The Mower

Down in Temesvar's fair glade

a-morning stood a lovely maid.

Mowing done,

has lightly run

to hold her rest at streamlet clear.

Cool rest found,

her bundles bound,

she calleth to her sweetheart dear:

„Come, my lad, my life, nor tarry,

help me lift the load I carry!“

„Call you may

on those today

who will not deign that we shall marry.

Serve thee may

now those I say,

those who refuse that we shall marry.

That thou shouldst be mine was plighted,

e'en my childhood's days delighted;

scarce were free

thy mother's knee,

ere thou wert my joy and sadness.

Thy flock guarding,

love rewarding,

held thee as my heart's true gladness.“