Down the green hill-side fro’ the castle window Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin’; Day by day watched him go about his ample Nursery garden.
Cabbages thriv'd there, wi’ a mort o’ green-stuff — Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes, Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows, Early potatoes.
Lady Jane cared not very much for all these: What she cared much for was a glimpse o’ Willum Strippin’ his brown arms wi’ a view to horti- -Cultural effort.
Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, that Up the green hill-side, i’ the gloomy castle, Feminine eyes could so delight to view his Noble proportions.
Only one day while, in an innocent mood, Moppin’ his brow (‘ cos‘ twas a trifle sweaty ) With a blue kerchief — lo, he spies a white‘ un Coyly responding.
Day by day, peepin’ fro’ behind the bean-sticks, Willum observed that scrap o’ white a-wavin’, Till his hot sighs out-growin’ all repression Busted his weskit.
Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper; Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to Risk a refusal?
Year by year found him busy‘ mid the bean-sticks, Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps. Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden Wave fro’ her window.
But the nineteenth spring, i’ the Castle post-bag, Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o’ seedlings Mark'd wi’ blue ink at‘ Paragraphs relatin’ Mainly to Pumpkins.’
‘ W. A. can,’ so the Lady Jane read, ‘ Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental; Grows to a great height.’
Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows — Down the mown hill-side, fro’ the castle gateway — Came a long train and, i’ the midst, a black bier, Easily shouldered.
‘ Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi’ gourd-leaves, Forth ye bear with slow step?’ A mourner answer'd, ‘'Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew Tired to abide in.’
‘ Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow. Delve it one furlong fro’ the kidney bean-sticks, Where I may dream she's goin’ on precisely As she was used to.’
Hardly died Bill when, fro’ the Lady Jane's grave, Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin: Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi’ Billowy verdure.
Simple this tale!— but delicately perfumed As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why, Difficult though its metre was to tackle, I'm glad I wrote it.
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