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There came a ghost to Margaret's door |
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With many a greivous groan |
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And aye he's tirled long at the pin |
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But answer she gave none |
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Is it my father phillip? |
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Or yet my brother John? |
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Or yet my own dear william |
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From Scotland now come home? |
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Thy faith, I troth, you'll never get |
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And me you'll never win |
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Til you take me to yon churchyard |
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And wed me with the ring. |
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Oh I do dwell in a churchyard |
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But far beyond the sea |
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And it is but my Ghost, Margaret |
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That speaks now unto thee |
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So she's put on her robes of green |
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With a piece below the knee |
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And o'er the live-lang winter's night |
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The sweet ghost followed she |
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Is there room at your head, willie |
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Or room here at your feet? |
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Or room here at your side, willie, |
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Wherein that I may sleep? |
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There's no room at my head, Margaret |
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There's no room at my feet |
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There's no room at my side Margaret |
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My coffin is so neat. |
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Then up and spoke the red robin |
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And up spoke the grey |
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'tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margaret |
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That I was gone away |
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No more the ghost to Margaret came |
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With many a greivous groan |
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He's vanished out into the mist |
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And left her there alone |
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Oh stay, my only true love, stay |
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My heart you do divide |
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Pale grew her cheeks, she closed her eyes |
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Stretched out her limbs and cried |
