‘They hunt me through the green forest
With hounds and hunting men;
And ever it is my fair brother
That is so fierce and keen.’
* * * * *
‘Good-morrow, mother.’ ‘Good-morrow, son;
Where are your hounds so good?’
Oh, they are hunting a white doe
Within the glad greenwood.
‘And three times have they hunted her,
And thrice she’s won away;
The fourth time that they follow her
That white doe they shall slay.’
* * * * * *
Then out and spoke the forester,
As he came from the wood,
‘Now never saw I maid’s gold hair
Among the wild deer’s blood.
‘And I have hunted the wild deer
In east lands and in west;
And never saw I white doe yet
That had a maiden’s breast.’
Then up and spake her fair brother,
Between the wine and bread,
‘Behold, I had but one sister,
And I have been her dead.’
‘But ye must bury my sweet sister
With a stone at her foot and her head,
And ye must cover her fair body
With the white roses and red.’
And I must out to the greenwood,
The roof shall never shelter me;
And I shall lie for seven long years
On the grass below the hawthorn tree.