Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/188

136 "Alas! what is become of them?

"These fears can never be endured,

"I'll to the wood."—The word scarce said,

Did Susan rise up from her bed,

As if by magic cured.

Away she posts up hill and down,

And to the wood at length is come,

She spies her friends, she shouts a greeting;

Oh me! it is a merry meeting,

As ever was in Christendom.

The owls have hardly sung their last,

While our four travellers homeward wend;

The owls have hooted all night long,

And with the owls began my song,

And with the owls must end.