“There came a sound of weeping
  To the Miller in his Mill: 
Red roses in a thicket
  Bloomed over near his wheel;

“Three stars shone wild and brightly
  Above the forest dim: 
But never his dearest son
  Returns again to him.

“The cuckoo shall call ‘Cuckoo!’
  In vain along the vale—­
The linnet, and the blackbird,
  The mournful nightingale;

“The Miller hears and sees not,
  Thinking of his son;
His toppling wheel is silent;
  His grinding done.

“‘You doves so white,’ he weepeth,
  ’You roses on the tree,
You stars that shine so brightly,
  You shine in vain for me!

“‘I bade him follow, follow!’
  He said, ’O Father dear,
These doves so white will lead me far
  But never bring me near.’"...

A twangling harp for Mary,
  A silvery flute for John,
And now we’ll play, the livelong day,
  “The Miller and his Son.”

DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY

Down-adown-derry,
  Sweet Annie Maroon,
Gathering daisies
  In the meadows of Doone,
Hears a shrill piping,
  Elflike and free,
Where the waters go brawling
  In rills to the sea;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
  Sweet Annie Maroon,
Through the green grasses
  Peeps softly; and soon
Spies under green willows
  A fairy whose song
Like the smallest of bubbles
  Floats bobbing along;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
  Her cheeks were like wine,
Her eyes in her wee face
  Like water-sparks shine,
Her niminy fingers
  Her sleep tresses preen,
The which in the combing
  She peeps out between;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
  Shrill, shrill was her tune:—­
“Come to my water-house,
  Annie Maroon: 
Come in your dimity,
  Ribbon on head,
To wear siller seaweed
  And coral instead”;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

“Down-adown-derry,
  Lean fish of the sea,
Bring lanthorns for feasting
  The gay Faerie;
’Tis sand for the dancing,
  A music all sweet
In the water-green gloaming
  For thistledown feet”;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
  Sweet Annie Maroon
Looked large on the fairy
  Curled wan as the moon;
And all the grey ripples
  To the Mill racing by,
With harps and with timbrels
  Did ringing reply;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

“Down-adown-derry,”
  Sang the Fairy of Doone,
Piercing the heart
  Of sweet Annie Maroon;
And lo! when like roses
  The clouds of the sun
Faded at dusk, gone
  Was Annie Maroon;
    Singing down-adown-derry.

Down-adown-derry,
  The daisies are few;
Frost twinkles powdery
  In haunts of the dew;
And only the robin
  Perched on a thorn,
Can comfort the heart
  Of a father forlorn;
    Singing down-adown-derry.