_The Weald is good, the Downs are best_-- _I'll give you the run of 'em, East to West._ Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill, They were once and they are still, Firle, Mount Caburn and Mount Harry Go back as far as sums'll carry. Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring, They have looked on many a thing, And what those two have missed between 'em I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen 'em. Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down Knew Old England before the Crown. Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood Knew Old England before the Flood. And when you end on the Hampshire side-- Butser's old as Time and Tide. _The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn,_ _You be glad you are Sussex born!_ BROOKLAND ROAD I was very well pleased with what I knowed, I reckoned myself no fool-- Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road, That turned me back to school. _Low down--low down! Where the liddle green lanterns shine-- O maids, I've done with 'ee all but one, And she can never be mine!_ 'Twas right in the middest of a hot June night, With thunder duntin' round, And I see'd her face by the fairy light That beats from off the ground. She only smiled and she never spoke, She smiled and went away; But when she'd gone my heart was broke, And my wits was clean astray. O stop your ringing and let me be-- Let be, O Brookland bells! You'll ring Old Goodman[A] out of the sea, Before I wed one else! Old Goodman's Farm is rank sea-sand, And was this thousand year: But it shall turn to rich plough land Before I change my dear. O, Fairfield Church is water-bound From autumn to the spring; But it shall turn to high hill ground Before my bells do ring. O, leave me walk on the Brookland Road, In the thunder and warm rain-- O, leave me look where my love goed, And p'raps I'll see her again! _Low down--low down! Where the liddle green lanterns shine-- O maids, I've done with 'ee all but one, And she can never be mine!_ [Footnote A: Earl Godwin of the Goodwin Sands?] THE SACK OF THE GODS Strangers drawn from the ends of the earth, jewelled and plumed were we. I was Lord of the Inca race, and she was Queen of the Sea. Under the stars beyond our stars where the new-forged meteors glow Hotly we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago. _Ever 'neath high Valhalla Hall the well-tuned horns begin When the swords are out in the underworld, and the weary Gods come in. Ever through high Valhalla Gate the Patient Angel goes; He opens the eyes that are blind with hate--he joins the hands of foes._ Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above-- Wrecks of our wrath dropped reeling down as we fought and we spurned and we strove. Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered them to and fro, The night that we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago!