The picture ravished my fancy.

The proud dark eye, the little wanton curls peeping from the hood, the whole figure alert with youth and life--they cheered my recollection as I trod that sour moorland.

I tried to remember her song, and hummed it assiduously till I got some kind of version, which I shouted in my tuneless voice.

For I was only a young lad, and my life had been bleak and barren.

Small wonder that the call of youth set every fibre of me a-quiver.
I had done better to think of the road.