is quoted with variations in other plays, and was a favorite of the time,[30] and like many a ballad appears in religious parody. A modern variant, due to tradition, comes from Norwich; the third and fourth lines ran:--
For the wind is in the west, And the cuckoo's in his nest.
From the time of Henry VIII. a pretty song is preserved of this same class:--
Westron wynde, when wyll thou blow! The smalle rain downe doth rayne; Oh if my love were in my armys, Or I in my bed agayne!
This sort of song between the lovers, one without and one within, occurs in French and German at a very early date, and is probably much older than any records of it; as serenade, it found great favor with poets of the city and the court, and is represented in English by Sidney's beautiful lines, admirable for purposes of comparison with the folk-song:--
"Who is it that this dark night Underneath my window plaineth?" "It is one who, from thy sight Being, ah, exiled! disdaineth Every other vulgar light."
The zeal of modern collectors has brought together a mass of material which passes for folk-song. None of it is absolutely communal, for the conditions of primitive lyric have long since been swept away; nevertheless, where isolated communities have retained something of the old homogeneous and simple character, the spirit of folk-song lingers in survival. From Great Britain, from France, and particularly from Germany, where circumstances have favored this survival, a few folk-songs may now be given in inadequate translation. To go further afield, to collect specimens of Italian, Russian, Servian, modern Greek, and so on, would need a book. The songs which follow are sufficiently representative for the purpose.
A pretty little song, popular in Germany to this day, needs no pompous support of literary allusion to explain its simple pathos; still, it is possible that one meets here a distant echo of the tragedy of obstacles told in romance of Hero and Leander. When one hears this song, one understands where Heine found the charm of his best lyrics:--
Over a waste of water The bonnie lover crossed, A-wooing the King's daughter: But all his love was lost.
Ah, Elsie, darling Elsie, Fain were I now with thee; But waters twain are flowing, Dear love, twixt thee and me![31]