THE

LAY OF THE SCOTTISH FIDDLE.

CANTO IV.

THE DIGRESSION.

I.

'Twas midnight now, and all around
Nature lay stretched in sleep profound;
No sound was heard the door without,
But all within was thundering rout.
The minstrel chose a merry lay,
And straight the lads and lasses gay
Footed right deftly round and round,
With eager glee and lightsome bound.
One shuffled double-trouble' o'er,

As if he'd grind quite through the floor;

'Hoe-corn and dig potatoes' too Was danc'd so to the music true, It seem'd an echo to the strain,

Or the same tune play'd o'er again.

II.

Stout lord Joline with all his heart

In these gay gambols took a part;

For well I wot a merrier heart

Ne'er in such gambols bore a part.
Though rather short, and round, and thick,

None better play'd his cudgel-stick ;

And none in merry gibe and jeer

Could ever make such pleasant cheer—
The trav❜ller never pass'd his gate,
Forsooth, without a broken pate,

Not from his stick, but sturdy joke,

That many a stranger's head had broke.

III.

Brawny and low, with bushy head,
And shoulders erst for Atlas made,
One double-jointed arm was slung
In kerchief, and all lifeless hung;
And round about his either

eye

A circling halo you might spy;

Such as the moon's pale face deform, Prophetic of the coming storm.

These he had got from crusty folks,

Who didn't like his lordship's jokes.

IV.

Lord Joline for his partner chose
A lass that bloom'd like blushing rose;
Fam'd in the dance for tiring swains,
And call'd the rose of Scottish plains.
The flower of Jersey was the maid,
As babbling tell-tale rumour said.

What though the heavy hand of toil,
And summer sun's tremendous broil,
Her shoulders somewhat broad had made,
And giv'n her cheek a copper shade;
Though no Verbecq had taught her grace,
To measur'd mood had train'd her pace
(Verbecq now gone to death's dark shades,
To caper with light ghostly blades,)

A foot more broad, a step more true,
Mov'd not among the merry crew.

V.

Though bred afar from town and court,

And train❜d to toil and rural sport,

Yet instinct taught her all the arts
Of city belles, to win the hearts

Of village swains, who clean face shew,
At sabbath church, or gay review.
She had a smile for merry grigs,

A sigh for sentimental sprigs,

Sung psalms to those that pious were,
And songs to blithe and debonair :
In short she knew each witching art
To wind about the simple heart-
A farmer's daughter seem'd the maid,
And so she was, as fame betray'd.

VI.

At last the merry reel was done,

And ceas'd the dancers every one:
But ere their parting seats they took
The wight his quavering elbow shook,
And in a freak of wanton glee
His fiddle squeak'd right merrily.

Each dancer, as the custom is,
Gave his fair mate a smacking kiss;

Then led her to her wonted place

With genuine country bumpkin grace-
All save Joline, who, sad to say,

Upon the floor all doleful lay.