March, 1865. March, p. 175NELLY DALE. p. 175 Ah, Nelly Dale, nigh fifty years Since you and I set out together, Joyful both, as the summer weather, That swarmed our pathway to the meres So rich with blossom, and opulent Successive honeysuckle scent, It smiled a golden garden, gay With flutter of insects all the way! The kine were white and smooth as silk At Flowerdew’s, where we went for milk With jug and can. The can you bore Jingled and tumbled when you tore Your new frock striped with lilac, while Crossing that high-built awkward stile. p. 176Leaving our cottage gates at noon, Adown the dusty hill we soon Turned in a water-alley, dry As our discourse; for we were shy, Speaking not till the double ranks Of willows on their shadowed banks Had closed us from the road, and we Were all we saw and cared to see. p. 176 As if let out from school we ran, Until we settled stride for stride To even walking, side by side; And tho’ to keep apart we tried, The jug kept clinking against the can! Once pausing in an upper path That hemmed great pasture ribbed with math, We saw the prospect openly Melt in remote transparent sky; Some fancy kindled, and I began To whistle “Tom the Piper’s Son,” Wondering whether, when grown a man, p. 177I should remain to plod, or plan, As others about had always done, Or to some wondrous country stray, Over the hills and far away! But turning to your comely face, The opened flower of native grace That casts a charm on homely ways, Your mother’s boast, her constant praise; Contented here, I hoped I might Be never from my darling’s sight. p. 177 Ah, me, our young delight to roam Along that lane so far from home! Laughter, and chatter of this or that; Ripening strawberries, mice and cat; The birthday near; the birthday treat, With something extra good to eat, And currant, cowslip, elder wine, As real lords and ladies dine! Equal delight our silence next; Making-believe that you are vext, p. 178When swooping round to kiss you I Tumble your bonnet all awry, And promptly you the strings untie To set it duly straight again; How smartly twinkle ribands twain To bows, turned
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