My Irish wife has golden hair,
Apollo's harp had once such strings,
Apollo's self might pause to hear
Her bird-like carol when she sings.

I would not give my Irish wife

For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France's hand;
For she to me is dearer

Than castles strong, or lands, or life:

In death I would be near her,

And rise beside my Irish wife.

Thomas D'Arcy McGee [1825-1868]

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING

SHE is a winsome wee thing,

She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And niest my heart I'll wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't,

The warsle and the care o't:

Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,

And think my lot divine.

LETTICE

Robert Burns [1759–1796]

I SAID to Lettice, our sister Lettice,

While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown, "Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man, There's many a better about our town."

"If Thou Wert' by My Side" 1175

She smiled securely-"He loves me purely:

A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown;
And nothing harms me while his love warms me,
Whether the world go up or down."

"He comes of strangers, and they are rangers,
And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight:
Fremd folk may blame ye, and e'en defame ye,—
A gown oft handled looks seldom white."
She raised serenely her eyelids queenly,-
"My innocence is my whitest gown;

No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me,
Whether the world go up or down."

"Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man, And sickness knocketh at every door,

And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking-" Our Lettice trembled;-but once, no more.

"If death should enter, smite to the center

Our poor home palace, all crumbling down,

He cannot fright us, nor disunite us,

Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown." Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

"IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE"

If thou wert by my side, my love,

How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,

How gayly would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When, on our deck reclined,
In careless case my limbs I lay
And woo the cooler wind.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam
I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear.

But when at morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,

I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still,

O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,

O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits

By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,

Across the dark blue sca;

But ne'er were hearts so light and gay

As then shall meet in thee!

Reginald Heber [1783-1826]

THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG

From "The Mourning Garment "

Ан, what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter, too:

The Shepherd's Wife's Song 1177

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,

And merrier, too:

For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat
His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat,
And blither, too:

For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween,
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;
More wanton, too:

For kings have many griefs, affects to move,
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his bed of down;
More sounder, too:

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:

Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sithe,

And blither, too:

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,

Since country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

"TRUTH DOTH TRUTH DESERVE”

From the "Arcadia"

WHO doth desire that chaste his wife should be,
First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve:
Then such be he as she his worth may see,
And one man still credit with her preserve.
Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind;
Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right;
Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind;
Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light.
As far from want, as far from vain expense
(The one doth force, the latter doth entice);
Allow good company, but keep from thence
All filthy mouths that glory in their vice.
This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest
To virtue, fortune, time, and woman's breast.
Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

THE MARRIED LOVER

From "The Angel in the House"

WHY, having won her, do I woo?
Because her spirit's vestal grace
Provokes me always to pursue,
But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;
Because her womanhood is such

That, as on court-days subjects kiss
The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch
Affirms no mean familiarness;
Nay, rather marks more fair the height
Which can with safety so neglect

To dread, as lower ladies might,

That grace could meet with disrespect; Thus she with happy favor feeds

Allegiance from a love so high

That thence no false conceit proceeds

Of difference bridged, or state put by;