A hunter strides with carol light,
And a glance so bold and bright.
He careless stopped and eyed the maid;
"Why weepest thou?" he gently said,
"I love thee well; be not afraid."
He takes her hand, and leads her on;
She should have waited there alone,
For he was not her chosen one.
He leans her head upon his breast,
She knew 't was not her home of rest,