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Green Bays. Verses and Parodies

Chapter 39: THE END
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About This Book

This volume gathers lyrical poems and playful parodies that range from wistful college and pastoral pieces to mock‑heroic and classical pastiches. The verse alternates light satire, musical ballads, and reflective lyrics that probe memory, love, mortality, and academic life. Formal experiments and archaisms appear alongside concise epigrams and conversational verse, while recurring dream and elegiac motifs create a mingled mood of humor and melancholy. Occasional pieces and brief envois punctuate the sequence, producing varied tonal shifts and a compact, eclectic poetic miscellany.

L'ENVOI.

AS I LAYE A-DREAMYNGE.

After T. I.

       As I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge,
     O softlye moaned the dove to her mate within the tree,
          And meseemed unto my syghte
          Came rydynge many a knyghte
          All cased in armoure bryghte
              Cap-a-pie,
     As I laye a-dreamynge, a goodlye companye!

       As I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge,
     O sadlye mourned the dove, callynge long and callynge lowe,
          And meseemed of alle that hoste
          Notte a face but was the ghoste
          Of a friend that I hadde loste
              Long agoe.
      As I laye a-dreamynge, oh, bysson teare to flowe!

       As I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge,
     O sadlye sobbed the dove as she seemed to despayre,
          And laste upon the tracke
          Came one I hayled as 'Jacke!'
          But he turned mee his backe
              With a stare:
     As I laye a-dreamynge, he lefte mee callynge there.

       Stille I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge,
     And gentler sobbed the dove as it eased her of her payne,
          And meseemed a voyce yt cry'd—
         'They shall ryde, and they shall ryde
         'Tyll the truce of tyme and tyde
              Come agayne!
     Alle for Eldorado, yette never maye attayne!'

       Stille I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge,
     And scarcelye moaned the dove, as her agonye was spente:
         'Shalle to-morrowe see them nygher
          To a golden walle or spyre?
          You have better in yr fyre,
              Bee contente.'
     As I laye a-dreamynge, it seem'd smalle punyshment.

       But I laye a-wakynge, and loe! the dawne was breakynge
     And rarely pyped a larke for the promyse of the daye:
         'Uppe and sette yr lance in reste!
          Uppe and followe on the queste!
          Leave the issue to be guessed
     At the endynge of the waye'—

       As I laye a-wakynge, 'twas soe she seemed to say—
    'Whatte and if it alle be feynynge?
     There be better thynges than gaynynge,
     Rycher pryzes than attaynynge.'—
          And 'twas truthe she seemed to saye.
     Whyles the dawne was breakynge, I rode upon my waye.

THE END