It clatters and it reels.
Haste, Elves, and turn yon mountain burn—
Bring streams that shine like siller;
The dam is down, the moon sinks soon,
And I maun grind my miller.
Ha! bravely done, my wanton Elves,
That is a foaming stream:
See how the dust from the mill flies,
And chokes the cold moon-beam.
Haste, Fairies, fleet come baptized feet,