Pastoral Lyric

 

(After the Spanish of El Marques de Santillana)

No maiden so fair in the valleys I see,

No maiden so fair in the hills,

No maiden so fair in all the country

As the milkmaid of Union Mills.

 

When on my way from the town in my youth,

Drugged with the chrome daffodils,

I saw her, a glimpse as of eternal youth,

The milkmaid of Union Mills.

 

In a green meadow of bushes and flowers,

There calling the cows from the rills,

I saw her, more golden than sunlight on showers,

The milkmaid of Union Mills.

 

I think not spring’s lilies or tulips or roses

So fair would appear in their frills

Had I but seen her before in her poses,

The milkmaid of Union Mills.

 

I could not gaze on that beauty so rare

Without dreaming of mingling our wills,

And so I enquired oft about that fair

Sweet milkmaid of Union Mills.

 

One laughing replied, “No wooing there!

She is composed of ice and sharp quills.

To be loved or to love she does not care,

That milkmaid of Union Mills!”

 

 

Weekly Times 28.4.61