THE WOODLAND HALLÓ.

In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood,

I am mistress, no mother have I;

Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good,

And kind is my lover hard by;

They both work together beneath the green shade,

Both woodmen, my father and Joe.

Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made

So much of a laugh or — Halló.

From my basket at noon they expect their supply,

And with joy from my threshold I spring;

For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high,

And Echo that sings as I sing.

Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food,

As I call the dear name of my Joe;

His musical shout is the pride of the wood,

And my heart leaps to hear the — Halló.

Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease,

I wish not to wander from you;

I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees,

For I know that my Joe will be true.

The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove,

Are charms that I'll never forego;

But resting through life on the bosom of love,

Will remember the Woodland Halló.