TYING her bonnet under her chin,

She tied her raven ringlets in;

But not alone in the silken snare

Did she catch her lovely floating hair,

For tying her bonnet under her chin,

She tied a young man’s heart within.

They were strolling together up the hill,

Where the wind comes blowing merry and chill;

And it blew the curls, a frolicsome race,

All over the happy peach-colored face,

Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in,

Under her beautiful dimpled chin.

And it blew a color, bright as the bloom

Of the pinkest fuchsia’s tossing plume,

All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl

That ever imprisoned a romping curl,

Or, tying her bonnet under her chin,

Tied a young man’s heart within.

Steeper and steeper grew the hill;

Madder, merrier, chillier still

The western wind blew down and played

The wildest tricks with the little maid,

As, tying her bonnet under her chin,

O western wind, do you think it was fair

To play such tricks with her floating hair?

To gladly, gleefully do your best

To blow her against the young man’s breast,

Where he as gladly folded her in,

And kissed her mouth and her dimpled chin?

Ah! Ellery Vane, you little thought,

An hour ago, when you besought

This country lass to walk with you,

After the sun had dried the dew,

What perilous danger you’d be in,

As she tied her bonnet under her chin