Songs of the West. S. (Sabine) Baring-Gould

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Songs of the West - S. (Sabine) Baring-Gould

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BLOWS THE WIND, SWEET-HEART”

       Table of Contents

      C.J.S.

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      1

      "Cold blows the wind of night, sweet-heart,

       Cold are the drops of rain;

       The very first love that ever I had,

       In green-wood he was slain.

      2

      "I'll do as much for my true-love

       As any fair maiden may;

       I'll sit and mourn upon his grave

       A twelvemonth and a day."

      3

      A twelvemonth and a day being up,

       The ghost began to speak;

       "Why sit you here by my grave-side

       From dusk till dawning break?"

      4

      "O think upon the garden, love,

       Where you and I did walk.

       The fairest flower that blossomed there

       Is withered on its stalk."

      5

      "What is it that you want of me,

       And will not let me sleep?

       Your salten tears they trickle down

       My winding sheet to steep."

      6

      "Oh I will now redeem the pledge

       The pledge that once I gave;

       A kiss from off thy lily white lips

       Is all of you I crave."

      7

      "Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

       My breath is earthy strong.

       If you do touch my clay-cold lips,

       Your time will not be long."

      8

      Then through the mould he heaved his head,

       And through the herbage green.

       There fell a frosted bramble leaf,

       It came their lips between.

      9

      "Now if you were not true in word,

       As now I know you be,

       I'd tear you as the withered leaves,

       Are torn from off the tree.

      10

      "And well for you that bramble-leaf

       Betwixt our lips was flung.

       The living to the living hold,

       Dead to the dead belong."

      No 7 THE SPRIG OF THYME

       Table of Contents

      C.J.S.

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      1

      In my garden grew plenty of Thyme,

       It would flourish by night and by day;

       O'er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,

       And stole my thyme away.

      2

      My garden with heartsease was bright,

       The pansy so pied and so gay;

       One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate,

       My heartsease took away.

      3

      My garden grew self-heal and balm,

       And speedwell that's blue for an hour,

       Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain!

       I'm plundered of each flower.

      4

      There grows in my garden the rue,

       And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there,

       The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,

       In place of blossoms fair.

      5

      The willow with branches that weep,

       The thorn and the cypress tree,

       O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds,

       Thus scattered there by thee?

      No 8 ROVING JACK

       Table of Contents

      C.J.S.

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      1

      Young Jack he was a journey-man

       That roved from town to town,

       And when he'd done a job of work,

       He lightly sat him down.

       With his kit upon his shoulder, and

       A grafting knife in hand,

       He roved the country round about,

       A merry journey-man.

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