WITCHERY.

A merry, laughing maiden,

Light-hearted, fair and free,

Comes tripping down the path way

In search of love and me.

Sweet little Cupid's arrows

Lie ready on his bow;

His eager, willful spirit

Quite longs to lay me low.

Without a thought of danger

I meet the merry mail,

Her pretty face entraps me;

The debt to love is paid,

Back runs the laughing Cupid,

O'erjoyed at his success,

While the quiver on his shoulder

Holds just two arrows less.

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