The Book of Old English Songs and Ballads illustrated by Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale

Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1871 – 1945)

She is perhaps best remembered for reawakening the Pre-Raphaelite style of painting at the end of the 19th century as shown in her moral or medieval depictions with their vibrant and flamboyant colours.

 Frontispiece

Hail, Bishop Valentine, whose day this is!

All the air is thy diocese.

And all the chirping choristers

And other birds are thy parishoners

 

 A hue and cry after Cupid.

’ With every thing that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise:

Arise, arise ! '

 

Cruel Barbara Allen

 

‘ I did but see her passing by,

And yet I love her till I die !’

 

‘ Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame or private breath.’

 

' Pride and Ambition here

Only in far-fetcht metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter.'

 

 The Bailiff's daughter of Islington.

’Is any cozened of a tear

Which as a pearl disdain does wear ?

Here stands the thief ; let her but come

Hither, and lay on him her doom.'

‘ Why so large cost, having so short a lease.

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?'

 O Love ! has she done this to thee ?

What shall, alas ! become of me ?

' Although a lion in the field,

A lamb in turn thou shalt him find.'

' Though he be a child and blind.'

 

' Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new.'

 

’ With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied.

As each had been a bride.’

‘A rose as fair as ever saw the North

Grew in a little garden all alone.'

 

’Like to those garden-glories which here be

The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee.'

 

   

‘ Yet this is she whose chaster laws

The wanton love shall one day fear,

And, under her command severe,

See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.'

‘ Whose brown hath lovelier grace

Than any painted face

That I do know

Hyde Park can show.'

 

‘ Our lady sings Magnificat,

With tones surpassing sweet.'

 

' So, calm are we when passions are no more !’

‘Who is Silvia ? What is she,

That all our swains commend her ?’

‘ Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying.'