I looked, as away she was sweeping,
And saw a youth eagerly keeping

As close as he dared to the doorway.

No doubt that a noble should more weigh
His life than befits a plebeian;

And yet, had our brute been Nemean 8

(I judge by a certain calm fervor

The youth stepped with, forward to serve her)

-He'd have scarce thought you did him the worst turn If you whispered, "Friend, what you'd get, first earn!"

And when, shortly after, she carried

Her shame from the Court, and they married,

To that marriage some happiness, mauger

The voice of the Court, I dared augur.

For De Lorge, he made women with men vie,
Those in wonder and praise, these in envy;

And in short stood so plain a head taller

That he wooed and won . . . how do you call her?
The beauty, that rose in the sequel

To the King's love, who loved her a week well.
And 't was noticed he never would honor
De Lorge (who looked daggers upon her)
With the easy commission of stretching
His legs in the service, and fetching
His wife, from her chamber, those straying
Sad gloves she was always mislaying,
While the King took the closet to chat in,—
But of course this adventure came pat in.
And never the King told the story,

How bringing a glove brought such glory,

But the wife smiled-"His nerves are grown firmer:
Mine he brings now and utters no murmur."

8.

Nemean. The Nemean lion was slain by Hercules.

Venienti occurrite morbo ! 9

With which moral I drop my theorbo.10

35

THE COURTIN'

JAMES RUSSELL Lowell

God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur 'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

An' peeked in thru the winder,

An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side
With half a cord o' wood in-
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out

Towards the pootiest, bless her,
An' leetle flames danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.

1

Agin the chimbley crook-necks 1 hung,

An' in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young
Fetched back f'om Concord busted.

9. Venienti occurrite morbo. Meet the coming disease. 10. Theorbo. A musical instrument like a large lute.

The very room, coz she was in,

Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin',
An' she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessed cretur;

A dogrose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1,
Clear grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton
Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,
He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells-
All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly like curled maple;
The side she breshed fell full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring
She knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upun it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,-
All ways to once her feelin's flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle;
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk
Ez though she wished him furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work,
Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal.

...

no ... I come dasignin" "

"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin tomorrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals act so or so,
Or don't, 'ould be presumin';
Mebby to mean yes an' say no
Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,
Then stood a spell on t'other,
An' on which one he felt the wust

He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin";

Says she, "Think likely, Mister";
Thet last word pricked him like a pin,
An' . . . Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o'smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,

Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snowhid in Jenoory.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
Too tight for all expressin',

Tell mother see how metters stood,
An' gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,

An' all I know is they was cried 2

In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

2. They was cried. The engagement was announced in accordance with the custom generally referred to as "the crying of the bans."