I'll teäke the Sta'bridge leäne, to tread, By banks wi' primrwose-beds bespread, An' steätely elems over head,

Where Ruth do come a-ridèn.

An' I would rise, when vields be grey
Wi' mornèn dew, avore 'tis dry,
An' beät the doust droughout the day
To bluest hills ov all the sky;
If there avore the dusk o' night,
The evenèn zun, a-sheenèn bright,
Would pay my leäbours wi' the zight
O' Ruth-O' Ruth a-ridèn.

Her healthy feäce is rwosy feäir,
She's comely in her gäit an' lim',

An' sweet's the smile her feäce do wear,
Below her cap's well-rounded brim ;
An' while her skirt's a-spreadèn wide,
In vwolds upon the ho'se's zide,
He'll toss his head an' snort wi' pride,
To trot wi' Ruth a-ridèn.

An' as her ho'se's rottlèn peäce
Do slacken till his veet do beät

A slower trot, an' till her feäce
Do bloom avore the tollman's geäte;
Oh! he'd be glad to open wide

His high-back'd geäte, an' stand azide,
A-given up his toll wi' pride,

Vor zight o' Ruth a-ridèn.

An' oh that Ruth could be my bride, An' I had ho'ses at my will,

That I mid teäke her by my zide,

A-ridèn over dell an' hill ;

I'd zet wi' pride her litty tooe
'Ithin a stirrup sheenèn new,
An' leäve all other jays to goo
Along wi' Ruth a-ridèn.

If maidens that be weäk an' peäle
A-mwopèn in the house's sheäde,
Would wish to be so blithe an' heäle
As you did zee young Ruth a-meäde;
Then, though the zummer zun mid glow,
Or though the winter win' mid blow,
They'd leäp upon the saddle's bow,
An' goo, lik' Ruth, a-ridèn.

While evenèn light do sofly gild
The moss upon the elem's bark,
Avore the zingen bird's a-still'd,
Or woods be dim, or day is dark,
Wi' quiv'rèn grass avore his breast,
In cowslip beds, do lie at rest,
The ho'se that now do goo the best
Wi' rwosy Ruth a-ridèn.

William Barnes

The Devon Maid

HERE be ye going, you Devon maid?

WHE

And what have ye there in the Basket? Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,

But 'hind the door I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly.

I love your hills, and I love your dales
And I love your flocks a-bleating,
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!

I'll put your Basket all safe in a nook,
Your shawl I hang up on the willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye
And kiss on a grass green pillow.

John Keats

VI

DAUGHTERS OF ERIN

My Irish wife has clear blue eyes,

My heaven by day, my stars by night-
And twin-like, truth and fondness lies
Within her swelling bosom white.
My Irish wife has golden hair-
Apollo's harp had once such strings --
Apollo's self might pause to hear
Her bird-like carol when she sings.

I would not give my Irish wife

For all the dames of the Saxon land;

I would not give my Irish wife

For the Queen of France's hand;

For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life

In death I would be near her,

And rise beside my Irish wife.

An Irish Girl

Thomas d'Arcy M'Gee

OT she alone is fair to view

NOT

Whose classic beauty has no mar;

Illumined plainness sways us too,

The glorified irregular !

More comely e'en than symmetry
The lack of it may sometimes be.

There was an Irish girl I knew

I would not have one freckle changed,
I would not have her grey eyes blue,
Her lawless sunny hair arranged,
I would not give her rustic mien
For the distinction of a queen.

Less of St. James than of St. Giles
There was about her witchery :
I think that she imprisoned smiles
And every moment one leapt free;
And yet her forehead could express
A truly awful seriousness!

Old Ireland's wrongs she throbbed to tell,
This wee, Home-ruling, patriot rogue,
Whilst like a benediction fell

The restful music of her brogue;

For from her fierce antipathy

To Saxons, she excepted me.

Peg of Limavaddy

IDING from Coleraine

R"

(Famed for lovely Kitty)

Came a Cockney bound

Unto Derry city ;

Weary was his soul,

Shivering and sad, he

Bumped along the road

Leads to Limavaddy.

Mountains stretch'd around,

Gloomy was their tinting,

And the horse's hoofs

Made a dismal clinting;

V. V. V.