The zwell o' thy bosom, thy eyes' sparklèn light.
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THE MAID VOR MY BRIDE.
Ah! don't tell o' maïdens! the woone vor my bride
Is little lik' too many maïdens bezide,—
Not brantèn, nor spitevul, nor wild; she've a mind
To think o' what's right, an' a heart to be kind.
She's straïght an' she's slender, but not over tall,
Wi' lim's that be lightsome, but not over small;