A man, in his wanderings, finds a maiden on the hill...and a few surprises. |
The day was dark the wind was still no birds flew o'er the deserted hill But still the man toiled upward still Determined to reach what lay there. A sleeping figure, shrouded in mists, was the sight that met this wandering wayfarer's eye as he went on by. His curiousity aroused, he struggled to the top, and what he saw there made his square jaw drop. A sleeping maid! A beauty such as he had never seen before. She looked as if her spirit no longer resided there. But lo! he saw her still chest breathe, and air come whistling out, of rosy lips that suddenly gave a mighty shout! So startled was he, he tumbled down the hill he was atop, and heard her laugh at his expense, and then he was wroth. "How dare thee!" he cried up to the maiden still sitting there, and she replied right saucily, "How dare thee, sir, as well! You came without permission to my hill so fair, and lingered yet a-staring. I had no choice but to send you into the air!" "A pox on thee!" he cried, and stumbled off, but the maid she merely laughed as he fell into a nearby trough. The maiden, she howled in childish glee, to see him flee from the symphony. |