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Capercaillie

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Capercaillie

The Brown Haired Maiden

Alas and woe is me, my brown haired maiden
The cause of my discontent and my heavy heart!
It is her beauty which has left me grieving
And I cannot survive without her.

Would that I were a bard
Who could tune a harp and sing a song
So that I might extol the virtues
Of that gentle maiden
Who feels my thoughts both night and day.

Beautiful and luxuriant is the delicate hair
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Of the maiden who has wounded my heart;
Her conversation is sweeter
Than the singing of the thrush
And I am filled with sorrow since she left me.

When the month of May comes to the heathery glen
And all the plants of the meadow into full bloom
It reminds me of my loved one,
The comely little flower which grew so tenderly.