Julie-Jane

Sing; how 'a would sing!
&nbsp How 'a would raise the tune
When we rode in the waggon from harvesting
&nbsp       &nbsp By the light o' the moon!

&nbsp Dance; how 'a would dance!
&nbsp If a fiddlestring did but sound
She would hold out her coats, give a slanting glance,
&nbsp       &nbsp And go round and round.

&nbsp Laugh; how 'a would laugh!
&nbsp Her peony lips would part
As if none such a place for a lover to quaff
&nbsp       &nbsp At the deeps of a heart.

&nbsp Julie, O girl of joy,
&nbsp Soon, soon that lover he came.
Ah, yes; and gave thee a baby-boy,
&nbsp       &nbsp But never his name . . .

&nbsp —Tolling for her, as you guess;
&nbsp And the baby too . . . 'Tis well.
You knew her in maidhood likewise?—Yes,
&nbsp       &nbsp That's her burial bell.

&nbsp "I suppose," with a laugh, she said,
&nbsp "I should blush that I'm not a wife;
But how can it matter, so soon to be dead,
&nbsp       &nbsp What one does in life!"

&nbsp When we sat making the mourning
&nbsp By her death-bed side, said she,
"Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning
&nbsp       &nbsp In honour of me!"

&nbsp Bubbling and brightsome eyed!
&nbsp But now—O never again.
She chose her bearers before she died
&nbsp       &nbsp From her fancy-men.