Irische Volkweise

Since all thy vows, false maid,

Are blown to air,

And my poor heart betray'd

To sad despair,

Into some wilderness,

My grief I will express

And thy hardheartedness,

O cruel Fair!

Have I not grav'n our love

On ev'ry tree

In yonder spreading grove,

Though false thou be?

Was not a solemn oath

Plighted betwixt us both,

Thou thy faith, I my troth,

Constant to be?

Some gloomy place I'll find,

Some doleful shade

Where neither sun nor wind

E'er entrance had:

Into that hollow cave,

There will I sigh and rave,

Because thou dost behave

So faithlessly.

I'll have no funeral fire,

Nor tears for me,

No grave do I desire,

No obsequie;

The courteous redbreast, he,

With leaves will cover me

And sing my elegy

With doleful voice.

And when a ghost I am,

I'll visit thee:

O thou deceitful dame,

Whose cruelty

Has kill'd the kindest heart

That e'er felt Cupid's dart,

And never can desert

From loving thee.