The Red Fellow's Wife

You're welcome, my love!
Of girls the fairest young girl!
Beauteous above
Deirdre, tho' bright as a pearl;
The country I'd fill
With conquering clamour and strife,
And come to you still —
A slave to the Red Fellow's wife!

Love, whiter your neck
Than swan that floats on the sea,
And redder your cheek
Than roses that blush on the tree.
O sweeter by far
Thy mouth than soft song of cuckoo!
Thy long tresses are
More fine than the silk glossy new.

O peerless young maid,
With beauty beaming all o'er,
Whate'er may be said —
Whoe'er may desire or deplore —
In vain were I dumb,
They all know what ruins my life, —
My heart-wound has come
From love of the Red Fellow's wife.

For ever and aye
I'd warrant to ward you from ill,
Your faithfullest stay
If fate did not fetter your will —
The tribute of Troy
I'd give with merriment rife,
If only my Joy
Were never the Red Fellow's wife.

O bloom-maid, I breathe
A thousand of blessings to thee,
I'm wounded to death,
And die every minute from thee.
My heart could it speak,
Would tell how deep went the knife;
Why should it not break? —
My one love's the Red Fellow's wife.

If yonder I lay
In prison fettered and fast,
All chains on the clay
And manacles over me cast —
As swan to the sea
I'd fly to that gloomiest life,
In hope you should be
No longer the Red Fellow's wife.