In the meadow's silk grasses we see the black snail, Creeping out at the close of the eve, sipping dew, While even's one star glitters over the vale, Like a lamp hung outside of that temple of blue. I walk with my true love adown the green vale, The light feathered grasses keep tapping her shoe; In the whitethorn the nightingale sings her sweet tale, And the blades of the grasses are sprinkled with dew. If she stumbles I catch her and cling to her neck, As the meadow-sweet kisses the blush of the rose: Her whisper none hears, and the kisses I take The mild voice of even will never disclose. Her hair hung in ringlets adown her sweet cheek, That blushed like the rose in the hedge hung with dew; Her whisper was fragrance, her face was so meek-- The dove was the type on't that from the bush flew. THE SWALLOW Swift goes the sooty swallow o'er the heath, Swifter than skims the cloud-rack of the skies; As swiftly flies its shadow underneath, And on his wing the twittering sunbeam lies, As bright as water glitters in the eyes Of those it passes; 'tis a pretty thing, The ornament of meadows and clear skies: With dingy breast and narrow pointed wing, Its daily twittering is a song to Spring. JOCKEY AND JENNY "Will Jockey come to-day, mither? Will Jockey come to-day? He's taen sic likings to my brither He's sure to come the day." "Haud yer tongue, lass, mind your rockie; But th'other day ye wore a pockie. What can ye mean to think o' Jockey? Ye've bin content the season long, Ye'd best keep to your harmless song." "Ye'll soon see falling tears, mither, If love's a sin in youth; He leuks to me, and talks wi' brither, But I know the secret truth. He's courted me the year, mither; Judge not the matter queer, mither; Ye're a' the while as dear, mither, As ye've been the Summer long. I cannot sing my song. I'll hear nae farder preaching, mither; I'se bin a child ower lang; He led me frae the teaching, mither, Ann wherefore did he wrang? I ken he often tauks wi' brither; I neither look at ane or 'tither; You ken as well as I, mither, There's nae love in my song, Though I've sang the Summer long." "Nae, dinna be sae saucy, lassie, I may be kenned ye ill. If love has taen the hold, lassie, There's nae cure i' the pill." "Nae, I dinna want a pill, mither; He leuks at me and tauks to ither; And twice we've bin at kirk thegither. I'm 's well now as a' Summer long, But somehew cauna sing a song. He comes and talks to brither, mither, But leuks his thoughts at me; He always says gude neet to brither, And looks gude neet to me." "Lassie, ye seldom vexed yer mither; Ye're ower too fair a flower to wither; So be ye are to come thegither, I'll be nae damp to yer new claes; Cheer up and sing o'er 'Loggan braes.'"