Francis James Child

“ And you may tell it in merry England
That your sister she is queen.'
=
C
=
'O WELL is me, my jolly goshawk,
That ye can speak and flee,
For ye can carry a love-letter
To my true-love from me.'
'O how can I carry a letter to her,
When her I do not knaw?
I bear the lips to her never spake,
And the eyes that her never saw.'
'The thing of my love's face is white
It's that of dove or maw;
The thing of my love's face that's red
Is like blood shed on snaw.
'And when you come to the castle,
Light on the bush of ash,
And sit you there and sing our loves,
As she comes from the mass. ”

“ Until that he came to the king of England's dochter,
Who was sitting in her bower-window.
'Here is a gift, a very rare gift,
And the king has sent you three;
He says if your father and mother winna let,
You may come privately.
'Here is a gift, and a very rare gift,
The king has sent you five;
He says he will not wait any longer on you,
If there be another woman alive.'
She's away to her mother dear,
Made a low beck on her knee:
'What is your asking of me, daughter? ”

“ All for your sake and mine.
'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,
Gae hame and blaw your horn;
I trow you wad hae gien me the skaith,
But I've gien you the scorn.
'Ah woe to you, you light woman,
An ill death may you die! ”

“ An she'll do nought but die.'
'An askin, an askin, dear father,
An askin I crave o thee;
If I should die just at this time,
In Scotland burry me.'
'There's room eneugh in wide England
To burry thee an me ”

“ Whenever I do chance for to die,
In Scotland gar bury me.'
* * * *
'Bring to me the red, red lead,
And rub it on her chin;
It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!
But there is not a breath within. ”

“ They drapt it on her chin;
'And ever alas,' her mother cried,
'There is nae life within!'
They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,
They drapt it on her breast-bane;
'Alas,' her seven bauld brothers said,
'Our sister's dead and gane!'
Then up arose her seven brethren,
And hewd to her a bier;
They hewd it frae the solid aik,
Laid it oer wi silver clear.
Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sewed to her a kell,
And every steek that they pat in
Sewd to a siller bell.
The first Scots kirk that they cam to,
They gard the bells be rung ”