Misfortunes

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.