The shepherdess

Once I saw a young maid

there where the blue ghylls (ravines)

score the mountain side;

nimble and light of foot

she goes over hill and dale

gathering her scattered flock

so sweet a maid.

Golden hair gently falls

down to her bosom fair

so sweet to see;

love quickens in her eyes

and soft mouth made for kissing,

her hands so white

as if made of new-fallen snow.

Tell me, my blue-eyed maid

what will you give to him

who found your sheep?

He is weary and tired

watching the flock all day;

surely you'll give him

a kiss for his pains.