| | O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair, | |
| And Greta woods are green, | |
| And you may gather garlands there, | |
| Would grace a summer queen: | |
| And as I rode by Dalton Hall, | 5 |
| Beneath the turrets high, | |
| A Maiden on the castle wall | |
| Was singing merrily:— | |
| |
| 'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, | |
| And Greta woods are green! | 10 |
| I'd rather rove with Edmund there | |
| Than reign our English Queen.' | |
| |
| 'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me | |
| To leave both tower and town, | |
| Thou first must guess what life lead we, | 15 |
| That dwell by dale and down: | |
| And if thou canst that riddle read, | |
| As read full well you may, | |
| Then to the green-wood shalt thou speed | |
| As blithe as Queen of May.' | 20 |
| |
| Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, | |
| And Greta woods are green! | |
| I'd rather rove with Edmund there | |
| Than reign our English Queen. | |
| |
| 'I read you by your bugle horn | 25 |
| And by your palfrey good, | |
| I read you for a Ranger sworn | |
| To keep the King's green-wood.' | |
| 'A Ranger, Lady, winds his horn, | |
| And 'tis at peep of light; | 30 |
| His blast is heard at merry morn, | |
| And mine at dead of night.' | |
| |
| Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, | |
| And Greta woods are gay! | |
| I would I were with Edmund there, | 35 |
| To reign his Queen of May! | |
| |
| 'With burnish'd brand and musketoon | |
| So gallantly you come, | |
| I read you for a bold Dragoon, | |
| That lists the tuck of drum.' | 40 |
| 'I list no more the tuck of drum, | |
| No more the trumpet hear; | |
| But when the beetle sounds his hum, | |
| My comrades take the spear. | |
| |
| 'And O! though Brignall banks be fair, | 45 |
| And Greta woods be gay, | |
| Yet mickle must the maiden dare, | |
| Would reign my Queen of May! | |
| |
| 'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, | |
| A nameless death I'll die; | 50 |
| The fiend whose lantern lights the mead | |
| Were better mate than I! | |
| And when I'm with my comrades met | |
| Beneath the green-wood bough, | |
| What once we were we all forget, | 55 |
| Nor think what we are now.' | |
| |
| Chorus. | Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, | |
| And Greta woods are green, | |
| And you may gather flowers there | |
| Would grace a summer queen. | 60 |
