Say, youths, have you seen her pass by,
Myrtilla a beautiful maid;
Or heard a fair damsel to cry,
In sorrow for Palemon's aid?

While climbing yon mulberry-tree,
To frighten a hawk from a dove;
Myrtilla was lost unto me,
The princess of Beauty and Love.

In pity she bade me repair,
And save a poor pigeon from death;
But ere I had mounted the air,
Myrtilla was panting for breath.

A wolf had broke bounds from a cave,
Affrighted, my fair one! she flew;
But the savage to beauty a slave,
The virgin forbore to pursue.

But where can my shepherdess be,
Whom Palemon e'er must deplore;
She comes — and ye swains I am free,
She comes — and my anguish is o'er.