| |
| BENEATH the hill you may see the mill | |
| Of wasting wood and crumbling stone; | |
| The wheel is dripping and clattering still, | |
| But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. | |
| |
| Year after year, early and late, | 5 |
| Alike in summer and winter weather, | |
| He pecked the stones and calked the gate, | |
| And mill and miller grew old together. | |
| |
| “Little Jerry!”—’t was all the same,— | |
| They loved him well who called him so; | 10 |
| And whether he ’d ever another name, | |
| Nobody ever seemed to know. | |
| |
| ’T was, “Little Jerry, come grind my rye”; | |
| And, “Little Jerry, come grind my wheat”; | |
| And “Little Jerry” was still the cry, | 15 |
| From matron bold and maiden sweet. | |
| |
| ’T was “Little Jerry” on every tongue, | |
| And so the simple truth was told; | |
| For Jerry was little when he was young, | |
| And Jerry was little when he was old. | 20 |
| |
| But what in size he chanced to lack, | |
| That Jerry made up in being strong; | |
| I ’ve seen a sack upon his back | |
| As thick as the miller, and quite as long. | |
| |
| Always busy, and always merry, | 25 |
| Always doing his very best, | |
| A notable wag was Little Jerry, | |
| Who uttered well his standing jest. | |
| |
| How Jerry lived is known to fame, | |
| But how he died there ’s none may know; | 30 |
| One autumn day the rumor came, | |
| “The brook and Jerry are very low.” | |
| |
| And then ’t was whispered, mournfully, | |
| The leech had come, and he was dead; | |
| And all the neighbors flocked to see: | 35 |
| “Poor little Jerry!” was all they said. | |
| |
| They laid him in his earthy bed,— | |
| His miller’s coat his only shroud; | |
| “Dust to dust,” the parson said, | |
| And all the people wept aloud. | 40 |
| |
| For he had shunned the deadly sin, | |
| And not a grain of over-toll | |
| Had ever dropped into his bin, | |
| To weigh upon his parting soul. | |
| |
| Beneath the hill there stands the mill, | 45 |
| Of wasting wood and crumbling stone; | |
| The wheel is dripping and clattering still, | |
| But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. | |
| |
