And what, O what will my mother say? 
    She’ll wish her daughter was in the clay. 
    My father will curse me to my face;
    The neighbours will know of my black disgrace.

    My sister’s buried three years, come Lent;
    But sure we made far too much lament. 
    Beside her grave they still say a prayer—­
    I wish to God ’twas myself was there!

    The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed;
    To look at them puts me much in dread,
    They mark the good time that’s gone and past: 
    It’s like this year’s one will prove the last.

    The oldest cross it’s a dusty brown,
    But the winter winds didn’t shake it down;
    The newest cross keeps the colour bright;
    When the straw was reaping my heart was light.

    The reapers rose with the blink of morn,
    And gaily stook’d up the yellow corn;
    To call them home to the field I’d run,
    Through the blowing breeze and the summer sun.

    When the straw was weaving my heart was glad,
    For neither sin nor shame I had,
    In the barn where oat-chaff was flying round,
    And the thumping flails made a pleasant sound.

    Now summer or winter to me it’s one;
    But oh! for a day like the time that’s gone. 
    I’d little care was it storm or shine,
    If I had but peace in this heart of mine.

    Oh! light and false is a young man’s kiss,
    And a foolish girl gives her soul for this. 
    Oh! light and short is the young man’s blame,
    And a helpless girl has the grief and shame.

    To the river-bank once I thought to go,
    And cast myself in the stream below;
    I thought ’twould carry us far out to sea,
    Where they’d never find my poor babe and me.

    Sweet Lord, forgive me that wicked mind! 
    You know I used to be well-inclined. 
    Oh, take compassion upon my state,
    Because my trouble is so very great.

    My head turns round with the spinning wheel,
    And a heavy cloud on my eyes I feel. 
    But the worst of all is at my heart’s core;
    For my innocent days will come back no more.

THE NOBLEMAN’S WEDDING

    I once was a guest at a Nobleman’s wedding;
    Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind,
    And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding
    Her former true lover still runs in her mind.

    Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover
    Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings;
    And there among strangers, his grief to discover,
    A fair maiden’s falsehood he bitterly sings.

    ’Now here is the token of gold that was broken;
    Seven long years it was kept for your sake;
    You gave it to me as a true lover’s token;
    No longer I’ll wear it, asleep or awake.’

    She sat in her place by the head of the table,
    The words of his ditty she mark’d them right well: 
    To sit any longer this bride was not able,
    So down at the bridegroom’s feet she fell.