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Take the robe from off thy form, |
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And cease thine hair to braid, |
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Thy love to thee will come no more, |
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He woos another maid, |
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And broken are the many vows, |
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That he hath pledged to thee, |
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He woos another maid, and this, |
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My bridal morn should be. |
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False to me oh say not so, |
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For if thy tale be true, |
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And the one that I love be lost to me, |
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I shall not live to rue, |
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And if he do take another mate, |
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Before the holy shrine, |
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Another ne'er shall have my heart, |
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Death will be a friend of mine. |
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She takes the robes from off her form, |
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And dons a snow white gown, |
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She loosened from her locks the braid, |
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And let her hair hang down, |
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She flung around her lovely head, |
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The thin shround of her veil, |
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To hide the fast ascending tears, |
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And cheek of moon ray pale. |
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With hurried yet, with careful steps, |
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Into the church she hides, |
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And there she saw the false of heart, |
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Receive another bride, |
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The bridal pageant swept along, |
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'Til all the train had fled, |
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Why stands the lone deserted one, |
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She slumbers with the dead |
