The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan 749 THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN THE shades of eve had crossed the glen “God save all here!" my comrade cries, We enter; from the wheel she starts, Poor Mary, she was quite alone, For, all the way to Glenmalure, Her mother had that morning gone, But neither household cares, nor yet The shame that startled virgins feel, Could make the generous girl forget Her wonted hospitable zeal. She brought us, in a beechen bowl, Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme, Oat cake, and such a yellow roll Of butter, it gilds all my rhyme! And, while we ate the grateful food Kind wishes both our souls engaged, From breast to breast spontaneous ran The mutual thought,-we stood and pledged "The milk we drink is not more pure, Sweet Mary, bless those budding charms!- She turned and gazed, unused to hear Not for a crown would I alarm Your virgin pride by word or sign, Nor need a painful blush disarm My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. Her simple heart could not but feel The words we spoke were free from guile; She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel,'Tis all in vain,—she can't but smile! Just like sweet April's dawn appears The pleasure that, despite her heart, The white teeth struggling into sight, The dimples eddying o'er her cheek,— For such another smile, I vow, Though loudly beats the midnight rain, I'd take the mountain-side e'en now, And walk to Luggelaw again! Samuel Ferguson [1810-1886] Muckle-Mouth Meg 751 MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG FROWNED the Laird on the Lord: “So, red-handed I catch thee? Death-doomed by our Law of the Border! We've a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee: He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant: He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant "No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry: "Foul fare kith and kin of you-why do you tarry?” "To tame your fierce temper!" quoth she. "Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders: Who lion-like roars, now mouse-fashion will squeak, And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.' A week did he bide in the cold and dark -Not hunger: for duly at morning In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark Chirped, "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning? Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide, "Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride! "Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?" The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg: "Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man! Perhaps he would rather wed me!" "Ay, would he-with just for a dowry your can!" "I'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she. "Will I widen thee out till thou turnest From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace, To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!" Robert Browning [1812-1889] MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG "OH, what hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord, Strappit flaught owre his braid saddle-bow? Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board, An' harry our pantry, I trow. He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb; Gin ye were his master in war The field was a saft eneugh litter for him, Ye needna hae brought him sae far. Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, "Hoot, whisht ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin, An' boasts o' a lang pedigree; This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within, He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha', But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw, An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep. Though saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game." "Is this young Wat Scott? an' wad ye rax his craig, Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg, Glenlogie "Od! hear our gudewife, she wad fain save your life; But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue. 753 Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again, Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side, But aye as Wat glowered at his braw proffered bride, "A bride or a gallows, a rope or a wife!" The morning dawned sunny and clear Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life, Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear; Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad be hame. Meg's tear touched his bosom, the gibbet frowned high, An' slowly Wat strode to his doom; He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, Meg shone like a star through the gloom. She rushed to his arms, they were wed on the spot, An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang; Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott; So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, James Ballantine [1808-18771 GLENLOGIE THREESCORE O' nobles rade to the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', "O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he"; "O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; Though Doumlie is richer, and greater than he, Yet if I maun tak' him. I'll certainly dee. |