There was the thorn and the stile it hung over
And the neat little pasture all covered with sheep
There the woodbines I often had pulled for my lover
While the little bird started up out of its sleep
I wandered for weeks in that sweetest of season
And saw bush and hedge all covered with may
But to say they could please me was slighting of reason
When the charm that delighted me bloomed far away.


There she would come like the charm of the summer
In a sweet modest dress, like the queen of the may
And ne'er from her tongue did I e're hear a murmur
Till that bitter hour we were parted away —
I have saught such a place since I left it, and often
Would stand by the hawthorn that grew by a stile
But nothing my first formed decision could soften
T'was there Mary met me to chatter and smile.


I went there again, aye in just such a season
And still the old hawthorn hung over the stile
But the charm it was gone, could I fancy the reason
Though the sun it shone bright on may blossoms the while
The knoll where we sat full of wild flowers was blooming
Yet nothing could please me in that happy dell
The silence told plainly no maiden was comeing
In her absence all pleasure had bid it farewell
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