“I’ll promise my blossoms,” the Crocus said,
  “When I hear the bluebirds sing.” 
And straight thereafter Narcissus cried,
  “My silver and gold I’ll bring.” 
“And ere they are dulled,” another spoke,
  “The Hyacinth bells shall ring.” 
And the violet only murmured, “I’m here,”
  And sweet grew the breath of spring. 
Then, “Ha! ha! ha!” a chorus came
  Of laughter soft and low
From the millions of flowers under the ground—­
  Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.

Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,
  Imprisoned in walls of brown,
They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud,
  And the sleet and the hail came down,
But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress,
  Or fashioned her beautiful crown;
And now they are coming to brighten the world,
  Still shadowed by winter’s frown;
And well may they cheerily laugh, “Ha! ha!”
  In a chorus soft and low,
The millions of flowers hid under the ground—­
  Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.

* * * * *

CAVALIER TUNES.

1.  GIVE A ROUSE.

King Charles, and who’ll do him right now? 
King Charles, and who’s ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse:  here’s, in hell’s despite now,
King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since? 
Who raised me the house that sank once? 
Who helped me to gold I spent since? 
Who found me in wine you drank once?

Cho.  King Charles, and who’ll do him right now? 
            King Charles, and who’s ripe for fight now? 
            Give a rouse:  here’s, in hell’s despite now,
            King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,
By the old fool’s side that begot him? 
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,
While Noll’s damned troopers shot him.

Cho.  King Charles, and who’ll do him right now? 
            King Charles, and who’s ripe for fight now? 
            Give a rouse:  here’s, in hell’s despite now,
            King Charles!

II.  BOOT AND SADDLE.

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! 
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.

Cho.  Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you’d say;
Many’s the friend there, will listen and pray
“God’s luck to gallants that strike up the lay!”

Cho.  Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead’s array: 
Who laughs, “Good fellows ere this, by my fay,

Cho.  Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”

Who?  My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, “Nay! 
I’ve better counsellors; what counsel they?