Wild Flowers | Page 9

her story at a stand,
The snuff-box lay half
open'd in her hand;
"You great ill-manner'd clown! but I must bear it;

You oaf; to ask the news, and then won't hear it!"
But Gilbert had
gain'd forty paces clear,
When the reproof came murmuring on his
ear.
Again he ask'd the first that past him by;
A cow-boy stopt his whistle
to reply.
"Why, I've a mistress coming home, that's all,
They're
playing Meg's diversion at the Hall;
A Cow-Boy's Bravery
"For master's gone, with Peggy, and his cousin,
And all the lady folks,
about a dozen,
To church, down there; he'll marry one no doubt,

For that it seems is what they're gone about;
I know it by their
laughing and their jokes,
Tho' they wor'nt ask'd at church like other
folks."
Gilbert kept on, and at the Hall-door found
The winking servants,
where the jest went round:
All expectation; aye, and so was he,
But
not with heart so merry and so free.
The kitchen table, never clear
from beef,
Where hunger found its solace and relief,
Free to all
strangers, had no charms for him,
For agitation worried every limb;

Ale he partook, but appetite had none,
And grey-hounds watch'd in
vain to catch the bone.
Sitting upon Thorns.
All sounds alarm'd him, and all thoughts perplex'd,
With dogs, and
beef, himself, and all things vex'd,
Till with one mingled caw above
his head,
Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread,
The
rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up;
He guess'd the cause,
and down he set the cup,
And listening, heard, amidst the general
hum,
A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"--
Soon Herbert's
cheerful voice was heard above,
Amidst the rustling hand-maids of

his love,
And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread,
The broad
oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread;
Light tript the party, gay as gay
could be,
Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he!
And with a
look that guilt could ne'er withstand,
Approach'd his niece and caught
her by the hand,
Anger disarmed.
"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no?
Tell me at once, before I let
you go!"
Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing,
But the same
moment felt the wedding ring,
And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th'
empassion'd tear,
"I am, I am; but is my father here?"
Herbert stood
by, and sharing with his bride,
That perturbation which she strove to
hide;
"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time,
Indeed
here's not the shadow of a crime;
But where's your brother? When did
you arrive?
We waited long, for Nathan went at five!"
All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek:
He knew not what to
think, nor how to speak.
The case was this; that Nathan with a cart

To fetch them both at day-break was to start,
An Explanation.
And so he did--but ere he could proceed,
He suck'd a charming
portion with a reed,
Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day

To make the hearts of all the village gay;
Brim full of glee he
trundled from the Hall,
And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all;

Till growing giddy with his morning cup.
He, stretch'd beneath a
hedge, the reins gave up;
The horse graz'd soberly without mishap,

And Nathan had a most delightful nap
For three good hours--Then,
doubting, when he woke,
Whether his conduct would be deem'd a
joke,
With double haste perform'd just half his part,
And brought
the lame John Meldrum in his cart:
And at the moment Gilbert's
wrath was high,
And while young Herbert waited his reply,

A general Meeting.
The sound of rattling wheels was at the door;
"There's my dear father
now,"--they heard no more,
The bridegroom glided like an arrow
down,
And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown,
With his best
step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs
They bore old John in
triumph up the stairs:
Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check,

Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck,
And all stood
silent--Gilbert, off his guard,
And marvelling at virtue's rich reward,

Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before,
Down thumpt the
broken crutch upon the floor!
They started, half alarm'd, scarce
knowing why,
But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye
The
bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears,
And rous'd the
blushing Peggy from her tears;
Gilbert put upon his Defense.
Around the uncle in a ring they came,
And mark'd his look of
mingled pride and shame.
"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true

What meant this cudgel? What was it to do?
I know your heart
suspected me of wrong,
And that most true affection urg'd along

Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside
Till now the rightful
guardian of the bride.
But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the
case,
Or else to day you had not seen my face,
But John about the
girl was so perplex'd,
And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd,
That
when he broke this crutch, and stampt and cried,
For John and Peggy,
Sir, I could have died,
I know I could; for she was such a child,
So
tractable, so sensible, and mild,
The plain Truth.
That if between you roguery had grown,
(Begging your pardon,)
'twould have been your own;
She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came

And