The Lovely Milleress

To wander is the miller’s joy, To wander. To wander is the miller’s joy, To wander.

A wretched miller he must be Who never fancied to be free And wander, And wander, And wander, And wander.

From water comes our will to roam, From water. From water comes our will to road, From water.

It has no rest by night or day, But wanders ever on its way, The water, The water, The water, The water.

The circling wheels have shown us how, The mill wheels. The circling wheels have shown us how, The mill wheels.

They never tire as round they go, In answer to the water’s flow, The mill wheels, The mill wheels, The mill wheels, The mill wheels.

The millstones heavy though they be, The millstones. The millstones heavy though they be, The millstones.

They fairly dance in merry turn, And yet for greater pace they yearn, The millstones, The millstones, The millstones, The millstones.

O, wandering, wandering, my delight, O, wandering! O, wandering, wandering, my delight, O, wandering!

Dear master, mistress, set me free, A journeyman I long to be, And wander, And wander, And wander, And wander.

I heard a brooklet gushing, As from the rock it sprang; Toward the valley rushing, So fresh and bright it rang.

I know not what came o’er me, Nor why I had to go, But staff in hand I followed The water’s downward flow. But staff in hand I followed The water’s downward flow.

Descending and ever further, I followed the course it took, And ever freshly rustling, And ever sparkling the brook. And ever freshly rustling, And ever sparkling the brook.

Is this my road to follow? O brooklet, tell me where? O where, tell me where? Bewildered by thy murm’ring, I neither know nor care. Bewildered by they murm’ring, I neither know nor care.

What say I then of murm’ring, No murmur do I hear: The water nymphs are singing, Beneath the ripples clear. The water nymphs are singing, Beneath the ripples clear.

O leave this enchanted singing, And wander gaily on! The mill wheels are a turning In all the brooks that run, The mill wheels are a turning, In all the brooks that run.

O leave this enchanted singing, And wander gaily on, Gaily on, Gaily on!

‘Tis a mill I see, a twinkling, Through the alders ahead. Above the brooklet’s rustling, The mill’s rumble is heard, The mill’s rumble is heard.

O how welcome, o how welcome Is that sweet refrain! O how welcome, o how welcome Is that sweet refrain!

And the house, snug and homely! And the bright windowpane! And the golden sun, how brilliant Above in firmament! The golden sun, how brilliant Above in firmament!

Ah, brooklet, dearest brooklet, And was this thy intent? Ah, brooklet, dearest brooklet, And was this thy intent? And was this thy intent? And was this thy intent?

4. Giving Thanks to the Brook

And was this thy intent, My murm’ring friend? With singing and ringing, And was this thy intent, And was this thy intent?

A maiden lives there! Is that what I hear? Say, am I mistaken, am I mistaken? A maiden lives there! A maiden lives there!

Has she willed me here? Or have you tricked me near? O do not deceive me, Has she willed me here? Has she willed me here?

Be that as it may, I gladly obey; What I seek I have found here, However it may be. For work I did ask, Now here’s a welcome task For my hands, for my heart, ‘Tis all I ask! ‘Tis all I ask!

With a thousand arms a-stirring! I would set the wheels whirring! I would set the forests churning! I would set the stones a-turning!

Thus the lovely milleress With such deeds I would impress! Thus the lovely milleress With such deeds I would impress!

Ah! The truth is sad to tell! What I lift and what I carry, What I cut and what I quarry, Any lad can do as well, Any lad can do as well.

And when work is done we take our leisure And enjoy a quiet evening’s pleasure, And the master’s voice is easy: “Your work does greatly please me; Your work does greatly please me;”

And the maiden, fair and bright, Softly bids us all good night. Softly bids us all good night.

With a thousand arms a-stirring! I would set the wheels whirring! I would set the forests churning! I would set the stones a-turning!

Thus the lovely milleress With such deeds I would impress! Thus the lovely milleress With such deeds I would impress! Thus the lovely milleress With such deeds I would impress!

I shall not ask a flower, I shall not ask a star, For neither of them can tell me What I so long to hear.

Indeed I am no gard’ner, The stars, they stand too high; But I will ask my brooklet, If my heart does belie.

O brooklet, my beloved, How mute you are today! But one thing I would ask you: Which small word will she say? Which small word will she say?

