“Only the dead were free. And I, who had planned so cunningly.
“The silver lamps moved slightly as they hung.”
_Forsooth the present we must give To that which cannot pass away, All beauteous things for which we live By laws of time and space, decay. But oh, the very reason why I clasp them, is because they die._
The children only half liked these stories of Granny’s. They cared more for her flower-lore. For while she spoke of her more horrible dreams, she became possessed by their spirit, and they could then better understand her causing fear in the breasts of others, and therefore suspicion and dislike. Best of all, they liked to get her to sing to them. Her voice was like the fitful pipe of the keyhole when the wind blows through, yet all the words sounded clearly. And the words of one of her songs were these:--
“The holly and the ivy Are both now fully grown, Of all the trees in greenwood The holly bears the crown.
_O, the rising of the sun, The running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a blossom As white as lily-flower; And Mary bore sweet Jesus To be our Saviour.
_O, the rising of the sun, The running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a berry, As red as any blood; And Mary bore sweet Jesus To do poor sinners good.
_O, the rising of the sun, The running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the quoir._
The holly bears a bark As bitter as any gall; And Mary bore sweet Jesus To redeem us all.
_O, the rising of the sun, The running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the quoir._”
You may know the tune of these words, for it is to be found in the Carol Book. It is lovely, and when it comes to the lines--
“O, the rising of the sun, The running of the deer,”
there is warmth in the music, and the notes give the sound of light feet pricking through dry leaves of the russet floor of woodlands.
And here is another of her songs. This one she would sing as she plied her spinning-wheel, and the last two lines, if you notice, have a pleasant recurrence in their sound. Something sustained and continuous, like the whirring of a wheel:--