The Ferry

There was a gay maiden lived down by the mill, —
Ferry me over the ferry, —
Her hair was as bright as the waves of a rill,
When the sun on the brink of his setting stands still,
Her lips were as full as a cherry.

A stranger came galloping over the hill, —
Ferry me over the ferry, —
He gave her broad silver and gold for his will:
She glanced at the stranger, she glanced o’er the sill;
The maiden was gentle and merry.

“O! what would you give for your virtue again?” —
Ferry me over the ferry, —
“O! silver and gold on your lordship I’d rain,
I’d double your pleasure, I’d double my pain,
This moment forever to bury.”