Oh! the sun shone on the lea, and the bird sang merrilie,
Down the avenue and through the iron gate,
Spurr'd and belted, so he rode, steel to draw and steel to goad,
And across the moor he galloped fast and straight.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Oh! the sun shone on the lea, and the bird sang full of glee,
Ere the mists of evening gather'd chill and grey;
But the wild bird's merry note on the deaf ear never smote,
And the sunshine never warmed the lifeless clay.

Ere the sun began to droop, or the mist began to stoop,
The youthful bride lay swooning in the hall;
Empty saddle on his back, broken bridle hanging slack,
The steed returned full gallop to the stall.

Oh! the sun sank in the sea, and the wind wailed drearilie;
Let the bells in yonder monastery toll,
For the night rack nestles dark round the body stiff and stark,
And unshriven to its Maker flies the soul.




Ye Wearie Wayfarer, hys Ballad
In Eight Fyttes.