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73
FOLK-SONG,
FROM THE OLD FRENCH.
What shall one do if Love depart?
I sleep not night nor day:
All night I think of my true-love,
Him who is far away.
I sleep not night nor day:
All night I think of my true-love,
Him who is far away.
I gat me from my restless bed,
And donned my gown of grey,
And went out through the postern gate
To the garden at break of day.
And donned my gown of grey,
And went out through the postern gate
To the garden at break of day.
I heard the bonny laverock then,
The nightingale did sing,
And thus she spake in her own speech,
“Behold my love coming
The nightingale did sing,
And thus she spake in her own speech,
“Behold my love coming
“In a brave boat up the Seine river,
Wrought of the pleasant pine;
The sails are all of satin sheen,
The ropes of silken twine:
The mainmast is of ivory,
The rudder of gold so fine.
Wrought of the pleasant pine;
The sails are all of satin sheen,
The ropes of silken twine:
The mainmast is of ivory,
The rudder of gold so fine.
74
“The good sailors who man the bark
Are not of this country;
The one is the son o' the King o' France,
He wears the fleur-de-lis;
The other's the son—but what care I?
My own true-love is he.”
Are not of this country;
The one is the son o' the King o' France,
He wears the fleur-de-lis;
The other's the son—but what care I?
My own true-love is he.”
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