MARY LESLIE

_Before Vittoria, June_ 20, 1813

O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill The bugles blew for Spain: And you below the Castle Hill Stood in the crowd your lane.

Then hearts were wild to watch us pa.s.s, Yet laith to let us go!

While mine said, "Fare-ye-well, my la.s.s!"

And yours, "G.o.d keep my Jo!"

Here by the bivouac fire, above These fields of savage play, I'll lift my love to meet thy love Twa thousand miles away,

Where yonder, yonder by the stars, Nightlong there rins a burn, And maids with lovers at the wars May list their wraiths' return.

More careless yet my spirit grows Of fame, more sick of blood: But I can think of Badajoz, And yet that G.o.d is good.

Beyond the siege, beyond the stour, Beyond the sack of towns, I reach to pluck ae lily-floo'r Where leaders press for crowns.

O Mary! lily! bow'd and wet With mair than mornin's rain!

The bugles up the Lawnmarket Shall sound us home again.

Then fare-ye-well, these foreign lands, And be d.a.m.n'd their bitter drouth.

With your dear face between my hands And the cup held to my mouth, My love, It's clean cup to my mouth!

JENIFER'S LOVE

Small is my secret--let it pa.s.s-- Small in your life the share I had, Who sat beside you in the cla.s.s, Awed by the bright superior lad: Whom yet with hot and eager face I prompted when he missed his place.

For you the call came swift and soon: But sometimes in your holidays You meet me trudging home at noon To dinner through the dusty ways, And recognized, and with a nod Pa.s.sed on, but never guessed--thank G.o.d!

Truly our ways were separate.

I bent myself to hoe and drill,

Yea, with an honest man to mate, Fulfilling G.o.d Almighty's will; And bore him children. But my prayers Were yours--and, only after, theirs.

While you--still loftier, more remote, You sprang from stair to stair of fame, And you've a riband on your coat, And you've a t.i.tle to your name; But have you yet a star to shine Above your bed, as I o'er mine?

TWO DUETS

_From "Arion," an unpublished Masque_

I

_He._ Aglai-a! Aglai-a!

Sweet, awaken and be glad.

_She._ Who is this that calls Aglaia?

Is it thou, my dearest lad?

_He._ 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion, Who calls thee from sleep-- From slumber who bids thee To follow and number His kids and his sheep.

_She._ Nay, leave to entreat me!

If mother should spy on Us twain, she would beat me.

_He._ Then come, my love, come!

And hide with Arion Where green woods are dumb!

_She._ Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on!

Closer, list! I am afraid!

_He._ Whisper, then, thy love Arion, From thy window, lily maid.

_She._ Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia Hath heard them debate Of wooing repenting-- "Who trust to undoing, Lament them too late."

_He._ Nay, nay, when I woo thee, Thy mother might spy on All harm I shall do thee.

_She._ I come, then--I come!

To follow Arion Where green woods be dumb.

SONG

Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck, Arrow of Love--I bare my neck Down to the bosom. See, no fleck

Of blood! I have never a wound; I go Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho!

What 'neath my girdle flutters so?

'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings, 'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings; While in the wound it nests and sings-- Heigh-ho!

_He._ Of Arion, of Arion That wound thou shalt learn; What nothings 'tis made of, And soft pretty soothings In shade of the fern.

_She._ When maids have a mind to, Man's word they rely on, Old warning are blind to-- I come, then--I come To walk with Arion Where green woods are dumb!

II

_He._ Dear my love, and O my love, And O my love so lately!

Did we wander yonder grove And sit awhile sedately?

For either you did there conclude To do at length as I did, Or pa.s.sion's fashion's turn'd a prude, And troth's an oath derided.

_She._ Yea, my love--and nay, my love-- And ask me not to tell, love, While I delay'd an idle day What 'twixt us there befell, love.