You turn your back, you turn your back, And never your face to me, Alone you take your homeward track, And scorn my company.

What will you do when Charley's seen Dewbeating down this way?

- You'll turn your back as now, you mean?

Nay, Carrey Clavel, nay!

You'll see none's looking; put your lip Up like a tulip, so; And he will coll you, bend, and sip: Yes, Carrey, yes; I know!

THE ORPHANED OLD MAID

I wanted to marry, but father said, "No - 'Tis weakness in women to give themselves so; If you care for your freedom you'll listen to me, Make a spouse in your pocket, and let the men be."

I spake on't again and again: father cried, "Why--if you go husbanding, where shall I bide?

For never a home's for me elsewhere than here!"

And I yielded; for father had ever been dear.

But now father's gone, and I feel growing old, And I'm lonely and poor in this house on the wold, And my sweetheart that was found a partner elsewhere, And n.o.body flings me a thought or a care.

THE SPRING CALL

Down Wess.e.x way, when spring's a-shine, The blackbird's "pret-ty de-urr!"

In Wess.e.x accents marked as mine Is heard afar and near.

He flutes it strong, as if in song No R's of feebler tone Than his appear in "pretty dear,"

Have blackbirds ever known.

Yet they pipe "prattie deerh!" I glean, Beneath a Scottish sky, And "pehty de-aw!" amid the treen Of Middles.e.x or nigh.

While some folk say--perhaps in play - Who know the Irish isle, 'Tis "purrity dare!" in treeland there When songsters would beguile.

Well: I'll say what the listening birds Say, hearing "pret-ty de-urr!" - However strangers sound such words, That's how we sound them here.

Yes, in this clime at pairing time, As soon as eyes can see her At dawn of day, the proper way To call is "pret-ty de-urr!"

JULIE-JANE

Sing; how 'a would sing!

How 'a would raise the tune When we rode in the waggon from harvesting By the light o' the moon!

Dance; how 'a would dance!

If a fiddlestring did but sound She would hold out her coats, give a slanting glance, And go round and round.

Laugh; how 'a would laugh!

Her peony lips would part As if none such a place for a lover to quaff At the deeps of a heart.

Julie, O girl of joy, Soon, soon that lover he came.

Ah, yes; and gave thee a baby-boy, But never his name . . .

--Tolling for her, as you guess; And the baby too . . . 'Tis well.

You knew her in maidhood likewise?--Yes, That's her burial bell.

"I suppose," with a laugh, she said, "I should blush that I'm not a wife; But how can it matter, so soon to be dead, What one does in life!"

When we sat making the mourning By her death-bed side, said she, "Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning In honour of me!"

Bubbling and brightsome eyed!

But now--O never again.

She chose her bearers before she died From her fancy-men.

NOTE.--It is, or was, a common custom in Wess.e.x, and probably other country places, to prepare the mourning beside the death-bed, the dying person sometimes a.s.sisting, who also selects his or her bearers on such occasions.

"Coats" (line 7).--Old name for petticoats.

NEWS FOR HER MOTHER

I

One mile more is Where your door is Mother mine! - Harvest's coming, Mills are strumming, Apples fine, And the cider made to-year will be as wine.

II

Yet, not viewing What's a-doing Here around Is it thrills me, And so fills me That I bound Like a ball or leaf or lamb along the ground.

III

Tremble not now At your lot now, Silly soul!

Hosts have sped them Quick to wed them, Great and small, Since the first two sighing half-hearts made a whole.

IV

Yet I wonder, Will it sunder Her from me?