Part 90

And did you see the waving flags, The fluttering flags, the tattered flags, Red, white, and blue, shot through and through; Baptized with battle's deadly dew?

And did you hear the drums' gay beat, The drums' gay beat, the bugles sweet, The cymbals' clash, the cannons' crash, That rent the sky with sound and flash?

And did you see me waiting there, Just waiting there, and watching there. One little lass, amid the mass That pressed to see the hero pass?

And did you see him smiling down, And smiling down, as riding down With slowest pace, with stately grace, He caught the vision of a face, -

My face uplifted red and white, Turned red and white with sheer delight, To meet the eyes, the smiling eyes, Outflashing in their swift surprise?

Oh, did you see how swift it came, How swift it came like sudden flame, That smile to me, to only me. The little lass who blushed to see?

And at the windows all along, Oh, all along, a lovely throng Of faces fair, beyond compare, Beamed out upon him riding there!

Each face was like a radiant gem, A sparkling gem, and yet for them No swift smile came like sudden flame, No arrowy glance took certain aim.

He turned away from all their grace, From all that grace of perfect face, He turned to me, to only me, The little lass who blushed to see!

Nora Perry [1832-1896]

"FORGETTIN"

The night when last I saw my lad His eyes were bright an' wet. He took my two hands in his own, "'Tis well," says he, "we're met. Asthore machree! the likes o' me I bid ye now forget."

Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing, 'Tis more I'd do for him! I mind the night I promised well, Away on Ballindim. - An' every little while or so I thry forgettin' Jim.

It shouldn't take that long to do, An' him not very tall: 'Tis quare the way I'll hear his voice, A boy that's out o' call, - An' whiles I'll see him stand as plain As e'er a six-fut wall.

Och, never fear, my jewel! I'd forget ye now this minute, If I only had a notion O' the way I should begin it; But first an' last it isn't known The heap o' throuble's in it.

Meself began the night ye went An' hasn't done it yet; I'm nearly fit to give it up, For where's the use to fret? - An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me Wid mindin' to forget.

Moira O'Neill [18

"ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE"

How often in the summer-tide, His graver business set aside, Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, As to the pipe of Pan, Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride Across the fields to Anne.

It must have been a merry mile, This summer stroll by hedge and stile, With sweet foreknowledge all the while How sure the pathway ran To dear delights of kiss and smile, Across the fields to Anne.

The silly sheep that graze to-day, I wot, they let him go his way, Nor once looked up, as who would say: "It is a seemly man." For many lads went wooing aye Across the fields to Anne.

The oaks, they have a wiser look; Mayhap they whispered to the brook: "The world by him shall yet be shook, It is in nature's plan; Though now he fleets like any rook Across the fields to Anne."

And I am sure, that on some hour Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, He stooped and broke a daisy-flower With heart of tiny span, And bore it as a lover's dower Across the fields to Anne.

While from her cottage garden-bed She plucked a jasmin's goodlihede, To scent his jerkin's brown instead; Now since that love began, What luckier swain than he who sped Across the fields to Anne?

The winding path whereon I pace, The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, Are still before me face to face; Methinks I almost can Turn port and join the singing race Across the fields to Anne.

Richard Burton [1861-

PAMELA IN TOWN

The fair Pamela came to town, To London town, in early summer; And up and down and round about The beaux discussed the bright newcomer, With "Gadzooks, sir," and "Ma'am, my duty," And "Odds my life, but 'tis a Beauty!"