ony.

"Oh came you by yon water-side?
Pu'd you the rose or lily?
Or came you by yon meadow green?
Or saw you my sweet Willy?"

She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him brade and narrow;
Syne, in the clifting of a craig,
She found him drowned in Yarrow.[39]

[38] Promised.

[39] Child's _Ballads_, vii. 179.

Returning to Germany and to pure lyric, we have a pretty bit which is
attached to many different songs.

High up on yonder mountain
A mill-wheel clatters round,
And, night or day, naught else but love
Within the mill is ground.

The mill has gone to ruin,
And love has had its day;
God bless thee now, my bonnie lass,
I wander far away.[40]

[40] Boehme, p. 271.

But there is a more cheerful vein in this sort of song; and the
mountain offers pleasanter views:--

Oh yonder on the mountain,
There stands a lofty house,
Where morning after morning,
Yes, morning,
Three maids go in and out.[41]

The first she is my sister,
The second well is known,
The third, I will not name her,
No, name her,
And she shall be my own!

[41] The rhyme in German leaves even more to be desired.

Finally, that pearl of German folk-song, 'Innsprueck.' The wanderer
must leave the town and his sweetheart; but he swears to be true, and
prays that his love be kept safe till his return:--

Innsprueck, I must forsake thee,
My weary way betake me
Unto a foreign shore,
And all my joy hath vanished,
And ne'er while I am banished
Shall I behold it more.

I bear a load of sorrow,
And comfort can I borrow,
Dear love, from thee alone.
Ah, let thy pity hover
About thy weary lover
When he is far from home.

My one true love! Forever
Thine will I bide, and never
Shall our dear vow be vain.
Now must our Lord God ward thee,
In peace and honor guard thee,
Until I come again.

In leaving the subject of folk-song, it is necessary for the reader
not only to consider anew the loose and unscientific way in which this
term has been employed, but also to bear in mind that few of the above
specimens can lay claim to the title in any rigid classification. Long
ago, a German critic reminded zealous collectors of his day that when
one has dipped a pailful of water from the brook, one has captured no
brook; and that when one has written down a