his hands.) Now you may play a Serena, singer, A dream of night for an apple-gold lady, For the fruit is now on the apple-bough And the moon is up and the lawn is shady, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer! (Once more The Singer plays and The Ladies dance; but one by one they fall asleep to the drowsy music, and then The Singer steps into the ring and unlocks the Tower and kisses The Emperor's Daughter. They have the end of the game to themselves.) Lover, lover, thy/my own true lover Has opened a way for the Emperor's Daughter! The dawn is the goal and the dark the cover As we sail a thousand leagues over the water-- Lover, lover, My dear lover, O my own true lover! (The Wandering Singer and The Emperor's Daughter float a thousand leagues in his shallop and live happily ever after. I don't know what becomes of The Ladies.) "Bed-time, children!" In they go. You see the treatment is a trifle fanciful. But romance gathers round an old story like lichen on an old branch. And the story of Martin Pippin in the Apple-Orchard is so old now--some say a year old, some say even two. How can the children be expected to remember? But here's the truth of it. MARTIN PIPPIN IN THE APPLE-ORCHARD PROLOGUE PART I One morning in April Martin Pippin walked in the meadows near Adversane, and there he saw a young fellow sowing a field with oats broadcast. So pleasant a sight was enough to arrest Martin for an hour, though less important things, such as making his living, could not occupy him for a minute. So he leaned upon the gate, and presently noticed that for every handful he scattered the young man shed as many tears as seeds, and now and then he stopped his sowing altogether, and putting his face between his hands sobbed bitterly. When this had happened three or four times, Martin hailed the youth, who was then fairly close to the gate. "Young master!" said he. "The baker of this crop will want no salt to his baking, and that's flat."