And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk,-warm milk it is and new.

Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold, Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

C

"It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature! can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see

hear.

nor

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky: Night and day thou art safe,-our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!'

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song:

"Nay," said I, "more than half to the Damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such

a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."