Child's, The English And Scottish Ballads

Volume 3 of 8 from 1860 edition -online book

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278                   THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.
" I have not tint, at tournament,
My sword nor yet my spear;                         10
But sair I mourn for my true love,
Wi' mony a bitter tear.
" But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-liawk,
Ye can baith speak and flee ; Ye sail carry a letter to my love,                       w
Bring an answer back to me."
" But how sail I your true love find,
Or how suld I her know ? I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,
An eye that ne'er her saw."                            so
" O weel sail ye my true love ken,
Sae sune as ye her see; For, of a' the flowers of fair England,
The fairest flower is she.
" The red, that's on my true love's cheek, »
Is like blood-drops on the snaw; The white, that is on her breast bare,
Like the down o' the white sea-maw
" And even at my love's bouer-door
There grows a flowering birk;                       x
And ye maun sit and sing thereon As she gangs to the kirk.







E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III