Part 2 — DORIS: A PASTORAL

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden; Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers. I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, And shadows stealing for hours and hours.

And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses Wild summer roses of faint perfume, The while I sued her, kept hushed and harkened Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.

She touched my shoulder with fearful finger; She said, "We linger, we must not stay; My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander; Behold them yonder, how far they stray!"

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, And still be near you, and still adore! No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling— Ah! stay my darling a moment more!"

She whispered, sighing, "There will be sorrow Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded— I shall be scolded and sent away!"

Said I, denying, "If they do miss you, They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor Should be the labor from which you come."

"They might remember," she answered meekly. "That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild; But if they love me it's none so fervent— I am a servant and not a child."

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, And love did win me to swift reply: "Ah! do but prove me, and none shall bind you, Nor fray nor find you until I die!"

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting, As if debating in dreams divine; But I did brave them—I told her plainly, She doubted vainly, she must be mine.

So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; And homeward drove them, we two together, Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.

That simple duty such grace did lend her, My Doris tender, my Doris true, That I her warder did always bless her, And often press her to take her due.

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling With love excelling, and undefiled; And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, No more a servant, nor yet a child.

Arthur Joseph Munby [1828-1910]