Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot’s stirring;
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.
“What’s that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?”
“’Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under.”
“What makes you be shoving and moving your stool in,
And singing all wrong that old song of ‘The Coolin’?’”
There’s a form at the casement,—the form of her true love,—
And he whispers, with face bent, “I’m waiting for you, love;
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly,