A TWANGLING harp for Mary,
A silvery flute for John,
And now we'll play, the livelong day,
"The Miller and his Son." . . .

"The Miller went a-walking
All in the forest high,
He sees three doves, a-flitting
Against the dark blue sky:

"Says he, 'My son, now follow
These doves so white and free,
That cry above the forest,
And surely cry to thee.'

"'I go, my dearest Father,
But O! I sadly fear,
These doves so white will lead me far,
But never bring me near.'

"He kisses the Miller,
He cries, 'Awhoop to ye!'
And straightway through the forest
Follows the wood-doves three.</br><br>