Chapter 15

Entering, I see in Molly's eyes A sudden smiling joy arise, As quickly checked by virgin shame: She drops a curtsey, steals a glance, Receives a kiss, one step advance. - If such I love, am I to blame?

I sit, and talk of twenty things, Of South Sea stock, or death of kings, While only "Yes" or "No," says Molly; As cautious she conceals her thoughts, As others do their private faults: - Is this her prudence, or her folly?

Parting, I kiss her lip and cheek, I hang about her snowy neck, And cry, "Farewell, my dearest Molly!" Yet still I hang and still I kiss, Ye learned sages, say, is this In me the effect of love, or folly?

No - both by sober reason move, - She prudence shows, and I true love - No charge of folly can be laid. Then (till the marriage-rites proclaimed Shall join our hands) let us be named The constant swain, the virtuous maid.

Unknown

"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 bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, When the kye comes hame.

'Tis not beneath the coronet, Nor canopy of state, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbor of the great - 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, When the kye comes hame.

There the blackbird bigs his nest For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the topmost bough, O, a happy bird is he! Then he pours his melting ditty, And love is a' the theme, And he'll woo his bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame.

When the blewart bears a pearl, And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up her e'e, Then the laverock frae the blue lift Draps down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame.

See yonder pawkie shepherd That lingers on the hill - His ewes are in the fauld, And his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed, For his heart is in a flame To meet his bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame.

When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O there's a joy sae dear, That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, When the kye comes hame.

Then since all nature joins In this love without alloy, O, wha wad prove a traitor To Nature's dearest joy? Or wha wad choose a crown, Wi' its perils and its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame? When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame 'Tween the gloamin' and the mirk, When the kye comes hame!

James Hogg [1770-1835]

THE LOW-BACKED CAR

When first I saw sweet Peggy, 'Twas on a market day, A low-backed car she drove, and sat Upon a truss of hay; But when that hay was blooming grass And decked with flowers of Spring, No flower was there that could compare With the blooming girl I sing. As she sat in the low-backed car, The man at the turnpike bar Never asked for the toll, But just rubbed his ould poll, And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion, The proud and mighty Mars, With hostile scythes, demands his tithes Of death - in warlike cars: While Peggy, peaceful goddess, Has darts in her bright eye, That knock men down in the market town, As right and left they fly; - While she sits in her low-backed car, Than battle more dangerous far, - For the doctor's art Cannot cure the heart That is hit from that low-backed 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, Well worth the cage, I do engage, Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far, And envy the chicken That Peggy is pickin', As she sits in her low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir, With Peggy by my side, Than a coach-and-four, and goold 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-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar, O, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, - Though it beat in a low-backed car!

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN

The shades of eve had crossed the glen That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men, We stopped before a cottage door.

"God save all here!" my comrade cries, And rattles on the raised latch-pin; "God save you kindly!" quick replies A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.

We enter; from the wheel she starts, A rosy girl with soil black eyes, Her fluttering curtsey takes our hearts, Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.

Poor Mary, she was quite alone, For, all the way to Glenmalure, Her mother had that morning gone, And left the house in charge with her.

But neither household cares, nor yet The shame that startled virgins feel, Could make the generous girl forget Her wonted hospitable zeal.

She brought us, in a beechen bowl, Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme, Oat cake, and such a yellow roll Of butter, - it gilds all my rhyme!

And, while we ate the grateful food (With weary limbs on bench reclined), Considerate and discreet, she stood Apart, and listened to the wind.

Kind wishes both our souls engaged, From breast to breast spontaneous ran The mutual thought, - we stood and pledged The modest rose above Loch Dan.

"The milk we drink is not more pure, Sweet Mary, - bless those budding charms! - Than your own generous heart, I'm sure, Nor whiter than the breast it warms!"

She turned and gazed, unused to hear Such language in that homely glen; But, Mary, you have naught to fear, Though smiled on by two stranger-men.

Not for a crown would I alarm Your virgin pride by word or sign, Nor need a painful blush disarm My friend of thoughts as pure as mine.

Her simple heart could not but feel The words we spoke were free from guile; She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel, - 'Tis all in vain, - she can't but smile!

Just like sweet April's dawn appears Her modest face, - I see it yet, - And though I lived a hundred years Methinks I never could forget

The pleasure that, despite her heart, Fills all her downcast eyes with light; The lips reluctantly apart, The white teeth struggling into sight,

The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, - The rosy cheek that won't be still: - O, who could blame what flatterers speak, Did smiles like this reward their skill?

