THE GIRL.
| In dole I dree the days all lonely here, A young girl by her mother shut from life, Who guardeth me with jealousy and strife: But by the cross of God I swear to her, If still she keeps me pent up thus to pine, I'll say: "Aroint thee, thou fell hag malign!" And fling yon wheel and distaff to the wall, And fly to thee, my love, who art mine all! |
