Doris: A Pastoral

I sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden;
Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers:
I sat and woo'd 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 hush'd and hearken'd,
Till shades had darken'd from gloss to gloom.

She touch'd 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 answer'd 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 whisper'd, 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 answer'd 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 glow'd 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 blush'd 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 undefil'd;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,
No more a servant, nor yet a child.