ON the hill, the fir-tree hill,
Grows a tall fir-tree:
There a maiden, calm and still,
Sits delightedly.
To a youthful swain she pledges
Vows: “O come to me:
Lightly spring across the hedges:
Come—but silently.
Come at eve—lest harm betide thee.
If any home thou seek,
In our quiet dwelling hide thee;
Not a whisper speak.”
As he o’er the hedges sprung,
Lo! a twig he tore:
When the house-door ope he flung,
Noisy was the door.
When he enter’d in, there fell
Shelves upon the floor,
’Twas the broken china’s knell—
O the luckless hour!
Then her mother comes afeard,
Trips and cuts her knee;
And her father burns his beard
In perplexity.
And the youth must quench the fire,
And the maiden must retire.