O welcome, welcome, lily white, Thou fairest youth of all the valley! When I'm with you, my soul is light; I chase away dull melancholy. I chase all sadness from my heart: Then welcome, dearest that thou art! I chase all sadness from my side: Then welcome, O my love, my pride! I chase all sadness far away: Then welcome, welcome, love, to-day! The image of a lily is very prettily treated in the next (p 79):-- I planted a lily yestreen at my window; I set it yestreen, and to-day it sprang up: When I opened the latch and leaned out of my window, It shadowed my face with its beautiful cup. O lily, my lily, how tall you are grown! Remember how dearly I loved you, my own. O lily, my lily, you'll grow to the sky! Remember I love you for ever and aye. The same thought of love growing like a flower receives another turn (p. 69):-- On yonder hill I saw a flower; And, could it thence be hither borne, I'd plant it here within my bower, And water it both eve and morn. Small water wants the stem so straight; 'Tis a love-lily stout as fate. Small water wants the root so strong: 'Tis a love-lily lasting long. Small water wants the flower so sheen: 'Tis a love-lily ever green. Envious tongues have told a girl that her complexion is not good. She replies, with imagery like that of Virgil's 'Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur' (p. 31):-- Think it no grief that I am brown, For all brunettes are born to reign: White is the snow, yet trodden down; Black pepper kings need not disdain: White snow lies mounded on the vales Black pepper's weighed in brazen scales. Another song runs on the same subject (p. 38):-- The whole world tells me that I'm brown, The brown earth gives us goodly corn: The clove-pink too, however brown, Yet proudly in the hand 'tis borne. They say my love is black, but he Shines like an angel-form to me: They say my love is dark as night; To me he seems a shape of light. The freshness of the following spring song recalls the ballads of the Val de Vire in Normandy (p. 85):-- It was the morning of the first of May, Into the close I went to pluck a flower; And there I found a bird of woodland gay, Who whiled with songs of love the silent hour. O bird, who fliest from fair Florence, how Dear love begins, I prithee teach me now!-- Love it begins with music and with song, And ends with sorrow and with sighs ere long. Love at first sight is described (p. 79):-- The very moment that we met, That moment love began to beat: One glance of love we gave, and swore Never to part for evermore; We swore together, sighing deep, Never to part till Death's long sleep. Here too is a memory of the first days of love (p. 79):--