But still it was a very pretty river,
Or rather stream, as ever
could be seen—
If not so wide as the great Guadalquiver,
Its banks were nearly always
clothed in green,
(Save when in winter the winds made you
shiver,)
While the waves, bickering
so bright and sheen,
Put you in mind of Avon, Rhine, or Hellespont,
Or any other stream to admire you’re
wont.
And round about the stream there were
huge hillocks,
And firs and mountains, houses
too and farms;
A maid lay on the grass—her
light and fair locks
Were gently wound around her
folded arms,
While softly grazing near there stood
a huge ox,
And o’er her head an
old oak threw its arms.
She was asleep, when, lo! the sound of
horses’
Feet woke her, and, behold, she saw two
corses.
At least she thought so—but
at last thought better
’Twould be for her to
get up and go home;
She got up quickly, and would soon have
made her
Way home, but that the men
who had just come
Spurr’d past her, and alighted when
they met her,
While she with her surprise
was almost dumb;
But soon spoke she, and bade them both
disclose
Their names—to which one said,
“I’m Richard Groze.”
The next spoke not at first, but soon
replied,
“Pray wherefore are
you so surprised, my dear?
And wherefore, likewise, have you not
complied
With my request, which I have
sent in near
Some good score letters? which you did
deride,
When they were forwarded by
this man here.”
He pointed then to Groze, and then he
sighed,
“My dear, dear Jeannie, will you
be my bride?”
The which words when our Jeannie heard,
she stared,
And said, “What do you
mean, John Fitzadree?
You talk of letters, but of them the laird
Has never brought a single
one to me;
But when I’ve seen him I have never
cared
How soon he went, for he told
me that ye
Were either dead or faithless—so
he said
I’d better wed the live, than mourn
the dead.
“And then he promis’d I should
have six horses,
Besides a coach, if I would
be his bride;
But I refus’d—and he
swore all his crosses
Should soon be o’er,
and something else beside
And that’s the reason why I thought
ye corses,
When o’er the green
this way I saw ye ride.
But now I see you’ve both served
in the Lancers,
Though on my word you look much more like
dancers.”
To which John answer’d, “Oh,
the filthy fellow,
I gave him letters to you,
which he said
He would deliver, were you ill or well.
Oh!
How I should like to knock
him on the head,
And would, but that would show I was quite
mellow—
Besides, I see the coward
has just fled,
Has ta’en to horse, and got across
the ford—
Hang him, that I should with him be so
bored!”