Doris: A Pastoral

I Sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden; Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers: I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling And shadows stealing, for hours and hours. And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume, The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened, 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 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 drave them, we two together, Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. That simple duty fresh 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 undefined; And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, No more a servant, nor yet a child.