Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come; The mother, she asked of his household and home: The father was steel, and the mother was stone; He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye, And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale! O, BRIGNALL BANKS ARE WILD AND FAIR. From ROKEBY. Sir Walter Scott. O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair, Would grace a summer queen. And as I rode by Dalton-hall Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle wall "O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, "If, Maiden, thou would'st wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, As blithe as Queen of May." Yet sung she: "Brignall banks are fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, "I read you, by your bugle-horn, I read you for a Ranger sworn, To keep the king's greenwood.""A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night." Yet sung she: "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay; I would I were with Edmund there, To reign his Queen of May! "With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon, But when the beetle sounds his hum, "And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Would reign my Queen of May! "Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, "Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. IN Scarlet towne, where I was borne, All in the merrye month of May, When green buds they were swellin, Young Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barbara Allen. He sent his man unto her then, To the town where she was dwellin; "You must come to my master deare, Giff your name be Barbara Allen. "For death is printed on his face, "Though death be printed on his face, Yet little better shall he be So slowly, slowly, she came up, He turned his face unto her strait, "If on your death-bed you doe lye, He turned his face unto the wall, As she was walking ore the fields, She turned her body round about, And spied the corps a coming: "Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd, "That I may look upon him." With scornful eye she looked downe, When he was dead, and laid in grave, "Hard-harted creature him to slight, O that I had beene more kind to him, She, on her death-bed as she laye,` That she did ere denye him. |