31 JANUARY 1891, Page 31

POETRY.

KITTY NEALE.

FOUNDED ON AN OLD IRISH SONG IN THE PETRIE COLLECTION.

ALL in the Golden Vale, I met with Kitty Neale, On her poll the milking-pail, a lamb nosing at her knee.

Oh! her eyes were dreams of blue, With the sunlight dancing through, And her saucy lips the hue of the rose on the tree.

For a year and for a day, I had sought in every way That maiden fair as May for my true love to gain; Every art of tongue and eye Fond lads with lasses try,

I had used with ceaseless sigh, yet all, all in vain!

But that morning, at the trace Of the trouble in my face, She paused with timid grace and murmured my name, And a blessed, blessed man, I'd a kiss beneath her can And consent her waist to span, without one word of blame.

And amid the blooming bowers, I'd have rambled on for hours, With my blushing Flower of Flowers, under Heaven's blue dome; But the lamb he took a tilt At her pail, till all was spilt, And crying, "I'll be kilt!" Kitty darted home, ALFRED PEROEVA.L GRAVES.