THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL.
A STORY OF EVERY DAY.
"Where I was wont to meet her,
My true love to my call,
Came glimmering through the laurels at quiet even-fall,
In the garden, by the turrets of the old manorial hall."
My true love to my call,
Came glimmering through the laurels at quiet even-fall,
In the garden, by the turrets of the old manorial hall."
It was at church, one summer morn, my good, my dear old wife,
That first I saw the face that made the sunshine of my life;
Your look still dwelt upon your book, I do not think you knew
The stolen glances that were cast towards the squire's pew!
That first I saw the face that made the sunshine of my life;
Your look still dwelt upon your book, I do not think you knew
The stolen glances that were cast towards the squire's pew!
Seven blooming Daughters then were there, and one a fair young bride,
And at the head the mother sat and looked adown with pride;
And well she might! when it was said and sung by great and small,
How sweet a family were they, the ladies at the Hall!
And at the head the mother sat and looked adown with pride;
And well she might! when it was said and sung by great and small,
How sweet a family were they, the ladies at the Hall!
