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The moon was a-waning
The tempest was over
Fair was the maiden
And fond was the lover
But the snow was so deep
That his heart it grew weary
And he sunk down to sleep
In the moorland so dreary.

Soft was the bed
She had made for her lover
White were the sheets
And embroider'd the cover
But his sheets are more white
And his canopy grander
And sounder he sleeps
Where the hill foxes wander.

Alas, pretty maiden
What sorrows attend you
I see you sit shivering
With lights at your window
But long may you wait
Ere your arms shall enclose him
For still, still he lies
With a wreath on his bosom!

How painful the task
The sad tidings to tell you!
An orphan you were
Ere this misery befell you
And far in yon wild
Where the dead-tapers hover
So cold, cold and wan
Lies the corpse of your lover!

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