JEAN INGELOW.

LINCOLNSHIRE.

(1571.)

THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. "Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe The Brides of Enderby.'

Men say it was a stolen tyde —

The Lord that sent it, he knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall: And there was naught of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the old sea

wall.

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; And all the aire it seemeth me Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away

The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goodly vessels lie,
And where the lordly steeple shows.
They sayde, "And why should this
thing be,

What danger lowers by land or sea?
They ring the tune of Enderby!

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,
Of pyrate galleys warping down;
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,
They have not spared to wake the
towne;

But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
Why ring 'The Brides of Enderby'?"

I looked without, and lo! my sonne
Came riding downe with might and

main,

He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth! (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe,

The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith;

"Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away With her two bairns I marked her long;

And ere yon bells beganne to play

Afar I heard her milking song.'
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!"
They rang, "The Brides of Enderby!"

With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,

And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noise, loud;
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

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Upon the roofe we sate that night,

The noise of bells went sweeping by: I marked the lofty beacon-light

Stream from the church-tower, red and high,

A lurid mark and dread to see;

And awesome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang "Enderby."

They rang the sailor-lads to guide

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed, And I my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed: And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O come in life, or come in death! O lost my love, Elizabeth."

And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare;

The waters laid thee at his doore,

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. The pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith). And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

I shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis shore,
"Cusha, Cusha, Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews be falling;
I shall never hear her song,
"Cusha, Cusha!" all along,
Where the sunny Lindis floweth,
Goeth, floweth;

From the meads where melick groweth,

mother's own lasses,

Eager to gather them all.

Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedgesparrow,

That loved her brown little ones, loved

them full fain;

Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow," Sing once, and sing it again.

Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow;

A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow.

O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters,

Maybe he thinks on you now.

For it is but short:

My boat you shall find none fairer afloat,
In river or port.

Long I looked out for the lad she bore,
On the open desolate sea,
And I think he sailed to the heavenly
shore,

For he came not back to me

Ah me!

A song of a nest :There was once a nest in a hollow; Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,

Soft and warm and full to the brim.
Vetches leaned over it purple and dim,
With buttercup-buds to follow.

I pray you hear my song of a nest,
For it is not long:

You shall never light in a summer quest
The bushes among,