 | Irish Songs and Ballads |  |
176
AMBROSE AND UNA.
It was the good Sir Ambrose
Came spurring to the sea,
And to woo the beauteous Una
From his castle high rode he.
Came spurring to the sea,
And to woo the beauteous Una
From his castle high rode he.
They plighted their troth together,
And sealed it with seals of gold,
But a month and a day thereafter
The good knight slept in the mould.
And sealed it with seals of gold,
But a month and a day thereafter
The good knight slept in the mould.
Now, alas! for the Lady Una,
She made such bitter moan
That the dead Sir Ambrose heard her
From his grave in the churchyard lone.
She made such bitter moan
That the dead Sir Ambrose heard her
From his grave in the churchyard lone.
Up rose the dead Sir Ambrose,
All in his shroud of white,
And to his true love's bower
Stole softly through the night.
All in his shroud of white,
And to his true love's bower
Stole softly through the night.
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He tapped at his true love's bower,
With his hand so long and thin;
“I pray thee, dearest Una,
Let thy loving bridegroom in.”
With his hand so long and thin;
“I pray thee, dearest Una,
Let thy loving bridegroom in.”
But his dear lady answered,
“I cannot ope the door
Till Jesu's name thou namest,
As thou wast wont before.”
“I cannot ope the door
Till Jesu's name thou namest,
As thou wast wont before.”
“Rise, oh! rise, dear Una,
Nor fear to unbar the door;
I can name the blessed Jesu
As I was wont before.”
Nor fear to unbar the door;
I can name the blessed Jesu
As I was wont before.”
Up rose the weeping Una,
And her bower opened wide,
And the dead Sir Ambrose entered
And sat by her bedside.
And her bower opened wide,
And the dead Sir Ambrose entered
And sat by her bedside.
With her golden comb his true love
Combed out his tresses dear,
And each fair lock, as she kissed it,
She bathed with the bitter tear.
Combed out his tresses dear,
And each fair lock, as she kissed it,
She bathed with the bitter tear.
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And “Oh! tell me, dearest Ambrose,
By thy Una's love,” she said,
“How fares it since they laid thee
In thy dark and lonesome bed?”
By thy Una's love,” she said,
“How fares it since they laid thee
In thy dark and lonesome bed?”
“Whenever thy sorrow, Una,
Is soothed in sacred prayer,
Forthwith my gloomy coffin
Is filled with roses fair.
Is soothed in sacred prayer,
Forthwith my gloomy coffin
Is filled with roses fair.
“But whenever, oh! my Una,
Thy grief is wild and loud,
Those soft and fragrant roses
Turn to tears upon my shroud.
Thy grief is wild and loud,
Those soft and fragrant roses
Turn to tears upon my shroud.
“Dost hear the red cock crowing?
I must no longer stay;
'Tis the hour the churchyard claims us,
The sad hour before the day.”
I must no longer stay;
'Tis the hour the churchyard claims us,
The sad hour before the day.”
So the good Sir Ambrose turned him,
Deep sighing from the door,
And to the lonely churchyard
Went silently once more.
Deep sighing from the door,
And to the lonely churchyard
Went silently once more.
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But Una followed after,
And clasped her true love's hand,
And forth they fared together
To the dark and dreadful land.
And clasped her true love's hand,
And forth they fared together
To the dark and dreadful land.
They could not speak for sorrow;
The grave too soon was nigh;
And Sir Ambrose' fair hair faded
As flames to ashes die.
The grave too soon was nigh;
And Sir Ambrose' fair hair faded
As flames to ashes die.
Till, as they stood together,
Where the dead man's tomb was made,
Whilst his cheeks grew wan and hollow,
Sir Ambrose faintly said:
Where the dead man's tomb was made,
Whilst his cheeks grew wan and hollow,
Sir Ambrose faintly said:
“Look up to the sky, my Una,
For my moments swiftly fail;
Look up and tell me truly
Is this the dawning pale?”
For my moments swiftly fail;
Look up and tell me truly
Is this the dawning pale?”
She turned her sad face from him
Toward the coming light,
When straight the good Sir Ambrose
Softly melted from her sight.
Toward the coming light,
When straight the good Sir Ambrose
Softly melted from her sight.
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To her bower went poor Una,
And prayed to Jesu blest,
That ere the year was over
She, too, might be at rest.
And prayed to Jesu blest,
That ere the year was over
She, too, might be at rest.
But the month and the day thereafter
Upon her bier she lay,
And now, with good Sir Ambrose,
Awaits the Judgment Day.
Upon her bier she lay,
And now, with good Sir Ambrose,
Awaits the Judgment Day.
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