For such another smile, I vow, Though loudly beats the midnight rain, I'd take the mountain-side e'en now, And walk to Luggelaw again!

Samuel Ferguson [1810-1886]

MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG

Frowned the Laird on the Lord: "So, red-handed I catch thee? Death-doomed by our Law of the Border! We've a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee: Who trespasses - hangs: all's in order."

He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant: Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, Husband, I beg! He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant - If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!"

"No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry: Grant rather the gallows!" laughed he. "Foul fare kith and kin of you - why do you tarry?" "To tame your fierce temper!" quoth she.

"Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders: Who lion-like roars, now mouse-fashion will squeak, And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.'"

A week did he bide in the cold and dark - Not hunger: for duly at morning In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark Chirped, "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning?

"Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!" "Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst: No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!"

Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide, Out he marched, and there waited the lassie: "Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride! Consider! Sky's blue and turf's grassy:

"Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?" "Not I," quoth the stout heart: "too eerie The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg: Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!"

"Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man! Perhaps he would rather wed me!" "Ay, would he - with just for a dowry your can!" "I'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she.

"Then so - so - so - so -" as he kissed her apace - "Will I widen thee out till thou turnest From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace, To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!"

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG

"Oh, what hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord, Strappit flaught owre his braid saddle-bow? Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board, An' harry our pantry, I trow. He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb; Gin ye were his master in war The field was a saft eneugh litter for him, Ye needna hae brought him sae far. Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game."

"Hoot, whisht ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin, An' boasts o' a lang pedigree; This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within, At morning's gray dawn he maun dee. He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha', Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep; But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw, An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep. Though saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game."

"Is this young Wat Scott? an' wad ye rax his craig, When our daughter is fey for a man? Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han'!" "Od! hear our gudewife, she wad fain save your life; Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang?" But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue. Wat swore to the woodie he'd gang. Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again, Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.

Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side, An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind, But aye as Wat glowered at his braw proffered bride, He shook like a leaf in the wind. "A bride or a gallows, a rope or a wife!" The morning dawned sunny and clear - Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life, Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear; Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad be hame.

Meg's tear touched his bosom, the gibbet frowned high, An' slowly Wat strode to his doom; He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, Meg shone like a star through the gloom. She rushed to his arms, they were wed on the spot, An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang; Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott; 'Twas better to marry than hang. So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame.

James Ballantine [1808-1877]

GLENLOGIE

Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"

"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he"; "O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; Though Doumlie is richer, and greater than he. Yet if I maun tak' him, I'll certainly dee.

"Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?" "O here am I, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon."

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine"; 'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." "O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.

"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee." The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he; The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e: But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town"; But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, O bonnie Glenlogie was two mile his lane.

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mither was tearing her hair; "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she, "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben, But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, "O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

Unknown

LOCHINVAR From "Marmion"

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; - Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, - And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, era her mother could bar, - "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride: And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen" - But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.

"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen" - But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.

"A chain of gold ye sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you the foremost o' them a' Shall ride our forest-queen" - But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there: They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

CANDOR October - A Wood

I know what you're going to say," she said, And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall: "You are going to speak of the hectic fall, And say you're sorry the summer's dead, And no other summer was like it, you know, And can I imagine what made it so. Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," she said: "You are going to ask if I forget That day in June when the woods were wet, And you carried me" - here she drooped her head - "Over the creek; you are going to say, Do I remember that horrid day. Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," she said: "You are going to say that since that time You have rather tended to run to rhyme, And" - her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red - "And have I noticed your tone was queer. Why, everybody has seen it here! Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," I said: "You're going to say you've been much annoyed; And I'm short of tact - you will say, devoid - And I'm clumsy and awkward; and call me Ted; And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb; And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. Now aren't you, honestly?" "Ye-es," she said.

Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]

"DO YOU REMEMBER"

Do you remember when you heard My lips breathe love's first faltering word? You do, sweet - don't you? When, having wandered all the day, Linked arm in arm, I dared to say, "You'll love me - won't you?"

And when you blushed and could not speak, I fondly kissed your glowing cheek, Did that affront you? Oh, surely not - your eye expressed No wrath - but said, perhaps in jest, "You'll love me - won't you?"

I'm sure my eyes replied, "I will." And you believe that promise still, You do, sweet - don't you? Yes, yes! when age has made our eyes Unfit for questions or replies, You'll love me - won't you?

Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839]

BECAUSE

Sweet Nea! - for your lovely sake I weave these rambling numbers, Because I've lain an hour awake, And can't compose my slumbers; Because your beauty's gentle light Is round my pillow beaming, And flings, I know not why, to-night, Some witchery o'er my dreaming!

Because we've passed some joyous days, And danced some merry dances; Because we love old Beaumont's plays, And old Froissart's romances! Because whene'er I hear your words Some pleasant feeling lingers; Because I think your heart has cords That vibrate to your fingers.

Because you've got those long, soft curls, I've sworn should deck my goddess; Because you're not, like other girls, All bustle blush, and bodice! Because your eyes are deep and blue, Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little child and you Would make one's home so cosy!

Because your little tiny nose Turns up so pert and funny; Because I know you choose your beaux More for their mirth than money; Because I think you'd rather twirl A waltz, with me to guide you, Than talk small nonsense with an earl, And a coronet beside you!

Because you don't object to walk, And are not given to fainting; Because you have not learned to talk Of flowers, and Poonah-painting; Because I think you'd scarce refuse To sew one on a button; Because I know you sometimes choose To dine on simple mutton!

Because I think I'm just so weak As, some of those fine morrows, To ask you if you'll let me speak My story - and my sorrows; Because the rest's a simple thing, A matter quickly over A church - a priest - a sigh - a ring - And a chaise-and-four to Dover.

Edward Fitzgerald [1809-1883]

LOVE AND AGE From "Gryll Grange"

I played with you 'mid cowslips blowing, When I was six and you were four; When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing, Were pleasures soon to please no more. Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather, With little playmates, to and fro, We wandered hand in hand together; But that was sixty years ago.

You grew a lovely roseate maiden, And still our early love was strong; Still with no care our days were laden, They glided joyously along; And I did love you very dearly - How dearly, words want power to show; I thought your heart was touched as nearly; But that was fifty years ago.

Then other lovers came around you, Your beauty grew from year to year, And many a splendid circle found you The center of its glittering sphere. I saw you then, first vows forsaking, On rank and wealth, your hand bestow; O, then, I thought my heart was breaking, - But that was forty years ago.

And I lived on, to wed another: No cause she gave me to repine; And when I heard you were a mother, I did not wish the children mine. My own young flock, in fair progression, Made up a pleasant Christmas row: My joy in them was past expression; - But that was thirty years ago.

You grew a matron plump and comely, You dwelt in fashion's brightest blaze; My earthly lot was far more homely; But I too had my festal days. No merrier eyes have ever glistened Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow, Than when my youngest child was christened: - But that was twenty years ago.

Time passed. My eldest girl was married, And I am now a grandsire gray; One pet of four years old I've carried Among the wild-flowered meads to play. In our old fields of childish pleasure, Where now, as then, the cowslips blow, She fills her basket's ample measure, - And that is not ten years ago.

But though first love's impassioned blindness Has passed away in colder light, I still have thought of you with kindness, And shall do, till our last good-night. The ever-rolling silent hours Will bring a time we shall not know, When our young days of gathering flowers Will be an hundred years ago.

Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866]

TO HELEN

If wandering in a wizard's car Through yon blue ether, I were able To fashion of a little star A taper for my Helen's table; - "What then?" she asks me with a laugh - Why, then, with all heaven's luster glowing, It would not gild her path with half The light her love o'er mine is throwing!

Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839]

AT THE CHURCH GATE From "Pendennis"

Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her.

The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming; They've hushed the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell; She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes - she's here - she's past! May heaven go with her!

Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through heaven's gate, Angels within it.

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

MABEL, IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

Fairest of the fairest, rival of the rose, That is Mabel of the Hills, as everybody knows.

Do you ask me near what stream this sweet floweret grows? That's an ignorant question, sir, as everybody knows.

Ask you what her age is, reckoned as time goes? Just the age of beauty, as everybody knows.

Is she tall as Rosalind, standing on her toes? She is just the perfect height, as everybody knows.

What's the color of her eyes, when they ope or close? Just the color they should be, as everybody knows.

Is she lovelier dancing, or resting in repose? Both are radiant pictures, as everybody knows.

Do her ships go sailing on every wind that blows? She is richer far than that, as everybody knows.

Has she scores of lovers, heaps of bleeding beaux? That question's quite superfluous, as everybody knows.

I could tell you something, if I only chose! - But what's the use of telling what everybody knows?

James Thomas Fields [1816-1881]

TOUJOURS AMOUR