An' I was sad as a beggar-man but she was blithe an' gay
An' I think o' her as I call the flocks Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!
Her cheeks they stole the dover's red, her lips the odoured air,
An' the glow o' the morning sunlight she took away in her hair;
Her voice had the meadow music, her form an' her laughing eye
Have taken the blue o' the heavens an' the grace o' the bending rye.
My love has robbed the summer day - the field, the sky, the dell,
She has taken their treasures with her, she has taken my heart as well;
An' if ever, in the further fields, her feet should go astray
May she hear the good God calling her Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!
Chapter 41
I got a warm welcome on Monkey Hill. John Trumbull came to
dine with us at the chalet the evening of my arrival. McGlingan
had become editor-in-chief of a new daily newspaper. Since the
war began Mr Force had found ample and remunerative
occupation writing the 'Obituaries of Distinguished Persons . He
sat between Trumbull and McGlingan at table and told again of the
time he had introduced the late Daniel Webster to the people of his
native town.
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