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They sang: Maid Marian, setting forth to find The mill, with sacks of corn to grind, Her donkey, Jan, bestrode. My dainty maiden, Marian, She mounted on her donkey, Jan, And took the mill-ward road.* * Marian' s'en allant au moulin, Pour y faire moudre son grain, Ell monta sur son âne, Ma p'tite mam'sell' Marianne! Ell' monta sur son âne Martin Pour aller au moulin.
It was down this that they poured the precious ore; and below here the carts stood to wait their lading, and carry it mill-ward down the mountain. The whole canyon was so entirely blocked, as if by some rude guerilla fortification, that we could only mount by lengths of wooden ladder, fixed in the hillside.
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