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“They danced by the roadside”
They danced by the roadside on Saturday night,
And the laughter resounded to left and to right,
With shouts of “Hip, hip!” and of “Hey!”
Nils Utterman, the fiddler's daft young sprig,
Sat there with his bagpipes and played them a jig,
With doodely, doodely, day!
There was Cottage Bess,—whose attractions are many,
She is pretty and slim, though she hasn't a penny,
She’s brimful of mischief and fun.
There was Christie,—the wild, independent young lassie!—
And Pimple-faced Biddy, and Tilly, and Cassie,
and rollicking Meg o’ the Run.
There was Pete o’ the Ridge and Gus o’ the Rise,—
Who are nimble at tossing a girl to the skies
And at catching her when she comes down.
There was Phil o’ the Croft and Nick o’ the Bend,
And Pistol the Soldier, and Journeyman Lind,
And Karl-John of Taylortown.
They danced there as madly as tow set afire,
All jumping like grasshoppers higher and higher,
And heel it rang sharp upon stone.
The coat-tails they fluttered, the dominos flew,
And pig-tails were flapping, and skirts flung askew,
While the music would whimper and drone.
Then in birch or in alder or hazel thicket
There was whispering light as the chirp of a cricket
From the shadowy darkness near.
Over stock, over stone there was flight and pursuing,
And under green boughs there was billing and cooing—
“If you want me, then come for me here!”
Over all lay the twinkling, star-lovely night;
In the wood-bordered bay a shimmery light
Fell soft on the hurrying waves.
A breeze, clover-laden, was borne from the meadow,
And a resinous whiff from the pines that o’er-shadow
The crests of the water-worn caves.
A fox lent his voice to the revellers’ din,
And “Oohoo!” from Bear Crag an owl joined in;
But they heard not, they heeded not, they.
“Oohoo!” from Goat Mountain the echo rang,
And for answer Nils Utterman’s bagpipes sang
Their doodely, doodely, day!
Gustaf Fröding