THE DOVE ON THE LILY.
There sits a pure dove on a lily so white,
On midsummer morning:—
She sang of Christ Jesus from morning to night,
In Heaven there is great joy, O!
She sang, and she sang, ’twas a joy to hear,
Expecting a maiden in Heaven that year.
“And should I reach Heaven ere twelvemonths are o’er,
Sickness and pain I should know never more.”
To her father’s hall the maiden she went,
And through her left side a sharp pain was sent.
“Oh! make my bed, mother, in haste, mother dear,
I shall in the fields no more wander this year.”
“And speak such words, daughter, dear daughter, no more;
Thou shalt wed with a king ere twelvemonths are o’er.”
“Oh! better that I be in Heaven a bride,
Than remain on the earth amid kingly pride.
“And father, dear father, go fetch me a priest,
For I know that, ere long, death will be my guest.
“And brother, dear brother, go get me a bier;
And sister, dear sister, do thou dress my hair.”
The maiden, she died, and was laid on her bier,
And all her hand-maidens they plaited her hair.
They carried her out from her father’s hall door;
And the angels of God with lights went before.
They carried the corpse to the churchyard along,
And the angels of God went before with a song.
They buried the maiden beneath the dark sod,
On midsummer morning:—
And her coming was even well pleasing to God;
In Heaven there is great joy, O!