Word has come to May Margaret To her garden where she sat: "You are bidden come to good Green-Wood And speak with Jellon Grame."
"Go saddle my horseback," she said, "As quick as e'er you may, And I will ride to good Green-Wood, It is a pleasant day."
She had not ridden a mile, a mile A mile but barely three When she came to a new made grave beneath a green oak tree
Up then started Jellon Grame Out of a bush nearby "Light down, light down now May Margaret For in this grave you'll lie."
She lighted off her milk-white steed and knelt upon her knee "Oh mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame, I'm not prepared to die."
"Your babe that stirs between my sides Will shortly see the light To see it lying in my blood would be a piteous sight."
It's out he drew a long, long sword And a struggle did ensue But quickly through that lady's sides He's struck her through and through
O with her last dying breath That scoundrel she did curse: "The baby stirring in my sides Shall be more mine than yours."
Then up spoke cruel Jellon Grame, "Your curse I shall not heed, For though you fed our daughter blood, I'll feed her milk and meat."
He felt no pity for that lady Though she was lying dead But he felt some for the bonny girl Lying in her mother's blood
He's taken up that bonny girl and given her nurses nine Three to wake and three to sleep and three for in between
So strange a thing about this girl And the way in which she grew She reached the age of twenty years While others aged but two
So soon it was that bonny girl Became a hunting maid She learned her art from Jellon Grame And never left his side
One day it fell upon a time As a-hunting they did go They rested them in good Green-Wood It was a pleasant day
Then out did speak that bonny girl While a tear stood in her eye "O tell me this now, Jellon Grame, and I pray you will not lie,"
"Why is it that my mother dear does never take me home? To keep me still in banishment is both a sin and shame."
"You wonder why your mother dear does never send for thee Lo, there's the place I slew your mother beneath that green oak tree."
With that the girl has bent her bow It was both stout and long And though and through this Jellon Grame She's made an arrow go.
"Lie you there, oh father dear My mother's curse to rue The place that she lies buried in Is far too good for you."Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.