That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of
lies,
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought
with outright,
But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to
fight.

IX.
And Willy had not been down to the farm for a week
and a day;
And all things look'd half-dead, tho' it was the middle
of May.
Jenny, to slander me, who knew what Jenny had
been!
But soiling another, Annie, will never make oneself
clean.

X.
And I cried myself well-nigh blind, and all of an
evening late
I climb'd to the top of the garth, and stood by the
road at the gate.
The moon like a rick on fire was rising over the
dale,
And whit, whit, whit, in the bush beside me chirrupt
the nightingale.

XI.
All of a sudden he stopt: there past by the gate of
the farm,