Now who will be the miller’s bride?
The miller’s in haste to wed
A girl in her pride, with a sash at her side,
A girl with a curly head!
“O, I will be the miller’s wife;
The dust is all my joy;
To live in a windmill all my life
Would be a sweet employ!”
Then spake the goblin of the sails
(You heard, but could not see),
“The wickedest man of the hills and dales,
The miller-man is he!
“None ever dwelt in the mill before
But died by the miller’s steel;
The whiskered rats lap up their gore,
He grinds their bones to meal!”
O gossiping goblin, my dreams will be bad,
You tell such dreadful tales!
O mill, how secret you seem! how mad,
How wicked you look, black sails!
THE GIRL THAT GARIBALDI KISSED
OH, where’s the little maid
That Garibaldi kissed?
She ought to be displayed,
She shall be, I insist,