Evening by evening
Among the Brookside rushes,
Laura bow'd her head to hear,
Lizzie veil'd her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and fingertips.
"lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
"We must not look at Goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
who knows upon the soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the Goblins
Hobbling down the glen