For the stateliest bunding man can raise
Is the Ivy's food ó last.

Creeping on, where Time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.




The old mayor climb’d the belfry tower,

The ringers rang by two, by three ; “ Pull, if ye never pull'd 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

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.

I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ;
The level sun,

like ruddy ore,
Lay sinking in the barren skies ;
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

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“Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song.

Cusha! Cusha !” all along ;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,

Floweth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groweth

Faintly came her milking-song

Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling,
For the dews will soone be falling ;
Leave your meadow-grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow;
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your

head ; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,

Jetty, to the milking-shed."

If it be long, ay, long ago,

When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe sharpe and strong ;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
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.

The swanherds where their sedges are

Moved on in sunset's golden breath,
The shepherd-lads I heard afarre,

And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;
Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The “ Brides of Mavis Enderby.”

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 down 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 old 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 her way,

With her two bairns I mark'd her long, And ere yon bells beganne to play

Afar I heard her milking song.”
He looked across the grassy lea,
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 rear'd his crest,

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

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