Merry it is now in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
Oh, Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you,
And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do,
And I must teach to hew the beech,
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence the cave.
Merry it is now in the good greenwood,
So blithe Lady Alice is singing,
On the beech's pride and the oak's brown side
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.
Uprose the moody elfin king,
Who wonn'd within the hill,
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
Why sounds that stroke on beech and oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen,
Or who comes here to chase the deer
Belov'd of our elfin queen.
Or who may dare, on wold to wear,
The fairies fatal green.
Merry it is now in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
But merrier are they in Dumferline grey,
While all the bells are ringing.