His beautiful child, young Lovel’s bride;
And she, with her bright eye, seemed to be
The star of that goodly companie.
O the mistletoe bough! O the mistletoe bough!
“I’m weary of dancing, now,” she cried,
“Here tarry a moment, I’ll hide, I’ll hide;
And, Lovel, be sure thou art first to trace
The clue to my secret lurking-place.”
Away she ran, and her friends began
Each tower to search, each nook to scan;