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126 SONGS, ETC.
LUCY WHITE. On Till's clear streams that run so deep, Where oft with joy I've herded sheep, And with my rod and line so light, First caught the smiles of Lucy White ; She was the belle of all around, With lightsome gait she tripp'd the ground ; With eyes,so bright, and dimpl'd chin, She mov'd the sacred fires within.
My sheep I've left, and wily fly, To scan her cot, and pass her by; With cheerful smile and wistful look, She trac'd my steps along the brook; And once when by the water side, I vow'd that she should be my bride; She blush'd assent, what pure delight! So gain'd the hand of Lucy White. |
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LINES.
If any so wise is That angling despises, Let him grunt on his trade and be sober ; While we fish and sing, In one constant spring, He shall droop like the trees in October.
J. S. |
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