And that young woman sweet and slim,
She never was no wife for him.
Though she have lost her maiden name,
She’m just a maiden all the same.
And Sweetland’s her name and sweet’s her nature—
So sweet as any mortal creature.
And here, upon the Moor so desolate,
She lives, like a bird as have lost its mate.
All in a lonesome nest she bides;
Near by a little old river glides;