 | Letters of Laura D'Auverne |  |
125
THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE.
A young maid sat by her cottage tree,—
A beautiful maid,—at the dawn of day;
Her sewing fell idle upon her knee,
For her heart and her thoughts were far away;
When a sober old wooer came up the dell,
A wooer whose hopes, one would think, were few;
But a maid's heart is a puzzle to tell,—
And though old his face,—yet his coat was new;
Oh! a young maid's heart is a puzzle to tell,—
And though old his face,—yet his coat was new.
A beautiful maid,—at the dawn of day;
Her sewing fell idle upon her knee,
For her heart and her thoughts were far away;
When a sober old wooer came up the dell,
A wooer whose hopes, one would think, were few;
But a maid's heart is a puzzle to tell,—
And though old his face,—yet his coat was new;
Oh! a young maid's heart is a puzzle to tell,—
And though old his face,—yet his coat was new.
The wooer he gave her a wistful look,—
And wistful too, were the words he said;
While merry she sang, like a summer brook,
And play'd with her needle, and knotted the thread:
He spoke of the ring and the wedding chime,
He press'd her hand, and he bended his knee,
And he begg'd and implor'd her to fix the time!
“No, go and ask my mother,” said she;
“Oh! fix it yourself, my darling,” said he;
“No, go and ask my mother,” said she.
And wistful too, were the words he said;
While merry she sang, like a summer brook,
And play'd with her needle, and knotted the thread:
He spoke of the ring and the wedding chime,
He press'd her hand, and he bended his knee,
And he begg'd and implor'd her to fix the time!
“No, go and ask my mother,” said she;
“Oh! fix it yourself, my darling,” said he;
“No, go and ask my mother,” said she.
126
Scarce into the house had the wooer gone,
When a young man leap'd o'er a neighbouring stile;
And sad was the look that the youth put on,
And playful and gay was the maiden's smile:
“Pray, who is this carle that comes here to woo,
And why at your side does he talk so free?
Must I ask your mother, dear Mary, too?”
“No, Harry,” she whispered, “you must ask me!”
“I'd better go in your mother to see?”
“No, Harry, no—no, you must kneel and ask me.”
When a young man leap'd o'er a neighbouring stile;
And sad was the look that the youth put on,
And playful and gay was the maiden's smile:
“Pray, who is this carle that comes here to woo,
And why at your side does he talk so free?
Must I ask your mother, dear Mary, too?”
“No, Harry,” she whispered, “you must ask me!”
“I'd better go in your mother to see?”
“No, Harry, no—no, you must kneel and ask me.”
There was waiting one morn at the village church,
Waiting, and weeping, and words of woe;
For the wealthy old wooer was left in the lurch:
The maid had gone off with a younger beau.
Warmly the sun on the hedgerow glowed,
Warmly it shone on the old farm gate;
And wild was the laughter upon the road,
As Harry rode off with his wedded mate!
“Ha, ha!” cried she,—“Ho, ho!” laughed he,
“They may wait a long while ere the bride they see!”
Waiting, and weeping, and words of woe;
For the wealthy old wooer was left in the lurch:
The maid had gone off with a younger beau.
Warmly the sun on the hedgerow glowed,
Warmly it shone on the old farm gate;
And wild was the laughter upon the road,
As Harry rode off with his wedded mate!
“Ha, ha!” cried she,—“Ho, ho!” laughed he,
“They may wait a long while ere the bride they see!”
| Letters of Laura D'Auverne | |