Poems By Jean Ingelow: Third Series :: :: University of Virginia Library

For Exmoor—
For Exmoor, where the red deer run, my weary heart doth cry.
She that will a rover wed, far her foot shall hie.
Narrow, narrow, shows the street, dull the narrow sky.
(Buy my cherries, whiteheart cherries, good my masters, buy.)

For Exmoor—
O he left me, left alone, aye to think and sigh,
‘Lambs feed down yon sunny coombe, hind and yearling shy,

Mid the shrouding vapours walk now like ghosts on high.’
(Buy my cherries, blackheart cherries, lads and lasses, buy.)

For Exmoor—
Dear my dear, why did ye so? Evil days have I,
Mark no more the antler'd stag, hear the curlew cry.
Milking at my father's gate while he leans anigh.
(Buy my cherries, whiteheart, blackheart, golden girls, O buy.)

Mrs. T.
(aside).
I've known him play that Exmoor song afore.
Ah me! and I'm from Exmoor. I could wish
To hear't no more.

Mrs. S.
(aside).
Neighbours, 'tis mighty hot.
Ay, now they throw the window up, that's well,
A body could not breathe.

[The fiddler and his daughter go away.
Mrs. Jillifer
(aside).
They'll hear no parson's preaching, no not they!
But innocenter songs, I do allow,
They could not well have sung than these to-night.
That man knows just so well as if he saw
They were not welcome.

The Vicar stands up, on the point of beginning to read, when the tuning and twang of the fiddle is heard close outside the open window, and the daughter sings in a clear
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cheerful voice. A little tittering is heard in the room, and the Vicar pauses discomfited.