Classic Poem

" Beware! yon bird now in glee on the bough
May drop into a snare. "
So sung we when a day of the past had passed away
But not when Alf was near.

Not Cilla, not I, nor Bessy need sigh,
That ever he came this way;
But a worthier far than Cilla and her
Hath rued that evil day.

That hour the dire ban of Rosa began,
When Alf glode over the hill,
And hailed us each with a blink did reach
And make our heart-strings thrill.

At the brook we'd stoop'd, and the water scoop'd
Our clean green pails into,
When a coal-black rook beclouded the brook
And away o'er the hill-top flew.

We startled, raised our heads and gazed —
And ere the bird had swept
From sight, heart-light, with his blink so bright,
The youth the waters leapt.

I felt his spell, and Bessy as well,
As in her heart she knows;
But Rose — did she look at her face in the brook,
Or why in the brook look'd Rose?

The fact was bared, when the bird ensnared
Was the village talk indeed;
But he, the youth, had the look of truth —
And who the heart can read?

Not Cilla, no — not even so —
Not Bessy more than Cill,
Tho' she tost her head in pride, and said
What Rose remembers still.

" I think of the glance that made your hearts dance;
But ever I think also
Of the grim black rook that darkened the brook
And away o'er the hill did go. "

" Nay, Bessy, nay; and forbear, I pray,
By any cold remark,
To deepen the shade that hangs o'er her head,
If Rosa's weird be dark.

" " The wilyest bird, on hedge ever heard" —
Ah, well you know the rest
The stranger yough had the look of truth —
And looks deceive the best.

" If love-mad driven poor Rose hath given
What to give is woe to her,
Another more wild had been beguiled
By lures less dazzling far. "

At my sharp reply did a fierce red dye
Bemantle Bessy's cheek,
While Rose turned as pale as the moon o'er the dale,
But never a word did speak.

With a downcast look her needles she took
Till off our neighbour went,
When my hand she took and gave me a look
Which worlds of meaning meant.

Her tears out-gushed; in my arms she rushed,
And kissed her Cilla, and said
What never shall pass these lips till the grass
Is green above my head.

But oft since then, and ever when
I think of Rose and her ban,
Will the sad, sad strain awake in my brain,
By which this ditty began.

" Beware! yon bird now in glee on the bough
May drop into a snare! "
Alas, even so will the old thing go,
But when will the best beware?