The Three Maidens

There were three maidens met on the highway; The sun was down, the night was late: And two sang loud with the birds of May, O the nightingale is merry with its mate. Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still? The land is dark, the night is late: O, but the heart in my side is ill, And the nightingale will languish for its mate. Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store; The moon mounts up, the night is late: O, I shall look on man no more, And the nightingale is dumb without its mate. Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing; The moon mounts high, the night is late: O my dear lover can hear no thing, And the nightingale sings only to its mate. They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure; The moon is pale, the night is late: His grave is shallow on the moor; O the nightingale is dying for its mate. His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair; The moon is chill, the night is late: But I will lie beside him there: O the nightingale is dying for its mate.