And often, in those grand old woods, I’ll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again to the place where Mary lies;
And I’ll think I see that little stile where we sat side by side,
And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, when first you were my bride!
Lady Dufferin.
The Tenant’s Farewell.
(A Lay of the 24th of December.)
I’m flitting in the style, Mary,
Which each half year we’ve tried,