Mount Ida School - Ye Idler Yearbook (Newton, MA)

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Y E if! D L E Q N SONGS TO BE INSERTED IN IDYLLS OF THE KING I Song to be sung by Elaine as Lancelot rides away without a word of farewell. Beautiful is the day, though sad to me, For Lancelot goes and never a word says he The pain l cannot endure: let me die. Lancelot, turn thy face towards me, so, And bid me farewell before you go.- My love for you is too greatg let me die. ' He now is only a speck far wayg- lt is useless to live for another day: The burden is too great to bear: let ancelot, why could yo e me away? t me Lancelot, L Or love me and tak es now are goneg le M V hop l I me die. ot stay, 1111 E die. D 1431 ORIS LOCK

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4 E, al D L E el was Fl N 43 WHARF NOCTURNE Night is upon me like a black-gloved hand her lingers pointing ever cityward I hear persistent noises from the town but I do not listen because to me there is only one great deep hush boats come and go tugs liners and ever an occasional dory. The sea the smell of her ' the many feelings in her are strong upon me like a fresh spring wind the bitter waves roughly caress the wharves' great bodies suddenly I am afraid of something that is waiting for me how quiet it is some wakeful gull swoops wearily before me and now I live again scintillating lights a voice tar smell and boats boats boats boats with queer names that are an embodiment of all some buccaneering sailor wished for, The Mystic a dirty old black tug perhaps was meant to skim across the seven seas the moon is just careening down the sky into that smooth gold sea of dawn a sailor goes by singing my bonnie lies over the ocean and this is no more real. .I LESLIE FRIEND. 'A H421

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' il D L' 5 N II Song to be sung by Gareth during the period of his kitchen uassalage. Ay, a kitchen knave am Ile While making brewis for the king A merry song I sing. I hew the wood, Turn the broach And eye the kettle on the fire, Talk of knighthood and our king: A merry, merry song I sing. Ay, a kitchen knave am I! In my own mind a knight am I: Though for a loved one's sake A kitchen knave I seem, Smelling of kitchen grease: And spending time in a place That does not suit my pace. But in some future day My merry song Will say: No longer a kitchen knave am I, But a knight, a knight am II CAROLYN PAY H441