ARMING down along the stream,
Along the sparkling water,
And past the pool where lilies gleam,
There comes the squatters daughter.
Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm;
And like a flower her face is;
The habit shows her bonny form
As graceful as a Graces.
O Ill be mad of love, I know;
My head shell surely addle;
O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow;
And shoot her from the saddle!
For, like a bird on breezes waft,
She quickly, quickly passes;
O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft;
And bring her to the grasses!
O she is worthy game for you;
And there is none to match her.
So, Cupid, send your arrow true;
And Ill be there to catch her!
