Meantime, the Friar kept digging his heels into Robin's sides and bidding him hasten, calling him many ill names the while.

Ah! love, and now too swiftly, like some groom, Raining hot kisses on his bride's young mouth, The mad young year, delirious with the South, Squanders his fairy treasure, bloom on bloom; Too soon the wild rose hastens to be sweet, Too swift, O June, thy feet.

We listened to the sound of her voice, felt her good-bye kisses, and watched her hasten away to father, over the snow, through the pines, and out of sight, and knew that we must not follow.