Whistler, The

"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood         While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline,     "You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood;         I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine!"     "And what would you do with it? tell me," she said,         While an arch smile play'd over her beautiful face.     "I would blow it," he answered, "and then my fair maid         Would fly to my side, and would there take her place."     "Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours         Without any magic," the fair maiden cried;     "A favour so slight one's good-nature secures;"         And she playfully seated herself by his side.     "I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the charm         Would work so, that not even modesty's check     Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm."         She smiled, and she laid her white arm round his neck.     "Yet once more I would blow, and the music divine         Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss     You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine         And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."     The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee,         "What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make!     For only consider how silly 'twould be         To sit there and whistle for what you might take."