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XIII.
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XIII.

On the rough meadow of his cheek,
The scythe he luid full twice a week,
Foster'd the honours of his head,
That wide as scrub-oak branches spread,
With grape-vine juice, and bear's grease too,
And dangled it in eel-skin queue.

94

In short, he tried each gentle art
To anchor fast her floating heart;
But still she scorn'd his tender tale,
And saw unmov'd his cheek grow pale,
Flouted his suit with scorn so cold,
And gave him oft the bag to hold.

It is the custom in the country, thirty or forty miles from the cities, when the young men go sparkling as it is called, to judge of their reception by certain ceremonies which are well understood. If soon after his arrival, the damsel rises and takes a candle unto another room, it is understood as an acceptance of his devoirs, for that evening at least. If on the contrary, she remains in the room with her parents, he is said, I know not for what special reason, “to get the bag to hold.”