Clara. I cannot remember the name—but there was something of bushes and of briars in it.
Jessie. I know which that is. ’Tis a pretty song. Sing it, Georgie.
George. Nay—sing it yourself, Miss Jessie.
Jessie. ’Tis like this at the beginning.—[she sings or repeats]—
“Through bushes and through briars
I lately took my way,
All for to hear the small birds sing
And the lambs to skip and play.”
Clara. That is the song I was thinking of, Jessie.
George. Can you go on with it, Miss Jessie.
Jessie. I can’t say any more.
Clara. [Gently singing or speaking.]
I overheard my own true love,
Her voice it was so clear.
“Long time I have been waiting for
The coming of my dear.”