"My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
Than purest monarchy."
"For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more."
So she sang, like youth daring fortune to give it aught but the best.
The thing thrilled me, so that I stood gaping. Then she looked aside
and saw me.
"Your business, man?" she cried, with an imperious voice.
I took off my bonnet, and made an awkward bow.
"Madam, I am on my way to Edinburgh," I stammered, for I was mortally
ill at ease with women. "I am uncertain of the road in this weather,
and come to beg direction."
"You left the road three miles back," she said.
"But I am for crossing the moors," I said.
She pushed back her hood and looked at me with laughing eyes, I saw how
dark those eyes were, and how raven black her wandering curls of hair.
"You have come to the right place," she cried. "I can direct you as
well as any Jock or Sandy about the town. Where are you going to?"
I said Kirknewton for my night's lodging.
"Then march to the right, up by yon planting, till you come to the Howe
Burn. Follow it to the top, and cross the hill above its well-head.
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