LOUISA

I met Louisa in the shade,

And, having seen that lovely Maid,

Why should I fear to say

That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,

And down the rocks can leap along

Like rivulets in May?

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;

Yet o'er the moorland will she roam

In weather rough and bleak;

And, when against the wind she strains,

Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains

That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine “beneath the moon,”

If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,

When up she winds along the brook

To hunt the waterfalls.