The Woodman's Love Song.

Along the meads a simple maid

One summer's day a musing strayed,

And, as the cowslips sweet she pressed,

This burthen to the breeze confessed —

I fear that I'm in love!

For, ever since so playfully

Young Robin trod this path with me,

I always feel more happy here

Than ever I have felt elsewhere:—

I fear that I'm in love!

And, ever since young Robin talked

So sweetly, while alone we walked,

Of truth, and faith, and constancy,

I've wished he always walked with me:—

I fear that I'm in love!

And, ever since that pleasing night

When,‘ neath the lady moon's fair light,

He asked my hand, but asked in vain,

I've wished he'd walk, and ask again:—

I fear that I'm in love!

And yet, I greatly fear, alas!

That wish will ne'er be brought to pass!—

What else to fear I cannot tell:—

I hope that all will yet be well —

But, surely, I'm in love!

Coy was their look, but true their pleasure,

While the maidens listed the woodman's measure;

Nor shrunk they at laughter of herdsman or hind,

But mixed with the mirth, and still looked kind.

One maid there was who faintly smiled,

But never joined their laughter:

And why, by Yule-mirth unbeguiled,

Sits the Baron's beauteous daughter?

Why looks she downcast, yet so sweet,

And seeketh no eyes with mirth to greet?

“My darling Edith,— hast no song?”

Saith Thorold, tenderly;

“Our guests have tarried to hear thee, long,

And looked with wistful eye!”

Soft words the peerless damosel

Breathes of imperfect skill:

“Sweet birds,” smiles the Baron, “all know — right well,

Can sweetly sing an’ they will.”

And the stranger minstrel, on his knee,

Offers his harp, with courtesy

So rare and gentle, that the hall

Rings with applause which one and all

Render who share the festival.

De Thorold smiled; and the maiden took

The harp, with grace in act and look,—

But waked its echoes tremulously,—

Singing no noisy jubilee,—

But a chanson of sweetly stifled pain —

So sweet — when ended all were fain

To hear her chaunt it o'er again.