Collected by Carlisle
Transcribed by Parler
Miss Ethel Mateer
Rhea's Mill, Ark.
April 26, 1951
Reel 113, Item 1
Down by the Old Mill
By the old mill sits the miller's pretty daughter,
And her cheeks are like the first bloomed rose of June,
And her sweet voice sounded like the rippling water,
As so tenderly she hummed an old love tune.
But soon her song of joy is tuned to sorrow,
For her sweetheart now has come to say goodby,
She is thinking now so sadly of the morrow,
As he kisses her and murmurs with a sigh:
When the bees are in the hive,
And the honey's in the comb, the
And the golden sunset bends to kiss dew,
While the old mill-wheel turns round
I love you, Mary,
And the bees are in the hive, I'll come to you.
By the old mill sits a lonely maid repining,
And her fancy, like the stream, rolls far away,
As she looks down in the silvery waters shining,
She can see her golden locks have turned to gray.
Long years she's waited there for his returning
And in vain she's thinking, he'll come back some day,
For the lamp of hope within her heart is burning,
As the old mill wheel turns round it seems to say:
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