‘Oh, I shall give him goodly names,
My sword of damask fine;
My silver flower, my bright-winged bird,
Where go you, lover mine?’
‘I go to marry my new bride,
That I bring o’er the down;
And you shall be her bridal maid,
And hold her bridal crown.’
‘When you come to the bride chamber
Where your fair maiden is,
You’ll tell her I was fair of face,
But never tell her this,
‘That still my lips were lips of love,
My kiss love’s spring-water,
That my love was a running spring,
My breast a garden fair.
‘And you have kissed the lips of love
And drained the well-water,
And you have spoiled the running spring,
And robbed the fruits so fair.’
* * * * * *
‘Now he that will may scatter nuts,
And he may wed that will;
But she that was my old true love
Shall be my true love still.’
GREEK FOLK SONGS.
IANNOULA.
All the maidens were merry and wed
All to lovers so fair to see;
The lover I took to my bridal bed
He is not long for love and me.