That heard the wily serving-maid;
Those lovers true hath she betrayed.
The serving-maid, she up and spake:
“I’ll spill your loves ere dawn shall break!”
The serving-maid, so false was she,
She tore the leaves from the linden-tree.
When night was done and dawn was grey
The lady looked upon the brae.
“The linden-tree hath shed its leaves—
“Full well I wot my true-love grieves.
“The linden-tree its flowers hath shed—
I wot full well my love is dead.
“And is he dead, my heart’s desire,
My bower and all I’ll burn with fire.”
She’s laid a brand her bower unto—
She’s choked herself with the bolster blue.
When all the bower in a bale did stand
Her love came a-sailing back to land.
When all the bower was ashes and dust
Her love put in to the selfsame coast.