Broomfield Hill-Martin Carthy/Dave Swarbrick

歌手 : Martin Carthy / Dave Swarbrick

专辑 : Martin Carthy

语种 : 英语

时长 : 02:55

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TXT Broomfield Hill-Martin Carthy/Dave Swarbrick 文本歌词

Broomfield Hill - Martin Carthy/Dave Swarbrick

Oh it's of a lord in the north country

He courted a lady gay

As they were riding side by side

A wager she did lay

Oh I'll wager you five hundred pound

Five hundred pound to one

That a maid

I will go to the merry greenwood

And a maid I will return

So there she sat

In her mother's bower garden

There she made her moan

Saying Should I go to the Broomfield Hill

Or should I stay at home

Then up and spake this witch woman

As she sat on a log

Saying You shall go to the Broomfield Hill

And a maid you shall come home

Oh when you get to the Broomfield Hill

You'll find your love asleep

With his hawk his hound

And his silk and satin gown

And his ribbons hanging down to his feet

And pick the blossom from off the broom

The blossom that smells so sweet

And lay some down

At the crown of his head

And more at the sole of his feet

So she's away to the Broomfield Hill

And she's found her love asleep

With his hawk his hound

And his silk and satin gown

And his ribbons hanging down to his feet

And she's picked a blossom

From off the broom

The blossom that smells so sweet

And she's laid some down

At the crown of his head

And more at the sole of his feet

And she's pulled off her diamond ring

And she's pressed it in his right hand

For to let him know when

He'd wakened from his sleep

That his love

Had been there at his command

And when he woke out of his sleep

And the birds began to sing

Saying Awake awake awake master

Your true love's been and gone

Oh where were you

Me gay goshawk

And where were you

Me steed

And where were you

Me good greyhound

Why did you not waken me

Oh I clapped with my wings master

And bold your bells I rang

Crying waken waken

Waken master

Before this lady ran

And I stamped with my foot master

And shook me bridle till it rang

But nothing at all would waken you

Till she had been and gone

So haste ye haste ye

Me good white steed

To come where she may be

Or all the birds of the Broomfield Hill

Shall eat their fill of thee

Oh you need not waste your

Good white steed

By racing to her home

For no bird flies faster through the wood

Than she fled through the broom