To Ethel.

So you think you will be a Scotch lassie;         The braw Hieland lad in a kilt     Has taken your fancy, dear, has he?         And you, too, would be clad in a "tilt."     Well, not one will gainsay you nor blame you,         For your wishes are ever fulfilt;     And how proudly your father will claim you,         When arrayed in a tartan and "tilt"!     And your mother will certainly further         The hopes that her Ethel has built;     You have only to ask to ensure their         Fulfilment concerning the "tilt."     And I--(Oh! I know I don't count, dear,         And for speaking acknowledge my guilt,     For my wishes to nothing amount, dear,)         I would rather you hadn't a "tilt."     For although thou wilt take us by storm, dear,         Looking sweet, as thou certainly wilt,     Yet, you know, it is very bad form, dear,         And not English to wish for a "tilt."     And I thought, (but of course was mistaken,         For my hopes lie around me all spilt),     That my Ethel would never awaken         To sigh for a Hielander's "tilt."     None the less will I try to be glad then,         Nor let courtesy play me the jilt;     Though I know that my heart will be sad when         Little Ethel is wearing her "tilt".