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The Buccaneer - A Tale

Page 118

Yet, spite of all that Nature did

To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dared to love.

* * * * * *

But virtue can itself advance

To what the favourite fools of chance

By fortune seem design'd.

PARNELL

"Is your sweet lady out yet, pretty Barbara?" inquired Robin Hays of

Barbara Iverk, as he met her in the flower-garden of Cecil Place, when

it was nearly midday.

"My poor lady is, I am sure, very ill; or, what is still worse, ill at

ease," replied the maiden. "She has not been in bed all night, I know,

for the couch was undisturbed this morning, so I just came here to

gather her some flowers: fresh flowers must always do one good, and I

think I never saw so many in bloom so early."

"Barbara, did you ever hear tell of a country they call the East?"

"A country!" repeated Barbara, whose knowledge of geography was somewhat

more extensive than that of Robin, although she had not travelled so

much, "I believe there are many countries in the East."

"Well, I dare say there may be. Mistress Barbara: you are going to chop

scholarship with me; but yet, I suppose, you do not know that they have

in that country a new way of making love. It is not new to them, though

it is new to us."

"Oh, dear Robin! what is it?"

"Why, suppose they wished you, a young pretty maiden as you are, to

understand that I, a small deformed dragon, regarded you, only a little,

like the beginning of love, they would--" Robin stooped as he spoke, and

plucked a rose-bud that had anticipated summer--"they would give you

this bud. But, suppose they wanted you to believe I loved you very much

indeed, they would choose you out a full-blown rose. Barbara, I cannot

find a full-blown rose; but I do not love you the less for that."

"Give me the bud, Robin, whether or no; it is the first of the

season:--my lady will be delighted with it--if, indeed, any thing can

delight her!"

"I will give it you to keep; not to give away, even to your lady. Ah,

Barbara! if I had any thing worth giving, you would not refuse it."

"And can any thing be better worth giving, or having, than sweet

flowers?" said the simple girl. "Only it pains me to pull them--they die

so soon--and then, every leaf that falls away from them, looks like a

reproach!"

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