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The garden border where I stood
| Fill, fill, Was sweet with pinks and southern wooul. Fill, pail, fill,
I spoke, – her iluswer se med w lail. For there by the stile waits Harry ! I smelt the pinks, - I could not see.
The world may go round, the world may stand The dusk came clown and sheltered me.
still, And in the dusk she heard my tale.
But I can milk and marry,
I can milk and marry.
O, if we two That, leaned at last into the dew,
Stood down there now by the water, One little instant they were mine !
I know who 'd carry me over the ford
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a loru, O life ! how dear thou hast become !
Though I dou't live over the water. She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb !
Wheugh, wheugh! he's whistling through. But evening counsels best prevail. Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads,
He's whistling “ The Farmer's Daughter."
Give down, give down, Green be the pastures where she treads,
My crumpled brown !
He shall not take the road to the town,
For I'll meet him beyond the water.
My crumpled brown !
And send me to my Harry.
The folk o' towns
May have silken gowns,
But I can milk and marry,
I can milk and marry.
Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through
He has whistled through the water. And you came and kissed me milking the cow.
Fill, fill, with a will, a will,
For he's whistled through the water,
And he's whistling down
The way to the town,
And it's not " The Farmer's Daughter!"
Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer,
The sun sets over the water,
I'm too late for my Harry !
And, O, if he goes a-soldiering,
The cows they may low, the bells they may ring, Help it can 1 ? with my hands
But I 'll neither milk nor marry,
Neither milk nor marry.
ALFRED TENNYSON. Give down, good wench, give down !
I know the prin rose bank, Fill pail,
Between him and the town.
Give down, good wench, give down, Fill pail,
And he shall not reach the town ! Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn, Strain, strain ! he's whistling again, Turn by the dale, my Harry!
He's nearer by half a mile. Fill pail, fill pail,
More, more! O, never before He has turned by the dale,
Were you such a weary while! And there by the stile waits Harry.
Fill, till! hie's crossed the hill,
I can see him down by the stile,
He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the He's passed the hay, he's coming this way,
knowe, He's coming to me, my Harry !
There's never a faster foot I know, Give silken gowns to the folk o' towns,
But still he seems to tarry. He's coming to me, my Harry!
O Harry! O Harry! my love, my pride, There's not so grand a dame in the land, My heart is leaping, my arms are wide ! That she walks to-night with Harry !
dull hillside, Come late, come soon, come sun, come moon, Roll up, and bring my Harry ! 0, I can milk and marry,
They may talk of glory over the sea, Fill pail,
But Harry's alive, and Harry's for me,
My love, my lad, my Harry !
What cares Dolly, whether or no,
While I can milk and marry ?
Right or wrong, and wrong or right,
Quarrel who quarrel, and fight who fight, That you 're smiling over and over ?
But I 'll bring my pail home every night
To love, and home, and Harry' Up on the hill and down in the dale,
We 'll drink our can, we'll eat our cake, And along the tree-tops over the vale
There's beer in the barrel, there's bread in the Shining over and over,
bake, Low in the grass and high on the bough, Shining over and over,
The world may sleep, the world may wake,
But I shall milk and marry,
I shall milk and marry.
FETCHING WATER FROM THE WELL.
singing sweet, And the May bough touched me and made me Came, beyond the ancient farm-house, sounds of start,
lightly tripping feet. And the wind breathes warm like a lover. ’T was a lowly cottage maiden going, — why, let
young hearts tell,
With her homely pitcher laden, fetching water Pull, pull ! and the pail is full,
from the well. And milking 's done and over.
Shadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the Who would not sit here under the tree ?
quiet lane, What a fair fair thing's a green field to see !
And the breezes of the morning moved them to Brim, brim, to the rim, ah me!
and fro again. I have set my pail on the daisies !
O'er the sunshine, o'er the shadow, passed the It seems so light, can the sun be set ?
maiden of the farm, The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet,
With a charmed heart within her, thinking of I could cry to have hurt the daisies !
no ill nor harın. Harry is near, Harry is near,
Pleasant, surely, were her musings, for the nodMy heart 's as sick as if he were here,
ding leaves in vain My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet,
Sought to press their brightening image on her He has n't uttered a word as yet,
ever-busy brain. But the air 's astir with his praises.
Leaves and joyous birds went by her, like a dim, My Harry!
half-waking dream ; The air's astir with your praises.
And her soul was only conscious of life's gladdest
summer gleam. He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone, At the old lane's shady turning lay a well of He's among the kingcups, – he picks me one,
water bright, I love the grass that I tread upon
Singing, soft, its hallelujah to the gracions morar When I go to my Harry !
Fern-leaves, broad and green, bent o'er it where With hand on latch, a vision white its silvery droplets fell,
Lingered reluctant, and again And the fairies dwelt beside it, in the spotted Half doubting if she did aright, foxglove bell.
Soft as the dews that fell that night, Back she bent the shading fern-leaves, dipt the She said, “ Auf wiedersehen!"
pitcher in the tide, Drew it, with the dripping waters flowing o'er The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair ; its glazed side.
