TWO SONGS

Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the grey trout lies asleep, Up the river and over the lea, That’s the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That’s the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest, There to track the homeward bee, That’s the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That’s the way for Billy and me. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That’s the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and over the lea, That’s the way for Billy and me.

There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year, I think—is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer? No, the roses soon withered that hung o’er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly they shone, And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as ’twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!