Page:Unfortunate shepherdess (2).pdf/4

 Her dark hair hung loose on her bare neck of snow Her eyes look'd bewilder'd her cheek pale woe.

Oh, whence is thy sorrow sweet maiden said I, The green grave will answer, she said with a sigh:

The merry lark so sweetly did sing o'er head, But she thought on kerher [sic] woes, and the battle she said.

The breeze murmur'd by, when she look'd up forlorn, Hark! hark! didst thou hear-twas the sigh the morn, They say that in battle my love met his death, But ah! 'twas the hawthorn that robb'd his breath.

Come here, gentle Robin, live safe from the storm In my bosom now sing, there my true-love lies warm;

Ah! Robin, be constant, my true love was brave, Sweet Robin shall sit, and sing over his grave.





DOWN in yon village I live so snug, They call me Giles the plowman's boy: