Minstrel's Song

O! sing unto my roundelay,

O! drop the briny tear with me;

Dance no more at holy-day,

Like a running river be:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Black his cryne as the winter night,

White his rode as the summer snow,

Red his face as the morning light,

Cold he lies in the grave below:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note,

Quick in dance as thought can be,

Deft his tabour, cudgel stout;

O! he lies by the willow-tree:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing,

In the briared dell below;

Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing

To the night-mares as they go:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

See! the white moon shines on high;

Whiter is my true love's shroud,

Whiter than the morning sky,

Whiter than the evening cloud:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Here upon my true love's grave,

Shall the barren flowers be laid,

Not one holy saint to save

All the celness of a maid:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

With my hands I'll dent the briars

Round his holy corse to gree;

Ouphant fairy, light your fires--

Here my body still shall be:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,

Drain my heartë's-blood away;

Life and all its goods I scorn,

Dance by night, or feast by day:

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Water-witches, crowned with reytes,

Bear me to your lethal tide.

'I die! I come! my true love waits!'

Thus the damsel spake, and died.