Shepherd, see thy horse's foaming mane,
Why dost ride so wildly thro' the plain?
Bogar Mishka's daughter weds today,
To her wedding I must haste away.

Shepherd on the black steed hurrying,
What is that your saddle's carrying?
If't is to a wedding feast you ride,
Why bear you a bludgeon by your side?

Wedded to him shall she never be,
Many long years she was loved by me.
I, her lover, to her wedding ride,
'Twas the bridegroom stole her from my side.

Ho! but let me see his villain's face,
When I meet him God may give him grace.
Let him at the church-gate show his head.
With this bludgeon do I strike him dead.