97 
The fair maiden straight donned her best array 
And forth to the festival hied away: 
But scarce had she gone 
Ere the storm came on. 
And, ’mid thunder and rain, 
She cried, oft and again, 
“ Oh ! would I had minded yon boding flower. 
And were safe at home from the pelting shower 
Now, maidens, the tale that I tell would say. 
Don’t don fine clothes on a doubtful day : 
Nor ask advice, when, like many more, 
Your resolve was taken some time before. 
o 
