Volume Ii Part 76 (1/2)

I'd forget ye now this minute, If I only had a notion O' the way I should begin it; But first an' last it isn't known The heap o' throuble's in it.

Meself began the night ye went An' hasn't done it yet; I'm nearly fit to give it up, For where's the use to fret?-- An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me Wid mindin' to forget.

Moira O'Neill [18

”ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE”

How often in the summer-tide, His graver business set aside, Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, As to the pipe of Pan, Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride Across the fields to Anne.

It must have been a merry mile, This summer stroll by hedge and stile, With sweet foreknowledge all the while How sure the pathway ran To dear delights of kiss and smile, Across the fields to Anne.

The silly sheep that graze to-day, I wot, they let him go his way, Nor once looked up, as who would say: ”It is a seemly man.”

For many lads went wooing aye Across the fields to Anne.

The oaks, they have a wiser look; Mayhap they whispered to the brook: ”The world by him shall yet be shook, It is in nature's plan; Though now he fleets like any rook Across the fields to Anne.”

And I am sure, that on some hour Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, He stooped and broke a daisy-flower With heart of tiny span, And bore it as a lover's dower Across the fields to Anne.

While from her cottage garden-bed She plucked a jasmin's goodlihede, To scent his jerkin's brown instead; Now since that love began, What luckier swain than he who sped Across the fields to Anne?

The winding path whereon I pace, The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, Are still before me face to face; Methinks I almost can Turn port and join the singing race Across the fields to Anne.

Richard Burton [1861-

PAMELA IN TOWN

The fair Pamela came to town, To London town, in early summer; And up and down and round about The beaux discussed the bright newcomer, With ”Gadzooks, sir,” and ”Ma'am, my duty,”

And ”Odds my life, but 'tis a Beauty!”

To Ranelagh went Mistress Pam, Sweet Mistress Pam so fair and merry, With cheeks of cream and roses blent, With voice of lark and lip of cherry.

Then all the beaux vowed 'twas their duty To win and wear this country Beauty.

And first Frank Lovelace tried his wit, With whispers bold and eyes still bolder; The warmer grew his saucy flame, Cold grew the charming fair and colder.

'Twas ”icy bosom”--”cruel beauty”-- ”To love, sweet Mistress, 'tis a duty.”

Then Jack Carew his arts essayed, With honeyed sighs and feigned weeping.

Good lack! his billets bound the curls That pretty Pam she wore a-sleeping.

Next day these curls had richer beauty, So well Jack's fervor did its duty.

Then Cousin Will came up to view The way Pamela ruled the fas.h.i.+on; He watched the gallants crowd about, And flew into a rustic pa.s.sion,-- Left ”Squire, his mark,” on divers faces, And pinked Carew beneath his laces.

Alack! one night at Ranelagh The pretty Sly-boots fell a-blus.h.i.+ng; And all the mettled bloods looked round To see what caused that telltale flus.h.i.+ng.

Up stepped a grizzled Poet Fellow To dance with Pam a saltarello.

Then Jack and Frank and Will resolved, With hand on sword and cutting glances, That they would lead that Graybeard forth To livelier tunes and other dances.