THOMAS THE RHYMER
True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank
A ferlie he spied wi' his e';
And there he saw a ladye bright
Come riding down by the Eildon
Her shirt was o' the grass green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap
And louted low down to his knee:
All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never
O no, O no, Thomas, she said,
That name does not belang to
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland
That am hither come to visit
Harp and carp, Thomas, she said,
Harp and carp along wi' me,
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be.