“Yes,” that’s the one I hope for, The other one is “no”; Between these words lies all hope of joy For me below. Between these words lies all hope of joy For me below.

O brooklet, my beloved, How strange you are today! I shall not breathe it further, Speak, brooklet, does she love me? Speak, brooklet, does she love me?

I'd gladly carve the bark of every tree, Engrave it deep in stone for all to see, I'd sow the words in every garden bed, That with the spring my secret might be read, On every leaf and tablet I would write it plain: Thine is my heart, Thine is my heart, And shall forever, forever so remain!

I'd teach a starling how to speak and sing, Till every word and note with truth should ring, With all the skill my lips and tongue impart. With all the warmth and passion of my heart, Then let him brightly sing it through her windowpane: Thine is my heart, Thine is my heart, And shall forever, forever so remain!

I wish the winds of morning would whisper low, That every rustling branch and leaf might know, I'd see it shine from every flow'ring star, The breeze would bear my words both near and far, Ye billows, can you carry only hail and rain? Thine is my heart, Thine is my heart, And shall forever, forever so remain!

I know the world must see it in mine eyes, The burning truth my cheeks cannot disguise, 'Tis there to hear in every breath and sigh, And all the universe must reason why, Yet she marks not, and eager hopes are thus in vain! Thine is my heart, Thine is my heart, And shall forever, forever so remain!

Good morning, lovely milleress! Why hide thy head in such distress, As though you feared my greeting?

O does my glance disturb you so? 'Tis better, then, that I should go, And seek another meeting, And seek another meeting, another meeting.

O let me gaze from far away Upon they window, at break of day, At dawning, just at dawning!

Appear, you fair-haired maid, appear! Shine forth, blue eyes I hold so dear, You lovely stars of morning! You lovely stars of morning, stars of morning!

You flowers, you slumbering drunken eyes, On which the dew of morning lies When tranquil night has vanished,

O has the dark then pleased you so, That thus you weep, with head bowed low, For what the sun has banished? For what the sun has banished, the sun has banished?

Shake off thy dreams and joyful rise, Behold the sun with welcome eyes, And God's own brilliant morrow!

The lark is warbling in the sky From deepest heart, his poignant cry Of love and care and sorrow, Of love and care and sorrow, care and sorrow.

Along the bank small flowers grow, As blue as the eyes of one I know, And as the brook is the miller's friend, If I pluck flowers it will not mind; These flowers I will claim for mine. These flowers I will claim for mine.

And just beneath her windowpane, The flowers I will plant again, To call to her when all is still, Soft words beneath her windowsill; You well know what I have in mind. You well know what I have in mind.

And should she close her eyes in sleep, And fall in slumber, slumber deep, Within her dream you well know what to whisper: Forget, forget me not! Those are the words I have in mind, Those are the words I have in mind.

And should she open her lattice above, Then gaze at her with eyes of love; The dew that lies upon thy leaves, Will be tears of one who grieves; Such are the tears I'll weep o'er thee, Such are the tears I'll weep o'er thee.

We sat in comfort together Within a shady nook. We gazed in silence together Deep into the rippling brook.

The moon was just a-rising The stars appeared on high, And into the silvery mirror We gazed as the brook flowed by.

I glanced not at the moonrise, Nor at the stars that shone, But only at her image, Her shining eyes alone.

I saw them sparkling and twinkling, Reflected in the stream; The small blue flowers at brookside, They nodded with answering gleam.

And deep within the brooklet, The spacious sky did glow, And I was minded to follow The water's tranquil flow.

And over this image of heaven, The brook rippled gaily along, And called to me over its singing: "Young journeyman, follow my song!"

Then tears of yearning o'er came me, The mirror was veiled in the gloom; She spoke: "A shower's coming; Adieu, I must go home."

Brooklet, cease that murmur of thine! Millwheels, let thy rumble decline! Warbling bird, thy trill so fine Now resign! Silence fall on oak and pine! Silence fall on oak and pine!

Meadow fine, flower and vine, Hear my joyful rhyming line: Meadow fine, flower and vine, Hear my joyful rhyming line: The beloved milleress is mine, is mine! The beloved milleress is mine, is mine!

