I've heard them lilting. At our yowe milking. And I've heard them lilting. Before light o' day. Now they are mourning. For all lamenting. The flowers of the forest. Are all wede away. Sad
It was on a fine summer's morning. The birds sweetly tune on each bough. And as I walked out for my pleasure. I saw a maid milking a cow Her voice was so enchanting, melodious. Left me quite
It was on a fine summer's morning. The birds sweetly tune on each bough. And as I walked out for my pleasure. I saw a maid milking a cow Her voice was so enchanting, melodious. Left me quite
