Jeanette MacDonald Follow

There once was a vilia, a witch of the wood,
A hunter beheld her alone as she stood,
The spell of her beauty upon him was laid,
He look’d and he longed for the magical maid!
For a sudden tremor ran,
Right thro’ the love bewilder’d man,
And he sigh’d as a hapless lover can.

Vilia, O Vilia! The witch of the wood!
Would I not die for you, dear, if I could?
Vilia, O Vilia, my love and my bride!
Softly and sadly he sigh’d

Vilia, O Vilia! The witch of the wood!
Would I not die for you, dear, if I could?
Vilia, O Vilia, my love and my bride!
Softly and sadly he sigh’d

The wood maiden smiled, and no answer she gave,
But beckon’d him into the shade of the cave;
He never had known such rapturous bliss,
No maiden of mortals so sweetly can kiss!
As before her feet he lay,
She vanish’d in the wood away,
And he call’d vainly till his dying day!