Spring, have you no more blossoms on the vine? Sun, can you not more brightly shine? Ah! What solitude is mine, None to hear my rhyming line! In all creation, only I can know she’s mine, In all creation, only I can know she’s mine!

Brooklet, cease that murmur of thine! Millwheels, let thy rumble decline! Warbling bird, thy trill so fine Now resign! Silence fall on oak and pine! Silence fall on oak and pine!

Meadow fine, flower and vine, Hear my joyful rhyming line: Meadow fine, flower and vine, Hear my joyful rhyming line: The beloved milleress is mine, is mine! The beloved milleress is mine, is mine!

I have hung my lute up on the wall, Twined a green ribbon fast about it all; I cannot sing further, my heart is too full, Know not how I can rhyme my thoughts at all.

All my anguish, all my searing pain, Breathed I out in light and cheerful strain; And though gently my plaints did fall, Truth to tell, I thought my pain not small.

O, how great is the burden of my joy, That no voice on earth can give it cry! That no voice on earth can give it cry!

Now, my old lute, hang restfully from thy nail, And should a zephyr on thy strings prevail, Or should they be brushed by the wings of some small bee, The tone would be poignant, strike me so piercingly!

O why left I the ribbon hanging so long? It rouses the lute strings to mournful song; Is it the echo of my sorrowing? Is it the prelude to songs I still must sing? Is it the echo of my sorrowing? Is it the prelude to songs I still must sing?

Pity to see the ribbon pale, That hung so fresh upon the nail; I hold that green so dear! I hold that green so dear!

And since you spoke those words to me, I clip the ribbon off for thee, The green you hold so dear, The green you hold so dear!

Pale though thy lover’s face may be, The ribbon shall have its praise from me; I too shall hold it dear. I too shall hold it dear!

Because our love is ever green, As distant hopes have always been, We both shall hold it dear, We both shall hold it dear.

Bind it around thy curling hair, The color is so becoming there; Since you hold green so dear, Since you hold green so dear.

My hopes shall be within it bound, And I shall know where love’s enthroned; Then green shall be most dear, Then green shall be most dear.

O what brings the hunter, how can the mill serve? Stay, insolent hunter, within your preserve! No wild beast is lurking, no game do I see, Here’s but a shy doe who is promised to me, And if you would see her, be patient and still, And bring not that thundering gun to the mill, And leave baying hounds back in thicket and thorn, And take from your lips, then, that impudent horn, And shave from your chin, then, that bristle of hair, Or else the shy creature will vanish, for fair! And shave from your chin, then, that bristle of hair, Or else the shy creature will vanish, for fair!

‘Twere better you stayed in the woods, where you were, Come not to the millstream and set all astir! What business have fish on the branch of a tree? Of squirrels in water, what sense can there be? Go, insolent hunter, back into the wood! And leave us alone at the mill, as you should! But if you insist on impressing my doe, Then listen, my friend, to what causes her woe: The wild boars come prowling at night from the wood, And trample her fine cabbage garden to mud! With rooting and thrusting, what damage they do! O why don’t you shoot them? You hero, you!

O where so fast, so rough and wild, my brooklet, where? In anger would you track the hunter to his lair? Turn round, turn round, you first should scold the milleress, For all her flighty little ways, and wantonness! Turn round! Turn round! Turn round! Did you not mark last night how in her door she stood, And arched her neck, looking out upon the road? When with his catch the hunter proudly marches by, No modest girl would watch with half so bold an eye! When with his catch the hunter proudly marches by, No modest girl would watch with half so bold an eye!

Go, brooklet, go and tell her that; Go, brooklet, go and tell her that; But tell her, brook, Hear me, No word about my sorrow stricken look! Say this: A flute he’s made, a small and tuneful thing, Melodious airs he plays, And children dance and sing! Say this, say this: A flute he’s made, a small and tuneful thing, Melodious airs he plays, And children dance and sing! Say that, say that, say that!

In cloth of green array me, Cruel green did so betray me; My love holds green so dear. My love holds green so dear.

I’ll seek a mournful cypress tree, A meadow of fragrant rosemary; My love holds green so dear. My love holds green so dear.

Good luck, good hunting and questing! And let there be no resting; My love holds hunting so dear. My love holds hunting so dear.

I hunt a game whose name is Death, And close upon him, with every breath; My love holds hunting so dear. My love holds hunting so dear.

