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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

As I Laye A-Thynkynge

By Richard Harris Barham (Thomas Ingoldsby) (1788–1845)

The Last Lines of Barham

AS I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye;

There came a noble Knighte,

With his hauberke shynynge brighte,

And his gallant heart was lyghte,

Free and gaye;

As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree!

There seemed a crimson plain,

Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne,

And a steed with broken rein

Ran free,

As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see!

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe;

A lovely mayde came bye,

And a gentil youth was nyghe,

And he breathed many a syghe,

And a vowe;

As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne;

No more a youth was there,

But a Maiden rent her haire,

And cried in sad despaire,

“That I was borne!”

As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar;

There came a lovely childe,

And his face was meek and milde,

Yet joyously he smiled

On his sire;

As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire.

But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,

And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier;

That joyous smile was gone,

And the face was white and wan,

As the downe upon the Swan

Doth appear,

As I laye a-thynkynge,—oh! bitter flowed the tear!

As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,

Oh, merrie sang that Birde, as it glittered on her breast

With a thousand gorgeous dyes;

While soaring to the skies,

’Mid the stars she seemed to rise,

As to her nest;

As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest:—

“Follow, follow me away,

It boots not to delay,”—

’Twas so she seemed to saye,

“HERE IS REST!”