To the little gray church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, Come away, away, children; She will start from her slumber But we stood without in the cold blowing She will hear the winds howling, airs. We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 75 She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; moan. Will hear the waves roar. A pavement of pearl. But, children, at midnight, She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, Over banks of bright seaweed At the church on the hill-side: 90 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, Come, let me read the oft-read tale again! The story of that Oxford scholar poor, Of pregnant parts and quick inventive But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he brain, quired; would fly. Whereat he answered, that the gipsy- For most, I know, thou lov'st retired crew, ground! 1 fireside bench. 2 small, flat-bottomed boat. 80 |