| |
| WHEN he passed him by | |
| Where the maids were spinning, | |
| They would drop their work and sigh, | |
| Deem him worth the winning. | |
| Where he wandered they would follow, | 5 |
| Where the river reeds were hollow, | |
| Dancing to his tabor. | |
| But the old dames laughed at him, | |
| Gibed at him and scoffed at him, | |
| Called him idle neighbor; | 10 |
| And the maids, they blamed them all, | |
| Mocked them all and shamed them all, | |
| Bade them get to labor. | |
| |
| When he roamed along | |
| Where the lads were sheaving, | 15 |
| They would heed his happy song, | |
| And, their sickles leaving, | |
| Follow him, the mad-eyed rover, | |
| Through the daisies and the clover | |
| Where the bees were lurking. | 20 |
| But the farmers hated him, | |
| Bruised and mauled and baited him, | |
| Damned him for his shirking. | |
| And the lads, they flouted them, | |
| Cursed and cuffed and clouted them, | 25 |
| Drove them to their working. | |
| |
| Now he lieth low: | |
| Where the trees are waving | |
| And the breezes softest blow, | |
| There he hath his graving. | 30 |
| All the maidens sob and sorrow | |
| For their love who knows no morrow, | |
| And the lads are grieving. | |
| All the birds sing sad of him; | |
| The old folk are glad of him, | 35 |
| Curse his sweet deceiving, | |
| Cry, “Well rid of him, God wot!”— | |
| But their eyes grow dim, God wot, | |
| Harvesting and weaving. | |
| |
