Our footsteps have trod o'er
The path of the mountain,
The messengers rode o'er;
Rapidly, rapidly on:
They brought from my maiden
A message of sweetness:
They brought it in fleetness,
From her I won.

From morning's first waking,
To slumbers of even,
Till frown'd the arch'd heaven,
Mantled in cloudiest gloom;
They came o'er the water;
They brought me sweet kisses,
From beauty's own daughter,
In all her bloom.

W HEN o'er the green hillock
Our footsteps ascended,
The flowrets we blended,
Maiden, we twin'd them for thee:
And, O! could I whisper,
Sweet maiden! and dearest,
O say, if thou hearest,
How dear to me!