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They found him pillowed on the dead,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
The blood-soaked sod his bridal bed,
Ah, well-a-day! the Slain.
On his pale brow, and paler cheek,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
The white moonshine did fall so meek—
Ah, well-a-day! sad strain.[1]
They lifted up the True and Brave,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
And bore him to his lone cold grave,
Ah, well-a-day! in pain.
They buried him on that far strand,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
His face turned towards his love's own land,
Ah, well-a-day! how vain.
The wearied heart was laid at rest,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
To dream of her it liked best,
Ah, well-a-day! again.
- ↑ Ah, well-a-day! in vain.—MS. copy.
