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Updated: June 15, 2025
O how she pleaded for my sake upon our parting day, What while adown her cheeks and mine tear followed upon tear! May God belie me not! The wede of my excuse from me Was all to rent for loss of her; but I will mend my cheer. No bed is easy to my side, nor is her resting-place Ayemore reposeful unto her, now I'm no longer near.
Or ever our meeting 'tide, sweetheart, Methinks I shall die of sheer despair, I prithee, fortune, bring back the days When we were a happy childish pair; The days, when we from the shafts of fate, That since have pierced us, in safety were! The hands of the baseborn sons of shame Have doomed us the wede of woe to wear.
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