ROBERT PORTER ST. JOHN.
_Amherst Literary Monthly._


~A Ballad of Dorothy.~

It's "Dorothy! Where's Dorothy?"
From morn to even fall,
There's not a lad on Cowslip Farm
Who joins not in the call.
It's Dolly here and Dolly there,
Where can the maiden be?
No wench in all the countryside's
So fine as Dorothy.

With tucked-up gown and shining pail,
Before the day is bright,
Down dewy lanes she singing goes
Among the hawthorns white.
Perchance her roses need her care,
She tends them faithfully.
There's not a rose in all the world
As fresh and sweet as she!

With morning sunshine in her hair
A-churning Dolly stands:
Oh, happy chum, I envy it,
Held close between her hands;
And when the crescent moon hangs bright