Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/66

 "And oh!" says he, "what leetle bird
 * Is singing in yon high tree,

So every shrill and long-drawn note
 * Like bubbles breaks in me?"

Says I, "It is the mavis
 * That perches in the tree,

And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,
 * When dawn comes up the sea."

At which he fell a-musing,
 * And fixed his eye on me,

As one alone 'twixt light and dark
 * A spirit thinks to see.

"England!" he whispers soft and harsh,
 * "England!" repeated he,

"And briar, and rose, and mavis,
 * A-singing in yon high tree.

"Ye speak me true, my leetle son,
 * So — so, it came to me,

A-drifting landwards on a spar,
 * And grey dawn on the sea.

"Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;
 * I knew them leafy trees,

I knew that land so witchery sweet,
 * And that old noise of seas.