The Milk Maid

The milk maid goes skipping along,
With her pail on the top of her head;
The ploughboy whistles his song,
And after his work is all o’er,
He presently goes to his bed.
But as soon as he goes home,
He takes his brown bread
And afterwards cheerfully lays down his head.
When the harvest is ripe, the farmer comes
With his sickle so sharp, and so bleak,
And he cuts down the wheat, the barley and oats,
Then come the poor gleaners to pick up the corn
And they afterwards cheerfully go home;
The farmer whistles his merry song,
And he thinks of the pleasures he shall see
At Christmas in the great hall hi ho he.

Febry 13, 1817