Classic Poem

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 soft 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 L OCH D AN .

" 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'ndash now,
— And walk to Luggelaw again!