That knock men down in the market-town, Cannot cure the heart That is hit from that low-back'd car. Sweet Peggy round her car, sir, Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters By far outnumber these; While she among her poultry sits, Just like a turtle-dove, And envy the chicken As she sits in her low-back'd car. Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir, With Peggy by my side, Than a coach and four, and gold galore, And a lady for my bride; For the lady would sit forninst me, On a cushion made with taste, While Peggy would sit beside me, With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-back'd car To be married by Father Maher; Oh, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-back'd car. JESSY. SAMUEL LOVER. HERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear, Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear, Jessy! Altho' thou maun never be mine, I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by thy love-rolling ee; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessy? Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, And soft as their parting tear, Jessy. ROBERT BURNS. THE DULE'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE. THE dule's i' this bonnet o' mine: My ribbins'll never be reet; Here, Mally, aw'm like to be fine, For Jamie'll be comin' to-neet; He met me i' th' lone t' other day (Aw wur gooin' for wayter to th' well), An' he begg'd that aw'd wed him i' May, Bi th' mass, if he'll let me, aw will! When he took my two honds into his, Good Lord, heaw they trembled between! An' aw durstn't look up in his face, Becose on him seein' my e'en. My cheek went as red as a rose; There's never a mortal con tell But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung: Though it isn't a thing one should own, Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel', Aw'd oather ha' Jamie or noan. Neaw, Mally, aw've towd thae my mind; As ever stept eawt into th' sun. An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done!" Eh, dear! but it's time to be gwon: Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait; Aw connut for shame be too soon, An' aw wouldn't for th' wuld be too late. Aw'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel; Dost think 'at my bonnet 'll do? "Be off, lass,-thae looks very weel; He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo!" EDWIN WAUGH. WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. COME, all ye jolly shepherds, That whistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken; What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonny lassie When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tis not beneath the coronet, Nor arbor of the great- There the blackbird bigs his nest, When the blewart bears a pearl, To woo his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. See yonder pawkie shepherd, That lingers on the hill, She stoop'd where the cool spring bubbled up, And fill'd for him her small tin cup, And blush'd as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tatter'd gown. "Thanks!" said the judge; a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaff'd." He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees; Then talk'd of the haying, and wonder'd whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, "He would dress me up in silks so fine, "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. "And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door." The judge look'd back as he climb'd the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still. "A form more fair, a face more sweet Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. "And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. "Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her a harvester of hay: "No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, "But low of cattle and song of birds, And health and quiet and loving words." But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the judge rode on, And the young girl mused beside the well, He wedded a wife of richest dower, And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 66 Ah, that I were free again!— "Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.” She wedded a man unlearn'd and poor, And many children play'd round her door. But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot In the shade of the apple tree again And, gazing down with timid grace, The weary wheel to a spinnet turn'd, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, A manly form at her side she saw, Then she took up her burden of life again, Alas for maiden, alas for judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! For of all sad words of tongue or pen, Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies And, in the hereafter, angels may JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. THE POWER OF LOVE. HEAR ye, ladies that despise What the mighty Love has done; Fear examples and be wise: Fair Calisto was a nun: Leda, sailing on a stream, To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream, Doted on a silver swan; Danaë in a brazen tower, Where no love was, loved a shower. Hear ye, ladies that are coy, What the mighty Love can do ; Fear the fierceness of the boy; The chaste moon he makes to woo; Vesta, kindling holy fires, Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires, Doting at the altar dies; Ilion, in a short hour, higher BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER THE BROOKSIDE. I WANDER'D by the brookside, I could not hear the brook flow, But the beating of my own heart I sat beneath the elm tree, I did not feel afraid; I listen'd for a word: He came not-no, he came not,— Each on his golden throne; Fast, silent tears were flowing, I knew its touch was kind; We did not speak one word; But the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES (LORD HOUGHTON). THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. SHALL I, wasting in despair, Be she fairer than the day What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pined If she be not so to me What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move If she be not such to me, 'Cause her fortunes seem too high, And unless that mind I see, Great or good, or kind or fair, For if she be not for me, SONNET. SINCE there's no help, come, let us kiss and part, Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so clearly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all'our vows, And, when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows, That we one jot of former love retain. Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, |