  Happy, thrice happy, the Puritan maid Leaving the fort and the grim palisade; Leaving the bay where the good ship was fast To find, her head bending low to the blast, Just a pink and white hood In the wind-driven wood. Then smiling and blushing With eagerness flushing, So swiftly she hurried Young Robin was flurried And as he his pinions to Boreas tossed, The dear little pink-hooded stranger was lost. Sadder but wiser our Puritan maid Quickly her footsteps, impetuous, staid Scarce had she lost it, another was seen Looking its best in a garment of green, With a pink and white hood; For a moment she stood With heart lighter beating, At such a sweet meeting. As kneeling she found it Where Nature had gowned it What visions of promise marched up the bleak slope, To crown that May blossom, the blossom of hope. |
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