"Caught by the worm, the wild duck cries, But in the love-light of thine eyes I, trembling, loose the trap. So flies The bird into the air. What will my angry mother say? With basket full I come each day, But now thy love hath led me stray, And I have set no snare." Again, in a somewhat similar strain, she sings-- "The wild duck scatter far, and now Again they light upon the bough And cry unto their kind; Anon they gather on the mere-- But yet unharmed I leave them there, For love hath filled my mind." Another song must be given here in prose form. The girl who sings it is supposed to be making a wreath of flowers, and as she works she cries-- "I am thy first sister, and to me thou art as a garden which I have planted with flowers and all sweet-smelling herbs. And I have directed a canal into it, that thou mightest dip thy hand into it when the north wind blows cool. The place is beautiful where we walk, because we walk together, thy hand resting within mine, our mind thoughtful and our heart joyful. It is intoxicating to me to hear thy voice, yet my life depends upon hearing it. Whenever I see thee it is better to me than food and drink." One more song must be quoted, for it is so artless and so full of human tenderness that I may risk the accusation of straying from the main argument in repeating it. It runs:-- "The breath of thy nostrils alone Is that which maketh my heart to live. I found thee: God grant thee to me For ever and ever."