But know, if you have n't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, Then take my advice, darling widow machree, Och hone! widow machree! That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take And you've struck it, — on Poverty Flat. WIDOW MACHREE. BRET HARTE. WIDOW machree, it's no wonder you frown, Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown, Och hone! widow machree. How altered your air, With that close cap you wear, 'T is destroying your hair, Which should be flowing free: Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl, Och hone! widow machree. Widow machree, now the summer is come, Och hone! widow machree ; Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, When everything smiles, should a beauty look At his table-head he thought she 'd look well ; glum ? Och hone! widow machree! See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares ; Now in couples agree ; Though they can't spake, they wish, Och hone! widow machree ! Widow machree, and when winter comes in, Och hone! widow machree, To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree! Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee; While alone with your cup Like a hermit you sup, Och hone! widow machree ! M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouthered, and guid as when new; His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat, And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that? He took the gray mare, and rade cannilie, Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine; "And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?" She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down. And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low, And how do you know, with the comforts I've And what was his errand he soon let her know. towld, Och hone! widow machree, But you 're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld? Och hone! widow machree! Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na, And wi' a laigh curtsie she turnèd awa'. Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gi'e; And now that the Laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said; "O, for ane I'll get better, it 's waur I 'll get ten; Crying "Och hone! widow machree !" I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." COOKING AND COURTING. FROM TOM TO NEd. DEAR Ned, no doubt you 'll be surprised Her manner is We're soon to be I'll tell you all, well --- very winning : well, Ned, my dear, from the beginning. I went to ask her out to ride Last Wednesday - it was perfect weather. She said she could n't possibly : The servants had gone off together (Hibernians always rush away, At cousins' funerals to be looking); Pies must be made, and she must stay, She said, to do that branch of cooking. "O, let me help you," then I cried: "I'll be a cooker too - how jolly!" She laughed, and answered, with a smile, "All right! but you'll repent your folly; For I shall be a tyrant, sir, And good hard work you'll have to grapple ; So sit down there, and don't you stir, But take this knife, and pare that apple." She rolled her sleeve above her arm, That lovely arm, so plump and rounded; And rolled the pie-crust up in masses: With deep reflection her sweet eyes Gazed on each pot and pan and kettle: In one great coil were tightly twisted; And curl about where'er they listed. And then her sleeve came down, and I Fastened it up- her hands were doughy; O, it did take the longest time! Her arm, Ned, was so round and snowy. Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, All your wish is woman to win ; Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; Wait till you come to forty year. LOVE. Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Is love, though oft to agony distrest, LOVE'S BLINDNESS. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, Midsummer Night's Dream, Acti. Sc. I. SHAKESPEARE. And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's Who ever loved that loved not at first sight? breast. There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has But love is blind, and lovers cannot see Merchant of Venice, Act ii. Sc. 6. SHAKESPEARE. When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! One hour of a passion so sacred is worth Lalla Rookh: Light of the Harem. MOORE. Rape of the Lock, Cant. v. POPE. Our souls sit close and silently within, DRYDEN. |