‘Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!’ calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
‘Cusha! Cusha!’ all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song,—
‘Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!’ calling,
‘For the dews will soone be falling;