A bird flew singing a tender rhyme Of meadow, mate, and nesting time.
The world looked beautiful in the glow That heaven flung on the hills below.
Ah me, if that ride could but last a week, Her gold hair blowing against his cheek!
The road to the mill, says worldly wise— Nay, nay, the road to Paradise!
Travel it once if you wish to know Something of heaven here below.
Though your eyes grow dim, and locks grow white, You'll not forget this journey—quite.
But Neil must go to the old home place, Meet his stern father face to face.
Altho' his cheek was a trifle pale, Boldly enough he told his tale.
He would marry Kate—and Kate alone— He could not love the other one.
Her eyes were crooked, her hair was red, Freckles over her face were spread,