And bent a canvas tent over his wagon,
His wagon, broad-wheeled and wide,
And filling it with his household wealth,
And casting us, married as we were,
On his brawny shoulder,
Started on his journey.
Oh! long was our way through the forest;
The broad-wheeled wagon crushed the violets in its path,
The purple, fragrant violets looking with their blue eyes
From the knotted feet of the pine-tree —