At the first pause in the dance every eye was attracted towards a most heavenly maiden, attired in the simple garb of a Cumberland shepherdess. She came tripping along the meadow in the full glow of her beauty, and, with a smile, joined the maiden circle. Every tongue was inquiring, "Wha is she?"--and every eye was eager to obtain a glance of her charms. Several of the most respectable shepherds offered to lead her to the dance, but she modestly refused. Among the rest Wild Will of Whitbeck, as he was generally called, urged her to favour him with her hand. "I only came," said she, "to be a spectator of these innocent gaities; and, should I share in them, I should wish to procure a more modest partner." "A modest partner!" exclaimed Will, "yan et darn't luik at ya: yan etle stand eating his thooms, and just whisperen la doon, 'will ya dance?' A poor feckless thing et darn't lait a sweetheart withoot its minny ga wi' it." "You will please to leave me, shepherd," replied the maid, "and carry your raillery to other ears where it may be more agreeable." "I'll hev a kiss furst," said Will, "for that canny feace and filed tongue hez quite laid ma ith brears." "Forbear your rudeness, for God's sake," cried the damsel; "or you may repent it." "By all the powers af love and beauty," exclaimed the carpenter's son, stepping up at that moment, "unless he stands off he shall repent it. Will you take a dance with me, fair maiden?" She willingly complied. But the elder and more experienced part of the company said they observed a glance pass between them, which said they had met before. This renewed the inquiry who the damsel might be, but in vain. Will retired in a gloomy rage, swearing that he would discover who the girl was, and have revenge on the carpenter, if it cost him his life. The lovers heard not his threats, but repaired to the Maypole; and, as they danced around it, sang the following roundelay:-- "What are monarchs' courts, my dear? Can their splendour yield them bliss? Can the thrones and crowns of kings Yield a joy as sweet as this? Dancing round the Maypole! Here no care or pain, my dear, Can into our bosom steal; Heaven itself can scarce surpass Pleasures such as these we feel, Dancing round the Maypole! Now, returning Spring, my dear, Wakes the birds on every spray-- We, whose hearts are formed for love, Sure may be as blithe as they. Dancing round the Maypole! Hark the song of love, my dear, Every heart and tongue employ; And shall we, less fond than they, Mix not in the general joy, Dancing round the Maypole! Let our glowing hearts, my dear, Revel in the burning bliss;-- Speak our feelings through our eyes, And seal our union with a kiss, Dancing round the Maypole!"