Ned Of The Hill

Dark is the evening and silent the hour;
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tow’r
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill?
Oh, who should it be but 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 thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill!”

Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall,
Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call,
But one little archer of exquisite skill
Has shot 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 thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill.’

‘Tis hard to escape from that fair lady’s bower,
For high is the window, and guarded the tower,
“But there’s always a way where there is a will,”
So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill!
Who sings, “Lady love, thou art mine now!
We will live merrily under the bough,
And I’ll pillow thy head,
Where the fairies tread,
For Ellen is bride to Ned of the Hill!”