A hat so very ancient
It might have covered Moses,
Adorned, on great occasions,
With ivy-leaves or roses ;
A coat the very coarsest
Since tailoring began,
O that 's the gay apparel
Of Robin Merryman!
Within his cottage Robin
With joyful eye regards
A table and a bedstead,
A flute, a pack of cards,
A chest - with nothing in it,
An earthen water-can,
O these are all the riches
Of Robin Merryman!
To teach the village children
The funniest kind of plays;
To tell a clever story;
To dance on holidays;
To puzzle through the almanac;
A merry song to scan,
O that is all the learning
Of Robin Merryman !
To drink his mug of cider,
And never sigh for wine;
To look at courtly ladies,
Yet think his Mag divine;
To take the good that's going,
Content with Nature's plan, -
O that is the philosophy
Of Robin Merryman!
To say, "O Gracious Father !
Excuse my merry pranks;
For all thy loving-kindness
I give thee hearty thanks;
And may I still be jolly
Through life's remaining span," -
O that 's the style of praying
With Robin Merryman !
Now, all ye wretched mortals
Aspiring to be rich;
And ye whose gilded coaches
Have tumbled in the ditch;
Leave off your silly whining,
Adopt a wiser plan;
Go follow the example
Of Robin Merryman!
(From Béranger's "Le Roi d'Yvetot.")
IN Normandy there reigned a king
(I've quite forgot his name),
Who led a jolly sort of life,
And did n't care for fame.
A nightcap was his crown of state,
Which Jenny placed upon his pate:
Ha! ha! - laugh and sing:
O was n't he a funny king?
He ate his meals, like other folk,
Slept soundly and secure,
And on a donkey every year
He made his royal tour;
Was body-guard enough for him:
Ha! ha! - laugh and sing:
O was n't he a funny king?
A single foible he confessed,
A tendency to drink;
But kings who heed their subjects' need,
Should mind their own, I think;
And thus it was his tax he got,
For every cask an extra pot :
Ha! ha!-laugh and sing :
O was n't he a funny king?
The lasses loved this worthy king;
And many a merry youth
Would hail his majesty as "Sire,"
And often spoke the truth.
He viewed his troops in goodly ranks,
But still their cartridges were blanks.
Ha! ha! laugh and sing:
O was n't he a funny king?
He never stole his neighbors' land
To magnify his realm;
But steered his little ship of state
With honor at the helm;
And when at last the king was dead,
No wonder all the people said:
"Ah! ah! weep and sing:
O was n't he a noble king?"
THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID.
(From Béranger's "Le Chasseur et la Laitière.")
HE lark is singing her matin lay,
O come with me, fair maiden, I pray;
Sweet, O sweet is the morning hour,
And sweeter still is yon ivied bower;
Wreaths of roses I 'll twine for thee,
O come, fair maiden, along with me!
Ah! Sir Hunter, my mother is near;
I really must n't be loitering here!
Thy mother, fair maiden, is far away,
And never will listen a word we say;
I 'll sing thee a song that ladies sing
In royal castles to please the king;
A wondrous song whose magical charm
Will keep the singer from every harm.
Fie! Sir Hunter, -- a fig for your song;
Good by! - for I must be going along!
if singing will not prevail,
I 'll tell thee, then, a terrible tale;
'T is all about a Baron so bold,
Huge and swart, and ugly and old,
Who saw the ghost of his murdered wife,
A pleasant story, upon my life!
Ah! Sir Hunter, the story is flat;
I know one worth a dozen of that.
I 'll teach thee, then, a curious prayer
Of wondrous power the wolf to scare,
And frighten the witch that hovers nigh
To blight the young with her evil eye ;
O guard, fair maiden, thy beauty well,
A fearful thing is her wicked spell !
O, I can read my missal, you know;
Good by! Sir Hunter, for I must go !
Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl;
Here is a jewel of gold and pearl;
A beautiful cross it is, I ween,
As ever on beauty's breast was seen :
There 's nothing at all but love to pay;
Take it, and wear it, but only stay!
Ah! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste!
I'm not-in such-particular - haste!.
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