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In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood,

I am mistreme, no mother have I;
Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good,

And kind is my lover, hard by:
They both work together beneath the green shade,

Both wi odmen, my father and Joe;
Where I've listend whole hours to the echo that made

So much of a laugh or - Hallo!


my basket at noon they expect their supply, And with joy from my threshold I spring; For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waving high,

And Echo that sings as I siper.
Though deep chaudes delight me, yet love is my food,

As I call the dear name of my Joe;
His musical shout is the pride of the wood,

And my heart leaps to hear the-Hallo!

Simple flowers of the grove, little birds, live at ease,

I wish not to wander from you;
I'll still duell beneath the deep roar of your trees,

For I know that my Joe will be true.

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