 | Cuckoo songs |  |
35
The Red-haired Man's Wife
(A Variation)
The sky is golden, the fields are blooming, the hills are mild,
I go bewailing, all unavailing, that grey-eyed child
Whom kindred cruel have sold, dear jewel, to wedded life.
The girl, I mean, is my sad heart's queen, and—the red-haired man's wife.
I go bewailing, all unavailing, that grey-eyed child
Whom kindred cruel have sold, dear jewel, to wedded life.
The girl, I mean, is my sad heart's queen, and—the red-haired man's wife.
I sent a letter unto my sweetheart that long was mine,
Grown tired of roaming, that I was coming across the brine.
They stole my letter, and far, far better, with sword or knife
Have slain my pearl that he wears, the churl—she's the red-haired man's wife.
Grown tired of roaming, that I was coming across the brine.
36
Have slain my pearl that he wears, the churl—she's the red-haired man's wife.
If I came by where she stands so lonely, tender and sad,
Then she might follow by hill and hollow her own dear lad.
I sail to-night when the moon is bright o'er the salt sea's strife,
And I flee to France from the fatal glance of—the red-haired man's wife.
Then she might follow by hill and hollow her own dear lad.
I sail to-night when the moon is bright o'er the salt sea's strife,
And I flee to France from the fatal glance of—the red-haired man's wife.
The lark and blackbird are singing ever low songs of you,
And thrush and starling lament my darling from dawn to dew.
Your eyes appealing make wood and shieling with danger rife,
O the pleasant walks and the happy talks with—the red-haired man's wife.
And thrush and starling lament my darling from dawn to dew.
37
O the pleasant walks and the happy talks with—the red-haired man's wife.
But, child and sweetheart, had you withstood them till I could come,
I need not go with my bitter woe o'er the hungry foam.
My hopes are fled, and my parents dead, and on my old life
My back I turn, lest I bring to scorn—the red-haired man's wife.
I need not go with my bitter woe o'er the hungry foam.
My hopes are fled, and my parents dead, and on my old life
My back I turn, lest I bring to scorn—the red-haired man's wife.
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