Piled up with sacks, to yonder town
The great mill waggon lumbers down:
Drawn by three horses, tall and strong,
The great mill waggon rolls along.
The miller's smock is clean and new,
And smart with ribbons, red and blue;
And tinkling bells on bridle rein
Have made the stately horses vain.
And every year the First of May
Is made the village holiday:
The school is closed: the children run
In meadows smiling with the sun.
And now before the mill they wait,
While some, impatient, climb the gate,
And shout with glee, when drawing near
The loudly rumbling wheels they hear.
And soon the horses loom in sight,
With gay rosettes, and harness bright,
While dose beside the leader's head,
The miller walks with sturdy tread.
Long may the festive day come round
And find the miller hale and sound,
And may his goods increase, and still
The great wheel turn his busy mill.