HILL AND DELL

AT John's, up on Sandhills, 'tis healthy and dry,
Though I may not like it, it may be-not I.
Where fir-trees are spindling, with tapering tops,
From leafy-leav'd fern in the cold stunted copse,
And under keen gorsebrakes, all yellow in bloom,
The skylark's brown nest is deep-hidden in gloom;
And high on the cliff, where no foot ever wore
A path to the threshold, 's the sandmartin's door,
On waterless heights, while the winds lowly sigh,
On tree-climbing ivy, before the blue sky.

I think I could hardly like his place as well
As my own shelter'd home in the timbery dell,

Where rooks come to build in the high-swaying boughs,
And broadheaded oaks yield a shade for the cows;
Where grey-headed withy-trees lean o'er the brook
Of grey-lighted waters that whirl by the nook,
And only the girls and the swans are in white,
Like snow on grey moss in the midwinter's light,
And wind softly drives, with a low rustling sound,
By waves on the water and grass on the ground.

DANIEL AND JANE

IN THE PUMP COURT

Daniel (D). Jane (J). Jane's mother (M).

Daniel comes over to Jane's, and while talking, pumps the water over the trough upon the pavement.

D. HERE! if I had your trap and beast,

I'd drive you all to Meldon feast.

J. Oh! very well but did he find

:

The pump a plaything to his mind?
There's Daniel plying all his bones,
In pumping wet about the stones:
And who's to trample, just for sport
To you, about this wat'ry court?
No, I should only like to shed
The water on your empty head.

M

D. And did the frog, as people say,

Catch cold of wetted feet, one day?

J. See how his two long armbones sway, And how his peakèd elbows play.

D. The pattens. How about a chap
And pattens, out at Oakrow knap?

J. See how he chuckles. Come, tell out What you can find to grin about.

D. We left our pattens, in a stroll
We lately took, at Oakrow knoll.

J. O! did we? Well, that must be fun, With pattens out, and home with none.

D. We call'd to take them, after dark, Where William Henstone, with a spark

Of manhood in his soul, must come
Down Oakrow road, to see us home.

J. Now you be off. I'll souse a bowl
Of buttermilk about your poll.

D.

No, I should have no call for traps,
To catch the very best of chaps.

Not lopping, lolling, long-ear'd louts

Like you.

O no, but Tommy Touts.

J. (slapping his head at every strong sound.) Nor drawling, dragging, drowsy drones.

D. But Tom, ha! hah! Tom Shaklebones,

M. Why lauk! whatever is this row?
Why Jane, whatever is it now?

J. Why, Dan is at his sauce again.
D. 'Tis only fun, once now and then.