Barbary Lark
Barbary passes the school in the wood
But her yearning for learning will do you no good
For Barbary, clad in her gown and her veil
Belongs to no man, with no favours for sale
She’ll listen to sorrows, sweet-morrows and dreams
And she’ll run through your meadows and splash in your streams
But never suppose her an armful to hold
For Barbary’s humour is free as her soul
Barbary still has the voice of a lark
As her singing goes ringing to scurry the dark
With her quince-laden basket and berries to spare
May her harvest of hearts make the lovers beware
For Barbary, clad in her gown and her veil
Belongs to no man, with no favours for sale
She tramps through the thickets and calls a well-met
With a tousle of braids and your heart in her net.
Her laughter is full of the wind on the hill
And her potions and lotions fend off any ill
Saving only for one sickness under the sun
That malady’s stricken the lads—every one
She walks to the bridge over Dashing Down Falls
And over she dances; no falter at all.
For Barbary, clad in her gown and her veil
Belongs to no man, with no favours for sale
She’s touched by the fairy blood under the hill
So when I am old she’ll be blooming here still
And her smile and her style stirred John Ploughman one day
And she favoured him once in a magical way
Now he’s gone in the fullness of years to his grave
But Barbary’s young with no sadness to save
Aye, Barbary, clad in her gown and her veil
Belongs to no man, with no favours for sale