The Cunning Hunter

In the wild there lies a dead gazelle,
With the reed-grass round it wrapt;

And a maid who loveth springtide well
By a winsome youth is trapped.
In the wood thick undergrowth is found,

In the wild the dead gazelle,
With the reed-grass round its body bound;-
And the maid she looketh well.
"Ah! gently, not so fast, good sir;
My kerchief, prithee, do not stir;
Nor rouse the barking of my cur."