WILLOW. 277 



" My mother had a maid called Barbara ; 

 She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, 

 And did forsake her : she had a song of ' willow,' 

 An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune, 

 And she died singing it : That song, to-night, 

 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 

 But to go hang my head all at one side, 

 And sing it, like poor Barbara." 



No mention is made concerning poor Barbara's pale fact, 

 nor yet her lack-lustre eye, nor melancholy voice ; we know 

 only that the old song expressed her fortune, that she hung 

 her head, and went about her household work singing it; yet 

 who can read this pathetic passage without the vision of 

 poor Barbara ? 



The plaintive ballad which Barbara sang was old in the 

 time of Shakspeare, and thus the descant ran : 



" A poor soul sat singing by a sycamore- tree, 



O willow ! willow ! willow ! 

 With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee, 



willow ! willow ! willow ! 

 Sing 0, the green willow must be my garland. 



