For he’d miss him sore, the miller declared, And his own right hand could be better spared.
The miller had found, on the day he sailed, A good honest lad, who had never failed.
“Well, all men can work, but all cannot sing. I’ll sit in the choir; and they’ll know the ring
“Of my voice again, for the girls did say ’Twould break up the choir when I went away.”
Has it lost the ring that it had of old? For they look askance, and with glances cold;
And the girls declare, with a pretty pout, That the stranger there, he has put them out.
What matters it, though, when trifles befall? One sweet hope is left, that is better than all:
His neighbors and friends may all have forgot, But sweet Mary Ann, he is sure, has not.
She gave him a rose when he sailed away: He’ll show her that rose when he goes to-day.
How glad she will be, after waiting so long, To see him again so hearty and strong!