‘When you have crossed the western hills
My true love you shall meet,
With a green flag blowing over him,
And green grass at his feet.’
She has crossed over the high hills,
And the low hills between,
And she has found the may’s leman
Beneath a flag of green.
’Twas four and twenty ladies fair
Were sitting on the grass;
But he has turned and looked on her,
And will not let her pass.
‘You’ve maidens here, and maidens there,
And loves through all the land;
But what have you made of the lady fair
You gave the rose-garland?’
She was so harsh and cold of love,
To me gave little grace;
She wept if I but touched her hand,
Or kissed her bonny face.
‘Yea, crows shall build in the eagle’s nest,
The hawk the dove shall wed,
Before my old true love and I
Meet in one wedding bed.’
When she had heard his bitter rede
That was his old true love,
She sat and wept within her bower,
And moaned even as a dove.
She rose up from her window seat,
And she looked out to see;
Her love came riding up the street
With a goodly company.
He was clad on with Venice gold,
Wrought upon cramoisie,
His yellow hair shone like the sun
About his fair body.
‘Now shall I call him blossomed branch
That has ill knots therein?
Or shall I call him basil plant,
That comes of an evil kin?