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Farewell to
the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny
daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie--
In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or
thrushes.
Farewell to the old mill and dash of waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny
daughters.
In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green
willow;
In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the
billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel', and his three bonny daughters.
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