Mournful Is the Day

Mournful is the day and mournful I have grown,
False are all the pretty maidens I .have known.
They are as fickle in their love,
As changeful as the clouds above.
Lack-a-day.

Dark and overcast my days are: I know why;
For the maid I truly loved I vainly sigh.
She now loves another lad,
That's the reason I am sad.
Lack-a-day.

Truly orphaned, none so poor as I am now.
Never to her ray true love can I avow.
Not fore'er this will be so:
Brighter days will dawn, I know.
Lack-a-day.