Where the elm trees' spreading branches

Hide the streamlets with their shades,

Stands the fair-faced, blue-eyed Dolly,

Flower of all the village maids,—

Looking, in the growing twilight,

Towards the grassy fields ahead,

Listening still, with eye expectant,

For the ever-welcome tread.

From across the verdant meadow

Comes a whistle, loud and shrill,

Sounding through the evening stillness,

Seemeth but the whip-poor-will.

But the fair face glows still brighter,

And the eyes more eager grow,

As the notes come near and nearer,

Louder than the streamlet's flow.

[15]

[15]

[17]

[17]

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