“Fair Margaret can bide at home, but you come with me, May;
Up the hill and down the hill, along the winding way,
You and I are used to go.”
So these two fair sisters went with innocent will
Up the hill and down again, and round the homestead hill:
While the fairest sat at home, Margaret like a queen,
Like a blush-rose, like the moon in her heavenly sheen,
Fragrant-breathed as milky cow or field of blossoming bean,
Graceful as an ivy bough, born to cling and lean,
Thus she sat to sew and sing.