Nancy by Alfed Perceval Graves

Nancy

We have dark lovely looks on the shores
where the Spanish
From their gay ships came gallantly forth,
And the sweet shrinking violets sooner will
vanish
Than modest blue eyes from our north;
But oh ! if the fairest of fair-daughtered Erin
Gathered round at her golden request,
There 's not one of them all that she'd think
worth comparing
With Nancy, the pride of the west.

You 'd suspect her the statue the Greek fell in

love with,

If you chanced on her musing alone,

Or some goddess great Jove was offended above

with,

And chilled to a sculpture of stone;

But you 'd think her no colorless, classical

statue,

When she turned from her pensive repose,

With her glowing grey eyes glancing timidly at

you,

And the blush of a beautiful rose.

Have you heard Nancy sigh? then you've

caught the sad echo

From the wind harp enchantingly borne.

Have you heard the girl laugh? then you've

heard the first cuckoo

Carol summer's delightful return;

And the songs that poor, ignorant, country folk

fancy

The lark's liquid raptures on high,

Are just old Irish airs from the sweet lips of

Nancy,

Flowing up and refreshing the sky.

And though her foot dances so soft from the

heather

To the dew-twinkling tussocks of grass,

It but warns the bright drops to slip closer to-

gether

To image the exquisite lass;

We've no men left among us so lost to

emotion,

Or scornful, or cold to her sex,

Who 'd resist her, if Nancy once took up the

notion

To set that soft foot on their necks.

Yet, for all that the bee flies for honey-dew

fragrant

To the half-opened flower of her lips,

And the butterfly pauses, the purple-eyed

vagrant,

To play with her pink finger-tips;

From all human lovers she locks up the treasure

A thousand are striving to taste,

And the fairies alone know the magical measure

Of the ravishing round of her waist.