Arming down along the stream,
Along the sparkling water,
And past the pool where lilies gleam,
There comes the squatter-s daughter.

Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm;
And like a flower her face is;
The habit shows her bonny form
As graceful as a Grace-s.

O I-ll be mad of love, I know;
My head she-ll surely addle;
O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow;
And shoot her from the saddle!

For, like a bird on breezes waft,
She quickly, quickly passes;
O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft;
And bring her to the grasses!

O she is worthy game for you;
And there is none to match her.
So, Cupid, send your arrow true;
And I-ll be there to catch her!