Over the wheel I, roaring, bound,
All-proudly,
And ev'ry spoke whirls swiftly round,
And loudly.
Since I have seen the miller's daughter,
With greater vigour flows the water.
YOUTH.
Like others, then, can grief, poor brook,
Oppress thee?
"Flow on!"—thus she'll, with smiling look,
Address thee.
With her sweet loving glance, oh say,
Can she thy flowing current stay?
MILLSTREAM.
'Tis sad, 'tis sad to have to speed
From yonder;
I wind, and slowly through the mead