O’er hillside, and valley, and plain,
The maiden oft wondered if Robin
Would come back to the maple again.
One morn as she threw up the casement
To let in the balmy spring air,
In flew her own dear little robin
And perched on the back of her chair.
“Take me back to your love,” said the robin,
“I’ll wander no more from your side,
But through winter as well as in summer,