This page has been validated.
LYRICAL POEMS.
87
THE MID-DAY WITCH.
ON the oak the sunbeams play’d,
’Neath the oak there stood a maid,
Strawberries she gather’d there
For a feast till mid-day fair.
To her comes a lady white,
With a golden girdle dight,
But her loose dishevell’d hair
All conceals her count’nance fair.
She doth to the maiden say,
Wait, O wait awhile, I pray!
If the hair thou plait’st for me,
Thou shalt sometime blooming be.
Sit the maid and lady white,
With the golden girdle dight,
And the maiden plaits the hair,
Which conceals her count’nance fair.
After, when the maid arose,
Gifts the Vila fair bestows,
Little leaves of hawthorn free,
Large leaves from the old oak-tree.
