GAZELLE

"My love is like a strawberry sweet,
Strawberry sweet, strawberry sweet.
I'll dance with her when next we meet,
Next we meet, next we meet!"


The song came as a welcome from the playing-fields of the village
as Olof climbed the hill; it lightened his step, forcing him to keep
time.

Even the trees around seemed waving to the tune; the girls' thin
summer dresses fluttered, and here and there gay ribbons in their
hair.

"Come in the ring, Olof, come in the ring!"

Some of the girls broke the chain, and offered their hands.

There was Sunday merriment in the air, and all were intoxicated
with spring. The stream flowed glittering through the fields, with a
shimmer of heat above. The dancers quickened their pace almost to a
run. The lads had pushed their hats back, the sweat stood in beads
on their foreheads; the girls smiled with bright eyes, dimpled cheeks
a-quiver, and heaving breast.

"My love is like a cranberry fair,
A cranberry fair, a cranberry fair.
For none but me she'll ever care,