But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
Ae e'enin on the lily lea?

The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest,

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love:

“O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me? Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

"At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me."

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,

And love was aye between them twa.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

UNDER a spreading chesnut tree
The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.