THE SELBYS OF CUMBERLAND.
73
I tarried on a heathery hill,
My tresses to my cheeks were frozen,
And far adown the midnight wind
I heard the din of battle closing.
The grey day dawned, where 'mang the snow
Lay many a young and gallant fellow,
But the sun came visiting in vain
Two lovely een 'tween locks of yellow.
There's a tress of soiled and yellow hair
Close in my bosom I am keeping:
Oh! I have done with delight and love,
So welcome want, and woe, and weeping.
Woe, woe upon that cruel heart,
Woe, woe upon that hand so bloody,
That lordless leaves my true love's hall,
And makes me wail a virgin widow.
