To chapel, too, I would repair,
Though not to aid my soul in prayer,
But just to gazé with rapture where
You stand, mo buchal baun" *
"Will you rove the garden glades with me,
O Flower of Maids, alone?"
"What wondrous scenes therein to see,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own?"
"The apples from green boughs to strike,
To watch the trout leap from the lake,