"I'm not, sir, in the market yet,"
- Alack and well-a-day.
"Your love must cool upon a shelf; Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf, I'm yet too young to sell myself,"
- Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
- Alack and well-a-day.
And looked he at the maid once more,
- Alack and well-a-day.
Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, if Too young to sell, now as I live, You're not too young yourself to give,"
- Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,
- Alack and well-a-day.
And many a flush began to rise,
- Alack and well-a-day.
Why, since you are so bold," she said, "I doubt not you are highly bred, So take me!" and the twain were wed,
- Alack and well-a-day.
MERRY AUTUMN
It's all a farce,- these tales they tell
- About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
- Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,— I care not who first taught 'em;
- There's nothing known to beast or bird
- To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
- With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
- Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;
- The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
- From modest green to yellow.
The seed burrs all with laughter crack
- On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
- Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;
- A singing bird comes after;
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