Below a pine's rough shadow, Where loud the river sings, The hairy-handed devil Pushes his devilish swings. He swings, and gives a crow, @3To and fro To and fro@1 The boards creak, bending low, The taut rope rubbing slow Against the heavy boughs. The board sways back, and bracing, With a long creak swings wide, The devil, still grimacing, Guffaws and holds his side. I tremble to let go; @3To and fro To and fro@1 I sway and cling, but no, My languid glances grow Fast where the devil tows. Above the looming pine The blue fiend's sniggers sting: "You found the swings so fine, Well, devil take you, swing!" Below the shaggy pine They squeak and whirl and sling: "You found the swings so fine? Well, devil take you, swing!" The fiend will not release The board that hangs too steep Till I am thrust toward peace By the dark hand's dread sweep. Until the hemp turns round Too long, and is worn free, Until the broad black ground Comes flying up to me. Above the pine I'll fling And bore into the mire. Then swing, devil, swing— Higher, higher, higher! |