English poem
THE WILLOW-TREE.
by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863)
Long by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother's screams O'er the gray water: Where is my lovely one? Where is my daughter?
"Rouse thee, Sir Constable— Rouse thee and look; Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman, your hook. Beat in the lily-beds, Dive in the brook!"
Vainly the constable Shouted and called her; Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder; Vainly he flung the net, Never it hauled her!
Mother beside the fire Sat, her nightcap in; Father, in easy chair, Gloomily napping, When at the window-sill Came a light tapping!
And a pale countenance Looked through the casement, Loud beat the mother's heart, Sick with amazement, And at the vision which Came to surprise her, Shrieked in an agony— "Lor'! it's Elizar!"
Yes, 'twas Elizabeth— Yes, 'twas their girl; Pale was her cheek, and her Hair out of curl. "Mother," the loving one, Blushing exclaimed, "Let not your innocent Lizzy be blamed.