The Swallow
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Up, Down, Thread Ahead: None Yet, Thread Back: Codfish, Newfoundland, Iceland, Canada.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sun shining on the lee shore,
She lost her love, now she'll love no more.
'Twas down in the garden this fair maid did go
A-plucking the beautiful primrose.
The more she plucked and the more she pulled,
Until she'd got her apron full.
She climbed on yonder hill above
To give a rose unto her love.
She gave him one, she gave him three
She gave her heart in company.
And as they sat on yonder hill
His heart grew hard, and harder still.
He has two hearts instead of one.
She cried, "Young man, what have ye done?"
For when I carried my apron low.
You followed me through frost and snow.
But now my apron is to me chin
You pass my door and you don't come in.
"How foolish, foolish this fair maid must be
To think I'd love none other than she.
The heart's not made for one alone,
But takes delight in everyone."
She's strewn her roses for a bed,
A stony pillow for her head.
She lay her down, no word did say,
And lo her roses fade away.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sun shining on the lee shore,
She lost her love, now she'll love no more.
Here & here; but neither of 'em comes close to what I have heard from Anita Best.
Down.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sun shining on the lee shore,
She lost her love, now she'll love no more.
'Twas down in the garden this fair maid did go
A-plucking the beautiful primrose.
The more she plucked and the more she pulled,
Until she'd got her apron full.
She climbed on yonder hill above
To give a rose unto her love.
She gave him one, she gave him three
She gave her heart in company.
And as they sat on yonder hill
His heart grew hard, and harder still.
He has two hearts instead of one.
She cried, "Young man, what have ye done?"
For when I carried my apron low.
You followed me through frost and snow.
But now my apron is to me chin
You pass my door and you don't come in.
"How foolish, foolish this fair maid must be
To think I'd love none other than she.
The heart's not made for one alone,
But takes delight in everyone."
She's strewn her roses for a bed,
A stony pillow for her head.
She lay her down, no word did say,
And lo her roses fade away.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sun shining on the lee shore,
She lost her love, now she'll love no more.
Here & here; but neither of 'em comes close to what I have heard from Anita Best.
Down.
