SYDNEY DOBELL 774 The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston
THE murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!*
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The merry path that leads Down the golden morning hill,
And thro' the silver meads j
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine,
The song that sang she!
She sang her song, she kept her kine,
She sat beneath the thorn, When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode thro* the Monday morn.
His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,
His belted jewels shine j O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line !
Year after year, where Andrew came, Comes evening down the glade,
And still there sits a moonshine ghost Where sat the sunshine maid.
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