Sophie Jewett

“ One of elder-tree that loud
Sounds of joy and courage proud.
When the wind comes softly creeping,
And awakes my flutes from sleeping,
All my sheep will gather round,
Shedding tears upon the ground. ”

“ And the Vrancian, jealously,
Vow to kill the young Moldave
When the sun a-setting lies;
He is hateful in their eyes,
For he is so rich and brave;
Many well-horned sheep he leads,
Trusty dogs and goodly steeds ”

“ Art thou sick and wilt not eat,
Dearest little lamb of mine?"
"Shepherd, O my shepherd dear!
Lead the sheep afar from here;
Yonder in the great, dark wood,
For us there is pasture good;
Shade for us and thee is there ”