THE MILLER AND HIS SON

A twangling harp for Mary,

A silvery flute for John,

And now we'll play, the livelong day,

“The Miller and his Son.”...

“The Miller went a-walking

All in the forest high,

He sees three doves a-flitting

Against the dark blue sky:

“Says he,‘ My son, now follow

These doves so white and free,

That cry above the forest,

And surely cry to thee.’

“‘ I go, my dearest Father,

But O! I sadly fear,

These doves so white will lead me far,

But never bring me near.’

“He kisses the Miller,

He cries,‘ Awhoop to ye!’

And straightway through the forest

Follows the wood-doves three.

“There came a sound of weeping

To the Miller in his Mill:

Red roses in a thicket

Bloomed over near his wheel;

“Three stars shone wild and brightly

Above the forest dim:

But never his dearest son

Returns again to him.

“The cuckoo shall call‘ Cuckoo!’

In vain along the vale —

The linnet, and the blackbird,

The mournful nightingale;

“The Miller hears and sees not,

Thinking of his son;

His toppling wheel is silent;

His grinding done.

“‘ You doves so white,’ he weepeth,

‘ You roses on the tree,

You stars that shine so brightly,

You shine in vain for me!

“‘ I bade him follow, follow!’

He said,‘ O Father dear,

These doves so white will lead me far

But never bring me near.’”...

A twangling harp for Mary,

A silvery flute for John,

And now we'll play, the livelong day,

“The Miller and his Son.”