  A pretty young maiden sat on the grass, Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! And by a blythe young shepherd did pass, In the summer morning so early. Said he, "My lass will you go with me, My cot to keep, and my bride to be, Sorrow and want shall never touch thee, And I will love you rarely?" "Oh! no, no, no!" the maiden said, Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! And bashfully turn'd aside her head, On that summer morning so early: "My mother is old, my mother is frail, Our cottage it lies in yon green dale; I dare not list to any such tale, For I love my kind mother rarely." The shepherd took her lily-white hand, Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! And on her beauty did gazing stand, On that summer morning so early. "Thy mother I ask thee not to leave, Alone in her frail old age to grieve, But my home can hold us all, believe— Will that not please thee fairly?" "Oh! no, no, no! I am all too young, Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! I dare not list to a young man's tongue, On a summer morning so early." But the shepherd to gain her heart was bent; Oft she strove to go, but she never went; And at length she fondly blush'd consent— Heaven blesses true lovers so fairly. |
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