Long by the willow-trees
Vainly they sought her,
Wild rang the mother's screams
O'er the gray water:
“Where is my lovely one?
Where is my daughter?
“Rouse thee, sir constable —
Rouse thee and look;
Fisherman, bring your net,
Boatman your hook.
Beat in the lily-beds,
Dive in the brook!”
Vainly the constable
Shouted and called her;
Vainly the fisherman
Beat the green alder,
Vainly he flung the net,
Never it hauled her!
Mother beside the fire
Sat, her nightcap in;
Father, in easy chair,
Gloomily napping,
When at the window-sill
Came a light tapping!
And a pale countenance
Looked through the casement.
Loud beat the mother's heart,
Sick with amazement,
And at the vision which
Came to surprise her,
Shrieked in an agony —
“Lor! it's Elizar!”
Yes,‘ twas Elizabeth —
Yes,‘ twas their girl;
Pale was her cheek, and her
Hair out of curl.
“Mother!” the loving one,
Blushing, exclaimed,
“Let not your innocent
Lizzy be blamed.