The Woodland Hall.

(Perhaps) adapted for Music.     In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood,      I am mistress, no mother have I;     Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good,      And kind is my lover hard by;     They both work together beneath the green shade,      Both woodmen, my father and Joe.     Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made      So much of a laugh or - Hall.     From my basket at noon they expect their supply,      And with joy from my threshold I spring;     For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high,      And Echo that sings as I sing.     Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food,      As I call the dear name of my Joe;     His musical shout is the pride of the wood,      And my heart leaps to hear the - Hall.     Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease,      I wish not to wander from you;     I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees,      For I know that my Joe will be true.     The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove,      Are charms that I'll never forego;     But resting through life on the bosom of love,      Will remember the Woodland Hall.