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ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH BALLADS. 93
And I will come to some other land To see if my love will on me rue.
It is not the cold that makes me cry, It is not the weet that wearies me ; Nor is it the frost that freezes fell, But I love a lad, and I dare not tell.
Oh, faith is gone, and truth is past, And my true love 's forsaken me ;
If all be true that I hear say, I '11 mourn until the day I die.
Oh, if I had nere been born,
That to have died, when I was young ;
Then I had never wet my cheeks For the love of any woman's son.
Oh, oh, if my young babe was born,
And set upon the nurse's knee ; And I myself were dead and gone,
For a maid again I shall never be.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow, And blow the green leefs off the tree ;
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come, For of my life I am wearie.
As in all single hearts and primitive natures, the visible features of death, the white shroud and the grave, " hap'd with the sods sae green," make a deep impression, and the imagination concerning