And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.

O LITTLE BRIDE, WHY DOST THOU WEEP
WITH ALL THE HAPPY WORLD ASLEEP?

Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.



VILLAGE-SONG

Honey, child, honey, child, whither are you
going?
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes
blowing?
Would you leave the mother who on golden
grain has fed you?
Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth
to wed you?

Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going,
Where upon the champa boughs the champa
buds are blowing;