CLARIBEL. A MELODY. HERE Claribel low-lieth But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Of an inward agony, At eve the beetle boometh The slumbrous wave outwelleth, Where Claribel low-lieth. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. T is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear: For, hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And I should know if it beat right, And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs, I scarce should be unclasped at night. I would be a mermaid fair; I would sing to myself the whole of the day; |