Dark is the evening and silent the hour.
Who is the minstrel by yon lonely tower,
Whose harp he's so tenderly touching with skill?
Oh, who can it be but Ned of the Hill?
Who sings, "Lady love, come with me now,
Come and live merrily under the bough; and
I'll pillow your head where the fairies tread
If you will but wed with Ned of the Hill."
Ned of the Hill has no castle or hall,
No spearmen or bowmen to come at his call;
But one little archer of exquisite skill
Has loosed a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill.
Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now, come
and live merrily under the bough; and
I'll pillow thy head where the fairies tread
If you will but wed with Ned of the Hill."
It is hard to escape from this fair lady's bower
For high is the castle and guarded the tower;
But there's always a way where there is a will,
And so she has gone with Ned of the Hill.
Who sings, "Lady love, come to me now, come
and live merrily under the bough; and
I'll pillow thy head where the fairies tread
If you will but wed with Ned of the Hill."
--British folk song