Go dig a grave ‘neath a willow, Green grass shall be my pillow; My love holds green so dear. My love holds green so dear.

No cross of black, no flow’ring bloom, Green all shall be green above my tomb; My love holds green so dear. My love holds green so dear.

O might I roam the world around, Around in the wide, wide world, Were field and forest not so fresh, With banners of green unfurled. I’d pluck all the leaves from every branch, Bury them out of sight. I’d weep o’er the green, green grasses all, Till they were deathly white. Till they were deathly white.

Ah, green, you hateful color, you! Why gaze upon me then, So proud, so bold, so shamelessly, Upon this pale, unhappy man? O might I lie before her door, In storm and rain and snow, And sing to her softly by day and night, One word of parting: Adieu! One word of parting: Adieu!

Hark! When the hunting horn resounds, She opens up her window wide, And though she glances not at me, I may glance inside. Unbind the ribbon from thy brow, The green, beloved band! The green, beloved band! Farewell! Farewell! And give to me At parting, give thy hand! Farewell! Farewell! And give to me At parting, give thy hand! At parting, give thy hand!

You withered flowers that once she gave, Shall lie beside me within my grave. Why turn thy sorrowful gaze on me, As though my anguish were known to thee? You withered flowers, so dearly prized, You withered flowers, wherefore so moist?

Ah, tears can bring not the springtime rain, Nor can cause a dead love to bloom again; And spring will come, and the winter will pass, Again the flowers will rise through the grass, All but the flowers within my grave, These withered flowers, that once she gave.

And should she wander on hills we once knew, And should her heart say: His love was true! Arise, you flowers at last, at last! For May is come, and the winter is past! And should she wander on hills we once knew, And should her heart say: His love was true! Arise, you flowers at last, at last! For May is come, and the winter is past! Arise, you flowers at last, at last! For May is come, and the winter is past!

(The Miller) When a faithful lover in death does yield, Then fade all the lilies in every field; Beclouded the heavens, the full moon behind, Her tears must be hidden from all mankind; The sorrowing angels, their eyes close pressed, Do lull with their singing, the soul to rest.

(The Brook) And when from its bondage, the sad heart bursts free, A small star, new born, appears in the sky; A small star, newborn, appears in the sky; Then spring forth three roses, part red and part white, That blossom forever, by day and by night, And the angels from heaven, with closed folded wing, Appear every morning on earth to sing, Appear every morning on earth to sing.

(The Miller) Ah, brooklet, dearest brooklet, how kind is thy flow; Ah, brooklet, but know you what love can do? O under, there under thy cooling deep, Ah, brooklet, dearest brooklet, then sing me to sleep. Ah, brooklet, dearest brooklet, then sing me to sleep.

Slumber deep, slumber deep, Close thy eyes in sleep! Slumber deep, slumber deep, Close thy eyes in sleep!

Wand’rer, you weary one, they home is here. Stay with me, stay with me, So faithful I’ll be, Stay with me, stay with me, So faithful I’ll be, Till the ocean shall drink all my water so clear. Till the ocean shall drink all my water so clear

I’ll bed him cool In my mossy pool, I’ll bed him cool In my mossy pool, Quiet and still in my crystal blue chamber. To and fro, to and fro, I’ll rock him so, To and fro, to and fro, I’ll rock him so. Lull him to rest, that he may not remember. Lull him to rest, that he may not remember.

When the hunting horn Shall sound at morn, When the hunting horn Shall sound at morn, Roaring and rushing I’ll flow above. Gaze not below, You flowerets of blue! Gaze not below, You flowerets of blue! Disturb not the dreams of my slumbering love. Disturb not the dreams of my slumbering love.

Away, away, Hateful maiden, stay! Away, away, Hateful maiden, stay! Cast not thy shadow upon him now. Let it be mine, Thy kerchief so fine, Let it be mine, Thy kerchief so fine. Gently I’ll bind it around his brow. Gently I’ll bind it around his brow.

Good night, good night, Till all comes right, Good night, good night, Till all comes right, Sleep away all thy joyful, thy sorrowful love. The moon rides high, The mist flows by, The moon rides high, The mist flows by, And the great dome of heaven is far, far above. And the great dome of heaven is far, far above.