I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree
I'll hang my harp on a willow tree,
I'm off to the wars again,
My peaceful home has no charms for me,
The battle field no pain.
The lady I love will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow,
Oh! Why did she flatter my boyish pride,
She's going to leave me now.
She took me away from my warlike lord,
And gave me a silken suit.
I thought no more of my master's sword
When I played on my master's lute.
She seem'd to think a boy above
Her pages of low degree
Oh! Had I but lov'd with a boyish love
It would have been better for me.
Then I'll hide in my breast every selfish care,
I'll flush my pale cheek with wine,
When smiles await the bridal pair
I'll hasten to give them mine.
I'll laugh and I'll sing tho' my heart may bleed,
And I'll walk in the festive train.
And if I survive it I'll mount my steed,
And I'll off to the wars again.
But the golden tress of her hair I'll twine,
In my helmet's sable plume,
And then on the field of Palestine,
I'll seek an early doom,
And if by the Saracen's hand I fall,
Mid the noble and thebrave,
A tear from my ladylove is all
I ask for the warrior's grave.