His beautiful child, young Lovell’s bride;
While she, with her bright eyes, seem’d to be
The star of that goodly company.
Oh! the mistletoe bough.
“I’m weary of dancing now,” she cried;
“Here tarry a moment—I’ll hide—I’ll hide;
And Lovell, be sure thou’rt the first to trace
The clue to my secret hiding place.”
Away she ran—and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;