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samuel coleridge-taylor - canoe song كلمات أغنية

my masters twain made me a bed
of pine_boughs resinous, and cedar;
of moss, a soft and gentle breeder
of dreams of rest; and me they spread
with furry skins, and laughing said
‘now she shall lay her polish’d sides
as queens do rest, or dainty brides
our slender lady of the tides!’

my masters twain their camp_soul lit
streamed incense from the hissing cones
large, crimson flashes grew and whirl’d
thin, golden nerves of sly light curl’d
round the dun camp, and rose faint zones
half way about each grim bole knit
like a shy child that would bedeck
with its soft clasp a brave’s red neck;
yet sees the rough shield on his breast
the awful plumes shake on his crest
and fearful drops his timid face
nor dares complete the sweet embrace

into the hollow hearts of brakes
yet warm from sides of does and stags
pass’d to the crisp dark river flags;
sinuous, red as copper snakes
sharp_headed serpents, made of light
glided and hid themselves in night
my masters twain, the slaughtered deer
hung on fork’d boughs __ with thongs of leather
bound were his stiff, slim feet together __
his eyes like dead stars cold and drear;
the wand’ring firelight drew near
and laid its wide palm, red and anxious
on the sharp splendor of his branches;
on the white foam grown hard and sere
on flank and shoulder
death __ hard as breast of granite boulder
and under his lashes
peer’d thro’ his eyes at his life’s grey ashes

my masters twain sang songs that wove
(as they burnish’d hunting blade and rifle)
a golden thread with a cobweb trifle __
loud of the chase, and low of love

‘o love, art thou a silver fish?
shy of the line and shy of gaffing
which we do follow, fierce, yet laughing
casting at thee the light_wing’d wish
and at the last shall we bring thee up
from the crystal darkness under the cup
of lily folden
on broad leaves golden?
‘o love! art thou a silver deer
swift thy starr’d feet as wing of swallow
while we with rushing arrows follow;
and at the last shall we draw near
and over thy velvet neck cast thongs __
woven of roses, of stars, of songs?
new chains all moulden
of rare gems olden!’

they hung the slaughter’d fish like swords
on saplings slender __ like scimitars
bright, and ruddied from new_dead wars
blaz’d in the light __ the scaly hordes

they piled up boughs beneath the trees
of cedar_web and green fir tassel;
low did the pointed pine tops rustle
the camp fire blush’d to the tender breeze

the hounds laid dew_laps on the ground
with needles of pine sweet, soft and rusty __
dream’d of the dead stag stout and l_sty;
a bat by the red flames wove its round

the darkness built its wigwam walls
close round the camp, and at its curtain
press’d shapes, thin woven and uncertain
as white locks of tall waterfalls
isabella valancy crawford

- samuel coleridge taylor

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