ALLEN AND SALLY.
John Harkness, Printer, Church St., Preston.
'Twas in the evening of a wintry day,
Then just returning from a long campaign,
Allen, o'er tired and weary with the way,
Came home to see his Sally once again.
His tatter'd arms he carelessly threw down,
And view'd his Sally with enraptured eyes;
But she rece ved him with a modest frown,
She knew not Allen in his rough disguise.
His hair was knotted and his beard unshorn,
His tatter'd 'couterments about him hung;
A tear of pleasure did his cheeks adorn,
And blessings fell in torrents from his tongue.
Am I so alter'd by war's cruel trade,
That you your faithful Allen have forgot;
Or has your heart upon some other stray'd ?
Ah ! why escaped I from the murdering shot ?
When thus he spoke, her wonted colour fled,
She ran and sunk upon her Allen's breast,
All pale awhile she looks like one that's dead,
He kiss'd, she breath'd, and all her love con-
Yes, my delight, tho' alter'd as thou art,
Reduced by war's horrid carnage to this state,
Thou art the golden treasure of my heart,
My long lost husband, & my wish'd-for mate.
John Harkness, Printer, Preston.
When I was young and youth did bloom,
Where fancy led me I did rove,
From town to town, the country round,
Through every every sylvan shady grove.
Until I came to Scotland by name,
Where beauty shines on every side !
There's no town there we can compare,
With Glasgow fair on the banks of the Clyde.
As I went out in the evening clear,
By the banks of Clyde I chanc'd to gang ;
There I met a weel-fair'd lass,
Her beauty put me to a stand :
Her cherry cheeks and ruby lips,
Her hair in ringlets down did glide,
And I fain would have kiss'd her balmy lips,
As she walk'd along the banks of Clyde.
I spier'd at her, and said, fair maid,
How far this road do you mean to gang,
A mile or two, kind sir, she said,
Towards a town called Ruthersglen ;
Will you take company, my pretty made,
With one who'd have you for his bride,
So arm in arm, without fear or harm,
They walked along on the banks of Clyde.
I'm afraid you are from Ireland,
From Belfast just now come o'er,
A sea-port town of great renown,
Towards the north-eastern shore ;
That you have left some beauty bright,
Who is well known to be your bride,
Therefore, said she, 'tis dangerous for me,
To walk with you on the banks of Clyde.
I said no more, but I went with her,
The waters they were running clear,
The small birds gone into their nests,
The moon in glances did appear ;
I put my arms about her waist,
Her fears began now to subside,
And oft I kiss'd her ruby lips,
As she lay in my arms on the banks of Clyde.
But what we did, or what we said,
There's no one breathing here shall know ;
Oft times I kiss'd her ruby lips,
While her colour oft did come and go ;
Sir, since you've got your will, she says,
I pray make me your lawful bride ;
I promis'd to meet here there again,
But I forgot, and cross'd the Clyde.
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Probable period of publication:
1860-1880 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.178.A.2(347)
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