Volume Ii Part 64 (2/2)

Alfred Cochrane [1865-

A PASTORAL

Along the lane beside the mead Where cowslip-gold is in the gra.s.s I matched the milkmaid's easy speed, A tall and springing country la.s.s: But though she had a merry plan To s.h.i.+eld her from my soft replies, Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can In Mary's eyes.

A mile or twain from Varley bridge I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan, And drove away the constant midge, And cooled her forehead's strip of tan.

But though the maiden would not spare My hand her pretty finger-tips, Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare On Mary's lips.

Since time was short and blood was bold, I drew me closer to her side, And watched her freckles change from gold To pink beneath a blus.h.i.+ng tide.

But though she turned her face away, How much her panting heart confessed!

Love played at Find-me-for-you-May In Mary's breast.

Norman Gale [1862-

A ROSE

'Twas a Jacqueminot rose That she gave me at parting; Sweetest flower that blows, 'Twas a Jacqueminot rose.

In the love garden close, With the swift blushes starting, 'Twas a Jacqueminot rose That she gave me at parting.

If she kissed it, who knows-- Since I will not discover, And love is that close, If she kissed it, who knows?

Or if not the red rose Perhaps then the lover!

If she kissed it, who knows, Since I will not discover.

Yet at least with the rose Went a kiss that I'm wearing!

More I will not disclose, Yet at least with the rose Went whose kiss no one knows,-- Since I'm only declaring, ”Yet at least with the rose Went a kiss that I'm wearing.”

Arlo Bates [1850-1918]

”WOOED AND MARRIED AND A'”

The bride cam' out o' the byre, And oh, as she dighted her cheeks: ”Sirs, I'm to be married the night, And ha'e neither blankets nor sheets; Ha'e neither blankets nor sheets, Nor scarce a coverlet too; The bride that has a' thing to borrow, Has e'en right muckle ado!”

Wooed and married, and a', Married and wooed and a'!

And was she nae very weel aff, That was wooed and married and a'?

Out spake the bride's father, As he cam' in frae the pleugh: ”Oh, haud your tongue, my dochter, And ye'se get gear eneugh; The stirk stands i' the tether, And our braw bawsint yaud, Will carry ye hame your corn-- What wad ye be at, ye jaud?”

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