Many years afterwards some poetry was written by a
lady who must have been an authority on the "Little Maids of Devon," for
she wrote:
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They've a rose in either cheek,
And their eyes like bits of heaven
Meet your own with glances meek;
But within them there are tiny imps
That play at hide and seek!
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have skins of milk and cream,
Just as pure and clear and even
As a pool in Dartmoor stream;
But who looks at them is holden
With the magic of a dream.
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have honey-coloured hair.
Where the sun has worked like leaven.
Turning russet tones to fair,
And they hold you by the strands of it,
And drive you to despair.
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have voices like a dove,
And Jacob's years of seven
One would serve to have their love;
But their hearts are things of mystery
A man may never prove!
We all attended church again for evening service, and after supper
passed the evening singing hymns, in which I was able to join, some of
them very beautiful and selected because they had been composed by
people connected with the County of Devon.
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