  It was a friar of orders gray Walk'd forth to tell his beads; And he met with a lady fair Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. 'Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true love thou didst see.' 'And how should I know your true-love From many another one?' 'Oh, by his cockle-hat and staff, And by his sandal shoon. 'But chiefly by his face and mien, That were so fair to view; His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, And eyes of lovely blue.' 'O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! And at his head a green-grass turf, And at his heels a stone. 'Within these holy cloisters long He languish'd, and he died Lamenting of a lady's love, And 'plaining of her pride. 'They bore him barefaced on his bier Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedew'd his grave Within yon kirk-yard wall.' 'And art thou dead, thou gentle youth And art thou dead and gone; And didst thou die for love of me? Break, cruel heart of stone!' 'Oh, weep not, lady, weep not so, Some ghostly comfort seek; Let not vain sorrows rive thy heart, Nor tears bedew thy cheek.' 'Oh, do not, do not, holy friar, My sorrow now reprove; For I have lost the sweetest youth That e'er won lady's love. 'And now, alas! for thy sad loss I'll ever weep and sigh; For thee I only wish'd to live, For thee I wish to die.' 'Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain; For violets pluck'd, the sweetest shower Will ne'er make grow again. 'Our joys as wingÈd dreams do fly, Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past.' 'Oh, say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so; For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow. 'And will he never come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, For ever to remain. 'His cheek was redder than the rose; The comeliest youth was he; But he is dead and laid in his grave: Alas, and woe is me!' 'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more; Men were deceivers ever; One foot on sea and one on land, To one thing constant never. 'Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found, Since summer trees were leafy.' 'Now say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so; My love he had the truest heart, Oh, he was ever true! 'And art thou dead, thou much lov'd youth, And didst thou die for me? Then farewell, home; for evermore A pilgrim I will be. 'But first upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf That wraps his breathless clay.' 'Yet stay, fair lady, rest a while Beneath this cloister wall; See, through the thorn blows cold the wind And drizzly rain doth fall.' 'Oh, stay me not, thou holy friar; Oh, stay me not, I pray; No drizzly rain that falls on me Can wash my fault away.' 'Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, And dry those pearly tears; For see, beneath this gown of grey Thy own true-love appears. 'Here, forced by grief and hopeless love, These holy weeds I sought, And here amid these lonely walls To end my days I thought. 'But haply, for my year of grace Is not yet pass'd away, Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay.' 'Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart; For since I have found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part.' |
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