LADY JANE.

Down the green hill-side fro’ the castle window

Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin’;

Day by day watched him go about his ample

Nursery garden.

Cabbages thriv'd there, wi’ a mort o’ green-stuff —

Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,

Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,

Early potatoes.

Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:

What she cared much for was a glimpse o’ Willum

Strippin’ his brown arms wi’ a view to horti-

-Cultural effort.

Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, that

Up the green hill-side, i’ the gloomy castle,

Feminine eyes could so delight to view his

Noble proportions.

Only one day while, in an innocent mood,

Moppin’ his brow (‘ cos‘ twas a trifle sweaty )

With a blue kerchief — lo, he spies a white‘ un

Coyly responding.

Day by day, peepin’ fro’ behind the bean-sticks,

Willum observed that scrap o’ white a-wavin’,

Till his hot sighs out-growin’ all repression

Busted his weskit.

Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who

Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;

Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to

Risk a refusal?

Year by year found him busy‘ mid the bean-sticks,

Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.

Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden

Wave fro’ her window.

But the nineteenth spring, i’ the Castle post-bag,

Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o’ seedlings

Mark'd wi’ blue ink at‘ Paragraphs relatin’

Mainly to Pumpkins.’

‘ W. A. can,’ so the Lady Jane read,

‘ Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the

Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;

Grows to a great height.’

Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows —

Down the mown hill-side, fro’ the castle gateway —

Came a long train and, i’ the midst, a black bier,

Easily shouldered.

‘ Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi’ gourd-leaves,

Forth ye bear with slow step?’ A mourner answer'd,

‘'Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew

Tired to abide in.’

‘ Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.

Delve it one furlong fro’ the kidney bean-sticks,

Where I may dream she's goin’ on precisely

As she was used to.’

Hardly died Bill when, fro’ the Lady Jane's grave,

Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:

Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi’

Billowy verdure.

Simple this tale!— but delicately perfumed

As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why,

Difficult though its metre was to tackle,

I'm glad I wrote it.