Julie-Jane

Sing; how 'a would sing!

How 'a would raise the tune

When we rode in the wagon from harvesting

By the light o' the moon!

Dance; how 'a would dance!

If a fiddlestring did but sound

She would hold out her coats, give a slanting glance,

And go round and round.

Laugh; how 'a would laugh!

Her peony lips would part

As if none such a place for a lover to quaff

At the deeps of a heart.

Julie, O girl of joy,

Soon, soon that lover he came.

Ah, yes; and gave thee a baby-boy,

But never his name . . .

- Tolling for her, as you guess;

And the baby too . . . 'Tis well.

You knew her in maidhood likewise? - Yes,

That's her burial bell.

"I suppose," with a laugh, she said,

"I should blush that I'm not a wife;

But how can it matter, so soon to be dead,

What one does in life!"

When we sat making the mourning

By her death-bed side, said she,

"Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning

In honour of me!"

Bubbling and brightsome eyed!

But now - O never again.

She chose her bearers before she died

From her fancy-men.

-o0o-