His Dancing Days

A poem by Theodosia Garrison

Never did I find me mate for charmin' an' delightin',
Never one that had me bate for courtin' an' for fightin';--
(A white moon at the crossroads then, and Denny with the fiddle;
The parish round admirin', when I danced down the middle.)
Up the earth and down again, me like you'd not discover;
Arrah! for the times before me dancin' days were over!

Never was a moon so low it didn't find me courtin',
Never blade I couldn't show a wilder way of sportin'.
(Is it at the fair I'd be, the gentry'd troop to talk with me;
Leapin' with delight was she,--the girl I'd choose to walk with me.)
'Twas I could win the pick of them from any lad or lover;
Arrah! for the times before me dancin' days were over!

What's come to all the lads to-day,--these mournful ways they're keepin',
Grudgin' any hour to play and wastin' nights in sleepin'.
(Readin' be the chimney-place,--that dacent in their habits,
You'd sooner get a fight or song be callin' upon rabbits.)
Faith, I'd change the lot for one rejoicin', rantin' rover,
The like of me, myself, before me dancin' days were over.

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