The Minstrel of the Fleet
It was the minstrel of the fleet
That lured the notes from the willing strings,
He holds the heart of you there at his feet
By the call of heart when the minstrel sings.
Years unsped and the world was young
And the haws were green in an English glen;
We kissed by night and the songs we sung
My love and I ne’er sang again.
I kissed my love on her red red lips,
And my love she wept as her heart would break;
And I left my love for the Love-o’-Ships
And my love believed for our True-Love’s sake.
I sailed the heart of the year away,
And I sailed the seal of another twain,
And I loved my love for every day
When shone the Sun or rained the rain.
Years were three and I harked me back
To the hawthorn glen in the golden morn,
I heard the beagle upon my track
And I cursed the soul where the sin was born.
Your love is gone (in scorn they said),
She would not wait for a buccaneer;—
My love was true for my love was dead,
Her grave is green as my soul is sere.
Years be-sped and the world is old
And the dew is fresh on the English green,
And my love’s at rest in the English mould
Here in my heart that ye now have seen.
Hard eyes are soft for the song is sweet,
Hard hearts are soft for the song he sings,
It was the minstrel of the fleet
That woke dead Youth from the wailing strings.