But his owner arriving, just at the last push,
Gave me the pigs bristles to make me a brush.
Say why should our nobles abroad ever roam
In search of wild boars when we've such pigs at home?
Kate of Norton Vale.
[Published by the land permission of Mr. B. Williams, London, to whom the copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.]
The birds were singing sweetly,
Wild flowers were blooming gay,
When I lost my heart completely
In the merry month of May.
'Twas morn when thirsty Nature
Was busy drinking dew,
When fair in form and feature,
Dear Kate first met my view.
Her steps had fairy lightness,
Her hair was raven dark,
And from her eyes of brightness,
Shone forth the soul-lit spark.
From this cold world thou 'rt vanished,
Yet memory's self must fail,
Ere thy lov'd form be banished,
Sweet Kate of Norton Vale.
Sweet Kate, Sweet Kate of Norton Vale.
