The mill-fiend

There are two bonny eggs in a nest on the hill— One, two, three, and away! One lies in the warmth of its mother-bed still, But the other is rolling adown to the mill— For the winds are so wild in the morning.

Two weary wayfarers come over the hill— One, two, three, and away! One makes for the cottage that’s dear to him still, But the other strides on to get work at the mill, And stays not to look at the morning.

Two friends are in talk on the brow of the hill— One, two, three, and away! One sleeps, but the cool grass is over him still, While the other is whirl’d round the pool of the mill, And his corpse will float up in the morning.

Two spirits fly over the cross on the hill— One, two, three, and away! One stays there and prays there and watches there still, And the other, who writhes in the teeth of the mill, Is Lucifer, son of the morning.