This page has been validated.
8
The wild fire dances on the fen,
The red star sheds its ray;
Up-rouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our opening day.
Both child and nurse is fast asleep,
And closed is every flower,
And winking tapers faintly peep,
High from my lady’s bower;
Bewildered hinds with shortening ken,
Shrink on their murky way;
Up-rouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our opening day.
Nor board nor garner own we now,
Nor roof nor latched door,
Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow,
To bless a good man’s store.
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,
And night has grown our day;
Up-rouse ye then, my merry men,
And use it as ye may.
