Thou hast heart's delight,
I have sad heart's sorrow,
For a false false maid
That will wed to-morrow.
It is all for a rose
That I gave her not,
And I would that it grew
In the garden plot,
And I would the rose-tree
Were still to set,
That my love Marie
Might love me yet!
THE BRIGAND'S GRAVE--MODERN GREEK
The moon came up above the hill,
The sun went down the sea,
'Go, maids, and draw the well-water,
But, lad, come here to me.
Gird on my jack, and my old sword,
For I have never a son,
And you must be the chief of all
When I am dead and gone.
But you must take my old broadsword,
And cut the green boughs of the tree,
And strew the green boughs on the ground,
To make a soft death-bed for me.
And you must bring the holy priest,
That I may sained be,
For I have lived a roving life
Fifty years under the greenwood tree.
And you shall make a grave for me,
And dig it deep and wide,
That I may turn about and dream
With my old gun by my side.
And leave a window to the east
And the swallows will bring the spring,
And all the merry month of May
The nightingales will sing.
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