...unto my roundelay, 0! drop the brfny tear with me 5 Dance no more on holyday, Like a running river be. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. If your ear be ftruckby the cadence, you will1 be ftruck not a little, in the remainder of the' fong,...

...unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear wiih me J Dance no more on holiday ; Like a running river be. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree I Black his hair as winter night ; White his (kin as dimmer fnow ; Red his face as morning light ;•...

...light Cold he lies in the grave below My Love is dead ?£c . * • . 3 ' Sweet his tongue as thrushes note Quick in dance as thought can be Deft his tabor cudgel stout Ohl he lies by the willow tree My Love is dead 8Cc . 4 See the white moon shines on high Whiter is...

...my roundelay, O ! drop the briny tear with me, Dance no more at holiday, Like a running river. be ; My love is dead, Gone to his deathbed, All under the willow tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his skin as the summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning...

...briers, Round his holy corse to gre,* Elfin- fairy, light your fires, Here my body still shall be : My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, Drain my heart's blood all away ; Life and all its good I scorn, Dance...

...his wiug In the briard dell below ; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing To the night-mares as they go. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. See the white moon» shines on high, Whiter is my true love's shroud ; Whiter than the morning sky,...

...throstle's note, Quirk in the dance as thought can be — Deft his tabor — cudgel stout — О ho lies by the willow tree. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. Hist, the raren flaps his wing To Iho nighc-marea aa they go, And the death-owl hoarse doth slug, From...

...my roundelay, O ! drop the briny tear with me ; Dance no more at holiday, Like a running river we. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow tree. Come with acorn-cup and thorne, Drain my [pure] heart's blood away ; Life and all its goods I scorn,...

...[complexion] as the summer snow ; Red his face as the morning light ; Cold he lies in the grave below, My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under...willow tree. ' Hark ! the raven flaps his wing In the briard dell below ; Hark ! the death-owl loud doth sing To the night-mares as they go. My love is dead,...

...high, Whiter is my true love's shroud ; Whiter than the morning sky, AVhiter than the evening cloud ; My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow tree. But, perhaps, the most convincing proof of this modern character of Rowley's verse, may he derived...