Why dost thou tremble so, my Burd,
Why dost thou look so lorn?
Mother, on Hunting Knowe I heard
The Magic Hunter’s horn
Call Away! Away! Away!

I saw him on his coal black horse,
His nostrils fiery dints,
He made no sound among the gorse,
But fire flew from the flints.

His girt black hound beside him ran,
And I was sore afraid.
He touched me with his coal black han,
He scared thy little maid,
Calling Away! Away! Away!

The maiden caught her mother’s hand,
She trembled more and more.
Mother, he comes from Shadowland,
I hear him at the door!
Calling Away! Away! Away!

Tis’ nothing but the mill, my Burd,
The mill wheel turning fast!
Mother, it was his voice I heard,
He calls as he rides past,
Calling Away! Away! Away!

Lie down, my maid, and never fear,
Mother her watch will keep.
No wicked thing’s a coming near,
Lie down my maid and sleep.

The maiden slept, the mother wept,
But when they both were still,
A girt hound from the upland crept,
And waited by the mill,
Calling Away! Away! Away!

And when the night mists softly stole
Over the valley farms,
A ghost rode over the Hunting Knowe
With a maiden in his arms.
Gone away, away, away!