I'll hang my harp on a willow tree I'm off to the war again My peaceful home holds no charms for me Nor the battlefield no pain
The lady I love she will soon be a bride With a diadem on her brow O why did she flatter my boyish pride? She's going to leave me now
She took me away from my warlike lord She gave me a silken suit I thought no more of my master's sword But played with my lady's lute
She seemed to think me a boy above Her pages of low degree But if I had loved with a boyish love It would have been better for me
I'll hide in my breast every selfish care I'll flush my pale cheeks with wine And when smiles await the bridal pair I'll hasten to give them mine
I'll laugh and I'll sing though my heart may bleed I'll walk in the festive train And if I survive it, I'll mount my steed And off to the war again
One golden tress of her hair I'll twine In my helmet's sable plume Then on the fields of Palestine I'll seek an early doom
And if by the Saracen's hand I fall 'Midst the noble and the brave A tear from the lady I love is all I'll ask, for a warrior's grave.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
