‘I will go down into some silent grove,
My sad moan for to make;
It is for the Lass of Ocram
My poor heart now will break.’
(41. Perhaps the reading was: The fairest, etc.)
Mr W. H. Babcock has printed a little ballad as sung in Virginia, in which are two stanzas that belong to ‘The Lass of Roch Royal:’ The Folk-Lore Journal, VII, 31.
‘Come along, come along, my pretty little miss,
Come along, come along,’ said he,
‘And seat yourself by me.’
‘Neither will I come, and neither sit down,