The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan 749

THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN

THE shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door.

“God save all here!" my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
"God save you kindly!" quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.

We enter; from the wheel she starts,
A rosy girl with soft black eyes;
Her fluttering curtsey takes our hearts,
Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.

Poor Mary, she was quite alone,

For, all the way to Glenmalure,

Her mother had that morning gone,
And left the house in charge with her.

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
(With weary limbs on bench reclined),
Considerate and discreet, she stood
Apart, and listened to the wind.

Kind wishes both our souls engaged,

From breast to breast spontaneous ran

The mutual thought,-we stood and pledged
THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE LOCH DAN.

"The milk we drink is not more pure,

Sweet Mary, bless those budding charms!-
Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms!"

She turned and gazed, unused to hear
Such language in that homely glen;
But, Mary, you have naught to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger-men.

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
Her modest face,-I see it yet,-
And though I lived a hundred years
Methinks I never could forget

The pleasure that, despite her heart,
Fills all her downcast eyes with light;
The lips reluctantly apart,

The white teeth struggling into sight,

The dimples eddying o'er her cheek,—
The rosy cheek that won't be still:-
O, who could blame what flatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill?

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:
Who trespasses-hangs: all's in order."

He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant:
Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, Husband, I beg!

He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant
-If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!"

"No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry:
Grant rather the gallows!" laughed he.

"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?
"Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!"
"Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some
Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst:
No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!"

Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide,
Out he marched, and there waited the lassie:

"Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride!
Consider! Sky's blue and turf's grassy:

"Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?"
"Not I," quoth the stout heart: "too eerie

The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg:
Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!"

"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,
An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game."

"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,
At morning's gray dawn he maun dee.

He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha',
Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep;

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,
When our daughter is fey for a man?

Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg,
Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han'!"

Glenlogie

"Od! hear our gudewife, she wad fain save your life;
Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang?"

But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue.
Wat swore to the woodie he'd gang.

753

Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again,
Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.

Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side,
An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind,

But aye as Wat glowered at his braw proffered bride,
He shook like a leaf in the wind.

"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;
'Twas better to marry than hang.

So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again,
Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame.

James Ballantine [1808-18771

GLENLOGIE

THREESCORE O' nobles rade to the king's ha',

But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a',
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e,
"Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"

"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.