She could not quite understand Donal, but she felt she must be wrong somehow; and of this she was the more convinced when she saw the beautiful eyes of Gibbie fixed in admiration, and brimful of love, upon Donal.
The way Donal kept his vow never to read another poem of his own to a girl, was to proceed that very night to make another for the express purpose, as he lay awake in the darkness.
The last one he ever read to her in that meadow was this: What gars ye sing, said the herd laddie, What gars ye sing sae lood?
To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie, The worms, for my daily food.
An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, An' the worms creepit in an' oot; An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, But still he carolled stoot.
It's no for the worms, sir, said the herd, They comena for yer sang.
Think ye sae, sir?
answered the bird, Maybe ye're no i' the wrang.
But aye &c.
Sing ye yoong sorrow to beguile Or to gie auld fear the flegs?
Na, quo' the mavis; it's but to wile My wee things oot o' her eggs.
An' aye &c.
The mistress is plenty for that same gear, Though ye sangna ear' nor late.
It's to draw the deid frae the moul' sae drear, An' open the kirkyard gate.
An' aye &c.
Na, na; it's a better sang nor yer ain, Though ye hae o' notes a feck, 'At wad mak auld Barebanes there sae fain As to lift the muckle sneck! But aye &c.
Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune, Nor a wave ower san' that flows, Nor a win' wi' the glintin' stars abune, An' aneth the roses in rows; An' aye &c.
But I'll speir ye nae mair, sir, said the herd.
I fear what ye micht say neist.
Ye wad but won'er the mair, said the bird, To see the thouchts i' my breist.
And aye he sang, an' better he sang, An' the worms creepit in an' oot; An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, But still he carolled stoot.
I doubt whether Ginevra understood this song better than the first, but she was now more careful of criticizing; and when by degrees it dawned upon her that he was the maker of these and other verses he read, she grew half afraid of Donal, and began to regard him with big eyes; he became, from a herd-boy, an unintelligible person, therefore a wonder.

For, brought thus face to face with the maker of verses, she could not help trying to think how he did the thing; and as she felt no possibility of making verses herself, it remained a mystery and an astonishment, causing a great respect for the poet to mingle with the kindness she felt towards Nicie's brother..