A lassie is sitting at eventide, Scanning the stream that shimmers, And in the depths where the waters glide The wood's dark reflection glimmers. She stares and stares with a wistful smile As though she felt something lacking; But blithely, embraced by lush banks meanwhile, The current flows on ne'er slacking. Thus oft she'd sit as a guileless child, Deep down see a phantom shaded: A stripling who beckoned her, softly smiled, The vision had long since faded. Ah, now she's grown up, and however fain Her thoughts to go childward yearning, He never, never comes back again, His vision no more returning. Yet often she'll sit by the streamlet's verge, Cheeks all bedewed with her crying; On glides the current's soft rippling surge, Scarce ruffled by dusk's mild sighing. And then the moon casts an eerie light Down from the arched vault yonder; She stares in the wave and she thinks she might Still see that phantom there wander! ***