The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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She has taken up her wee young son, Kiss'd him baitk cheek and chin ;
' O fare ye weel5 my wee young son, For I'll never see you again ! '
She has put her foot on gude ship-board, And on ship-board she has gane,
And the veil that hangit ower her face Was a' wi' gowd begane.
She hadna sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely twa, Till she minded on her husband she left
And her wee young son alsua.
i O haud your tongue o' weeping,' he says,
' Let a' your follies a-bee ; I'll show where the white lilies grow
On the banks o' Italic'
xv She hadna sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three, Till grim, grim grew his countenance
And gurly grew the sea.
i What hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, The sun shines sweetly on ?'
' O von are the hills o' Heaven,' he said, ' Where you will never won.'
begane] overlaid.          gurty] rough, surly.
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