I linger in delicious pain ; But before her arm could place it on her shiny, Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air wavy hair,
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, By her side a youth was standing ! - Love re
Thinks she, “ Auf wiedersehen!" joiced to see the pair ! Tones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the
'T is thirteen years : once more I press
The turf that silences the lane; morning breeze, Gentle words of heart-devotion whispered 'neath
I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and - ah yes, the ancient trees. But the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not
I hear, “ Auf wiedersehen!" to tell :
Sweet piece of bashful maiden art ! Life had met another meaning, fetching water
The English words had seemed too fain, from the well !
But these — they drew us heart to heart, Down the rural lane they sauntered. He the
Yet held us tenderly apart ; burden-pitcher bore ;
She said, “ Auf wiedersehen!” She, with dewy eyes down looking, grew more
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL beauteous than before ! When they neared the silent homestead, up he
raised the pitcher light; Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of
MEETING. wavelets bright: Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of And the yellow half-moon large and low;
The gray sea, and the long black land; him she'd bear,
And the startled little waves, that leap Calling every burden blessed, if his love but In fiery ringlets from their sleep, lighted there.
As I gain the cove with pushing prow, Then, still waving benedictions, further, further And quench its speed in the slushy sand.
off he drew, While his shadow seemed a glory that across the Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach ; pathway grew.
Three fields to cross, till a farm appears : Now about her household duties silently the A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch maiden went,
And blue spurt of a lighted match, And an ever-radiant halo o'er her daily life was And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, blent.
Than the two hearts, beating each to each. Little knew the aged matron as her feet like
SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES.
That she'd be mine without reserve,
And in her unclaimed graces basked
At leisure, till the time should serve,
The hope, and make it trebly dear :
Thus loath to speak the word, to kill
Either the hope or happy fear.
Till once, through lanes returning late,
Her laughing sisters lagged behind ;
And ere we reached her father's gate, • Till we meet again :
We paused with one presentient mind;
FROM THE SPANISH.
And, in the dim and perfumed rist
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining Their coming stayed, who, blithe and free,
clear, And very women, loved to assist
Changing to the changing light, with radiance A lover's opportunity.
That changeful mind unchanging gems are not Twice rose, twice died, my trembling word ;
befitting well, To faint and frail cathedral chimes
Thus will he think, -- and what to say, alas ! I Spake time in music, and we heard
cannot tell. The chafers rustling in the limes.
“He'll think when I to market went I loitered Her dress, that touched me where I stood; The warmth of her confided arm ;
by the way; Her bosom's gentle neighborhood ;
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads
might say ; Her pleasure in her power to charm ;
He'll think some other lover's hand among my
tresses noosed, Her look, her love, her form, her touch !
From the ears where he had placed them my The least seemed most by blissful turn,
rings of pearl unloosed ; Blissful but that it pleased too much, And taught the wayward soul to yearn.
He 'll think when I was sporting so beside this
marble well, It was as if a harp with wires
My pearls fell in, — and what to say, alas ! I Was traversed by the breath I drew;
cannot tell. And O, sweet meeting of desires ! She, answering, owned that she loved too.
“He 'll say I am a woman, and we are all the
same ; He 'll say I loved when he was here to whisper
of his flame
But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had ZARA'S EAR-RINGS.
broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not
for his token. “My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they've dropt My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! O, luckless, luckinto the well,
less well! And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell.” For what to say to Muça, alas ! I cannot tell. 'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter,
“I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will “The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath believe, the cold blue water.
That I have thought of him at morn, and thought To me did Muça give them, when he spake his of him at eve; sad farewell,
That musing on my lover, when down the sun And what to say when he comes back, alas ! I
was gone, cannot tell.
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain
all alone ; "My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they were pearls And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from in silver set,
my hand they fell, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they him forget,
lie in the well." That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, smile on other's tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale.
O SWALLOW, SWALLOW, FLYING When he comes back, and hears that I have
SOUTH. dropped them in the well, O, what will Muça think of me, I cannot, can O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, not tell.
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. “My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! he'll say they should have been,
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glit. That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, tering sheen,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
FROM "THE PRINCESS."
From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway
discover To him that comes darkling along the rough
ATHULF AND ETHILDA. ATHULF.
Appeared The princess with that merry child Prince Guy: He loves me well, and made her stop and sit, And sat upon her knee, and it so chanced That in his various chatter he denied That I could hold his hand within my own So closely as to hide it: this being tried Was proved against him ; he insisted then I could not by his royal sister's hand Do likewise. Starting at the random word, And dumb with trepidation, there I stood Some seconds as bewitched ; then I looked up, And in her face beheld an orient flush Of half-bewildered pleasure : from which trance She with an instant ease resumed herself, And frankly, with a pleasant laugh, held out Her arrowy hand. I thought it trembled as it lay in mine, But yet her looks were clear, direct, and free, And said that she felt nothing. SIDROC.
And what felt'st thou ? ATHULF. A sort of swarming, curling, tremu
lous tuinbling, As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom. I said I was ashamed. – Sidroc, you smile ; If at my folly, well! But if you smile, Suspicious of a taint upon my heart, Wide is your error, and you never loved.
“Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one
lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to
night." By the sycamore passed he, and through the
white clover ; Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned
A SPINSTER'S STINT.
Six skeins and three, six skeins and three !
Stop, busy wheel! stop, noisy wheel ! Long shadows down my chamber steal, And warn me to make haste and reel