It was over the clover, and over the corn,
And over the meadow that merry May morn,
That he bore me with him on the back of his bay,
To the gay village green, to be Queen of the May.

It was over the valleys and hills far from sight,
By glen and by torrent at deep dead of night,
That his fierce rival carried me helpless away,
And swore he would wed me with breaking of day.

It was over the mountains my love followed me,
From the rage of his rival his true love to free;
And there in the grey dawn his foeman he found,
And when the day broke there was blood on the ground.

It is over the mountains away to the sea,
It is over the ocean my true love must flee;
And he prays me to leave him, a felon outcast;
But if e'er I forsake him, that day be my last.