February’s poems

Happy St. Valentine’s Day. Samuel and Daniel are with grandparents. Karin & I – accompanied by sleeping Abel – romantically gorged at the local diner (I ordered Mexican food and pancakes). We knew it’d be a quiet venue; there were just a handful of couples. But all races and persuasions were represented, including people with MAGA hats.

Afterward, I remarked to Karin how nicely everyone got along. “They all ignored each other,” she said.

Then I realized, not everyone shares my idea of “getting along.”

Back at home, we read love poems to each other.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Forget-Me-Not,” by William McGonagall:

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A gallant knight and his betroth’d bride,

Were walking one day by a river side,

They talk’d of love, and they talk’d of war,

And how very foolish lovers are.

At length the bride to the knight did say,

“There have been many young ladies led astray

By believing in all their lovers said,

And you are false to me I am afraid.”

“No, Ellen, I was never false to thee,

I never gave thee cause to doubt me;

I have always lov’d thee and do still,

And no other woman your place shall fill.”

“Dear Edwin, it may be true, but I am in doubt,

But there’s some beautiful flowers here about,

Growing on the other side of the river,

But how to get one, I cannot discover.”

“Dear Ellen, they seem beautiful indeed,

But of them, dear, take no heed;

Because they are on the other side,

Besides, the river is deep and wide.”

“Dear Edwin, as I doubt your love to be untrue,

I ask one favour now from you:

Go! fetch me a flower from across the river,

Which will prove you love me more than ever.”

“Dear Ellen! I will try and fetch you a flower

If it lies within my power

To prove that I am true to you,

And what more can your Edwin do?”

So he leap’d into the river wide,

And swam across to the other side,

To fetch a flower for his young bride,

Who watched him eagerly on the other side.

So he pluck’d a flower right merrily

Which seemed to fill his heart with glee,

That it would please his lovely bride;

But, alas! he never got to the other side.

For when he tried to swim across,

All power of his body he did loss,

But before he sank in the river wide,

He flung the flowers to his lovely bride.

And he cried, “Oh, heaven! hard is my lot,

My dearest Ellen! Forget me not:

For I was ever true to you,

My dearest Ellen! I bid thee adieu!”

Then she wrung her hands in wild despair,

Until her cries did rend the air;

And she cried, “Edwin, dear, hard is out lot,

But I’ll name this flower Forget-me-not.

“And I’ll remember thee while I live,

And to no other man my hand I’ll give,

And I will place my affection on this little flower,

And it will solace me in a lonely hour.”

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♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“May Colvin,” from The Oxford Book of Ballads (ed. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch):

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False Sir John a-wooing came

To a maid of beauty fair;

May Colvin was this lady’s name,

Her father’s only heir.

He woo’d her but, he woo’d her ben [Editor’s note: both in the outer and inner rooms],

He woo’d her in the ha’;

Until he got the lady’s consent

To mount and ride awa’.

“Go fetch me some of your father’s gold,

And some of your mother’s fee,

And I’ll carry you into the north land,

And there I’ll marry thee.”

She’s gane to her father’s coffers

Where all his money lay,

And she’s taken the red, and she’s left the white,

And so lightly she’s tripp’d away.

She’s gane to her father’s stable

Where all the steeds did stand,

And she’s taken the best, and she’s left the warst

That was in her father’s land.

She’s mounted on a milk-white steed,

And he on a dapple-grey,

And on they rade to a lonesome part,

A rock beside the sea.

“Loup [leap] off the steed,” says false Sir John,

“Your bridal bed you see;

Seven ladies I have drownèd here,

And the eight’ one you shall be.

“Cast off, cast off your silks so fine

And lay them on a stone,

For they are too fine and costly

To rot in the salt sea foam.

“Cast off, cast off your silken stays,

For and your broider’d shoon,

For they are too fine and costly

To rot in the salt sea foam.

“Cast off, cast off your Holland smock

That’s border’d with the lawn,

For it is too fine and costly

To rot in the salt sea foam,” –

“O turn about, thou false Sir John,

And look to the leaf o’ the tree;

For it never became a gentleman

A naked woman to see.”

He turn’d himself straight round about

To look to the leaf o’ the tree;

She’s twined her arms about his waist

And thrown him into the sea.

“O hold a grip o’ me, May Colvin,

For fear that I should drown;

I’ll take you home to your father’s bower

And safe I’ll set you down.”

“No help, no help, thou false Sir John,

No help, no pity thee!

For you lie not in a caulder bed

Than you thought to lay me.”

She mounted on her milk-white steed,

And led the dapple-grey,

And she rode till she reach’d her father’s gate,

At the breakin’ o’ the day.

Up then spake the pretty parrot,

“May Colvin, where have you been?

What has become o’ false Sir John

That went with you yestreen?” –

“O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot!

Nor tell no tales o’ me;

Your cage shall be made o’ the beaten gold

And the spokes o’ ivorie.”

Up then spake her father dear,

In the bed-chamber where he lay:

“What ails the pretty parrot,

That prattles so long ere day?” –

“There came a cat to my cage, master,

I thought ’t would have worried me;

And I was calling to May Colvin

To take the cat from me.”

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