Lyrics
Oh it’s of a night in the north country
He courted a lady gay
As they were riding side by side
A wager she did lay
Oh I wager you five hundred pound
Five hundred pound to one
That a maid I will go to the merry green wood
And a maid you’ll not come home return
So there she sat in her mother’s bower door
And there she made a moan
Saying,should I go to the Broomfield Hill
Or should I stay at home
Then up and spake this witch woman
As she sat all alone
Saying,
You shall go to the Broomfield Hill
And a maid you shall come home
For when you get to the Broomfield Hill
You’ll find your love asleep
With his hawk, his hound and his silken satin gown
And his ribbons hanging down to his feet
You’ll pull the blossom from off that broom
The blossom that smells so sweet
And lay some down at the crown of his head
And more at the sole of his feet
So she’s away to the Broomfield Hill
And she’s found her love asleep
With his hawk, his hound and his silken satin gown
And his ribbons hanging down to his feet
And she’s pulled a blossom from off the broom
The blossom that smells so sweet
And she’s laid some down at the crown of his head
And more at the sole of his feet
And she’s pulled off her diamond ring
And she’s pressed it in his right hand
For to let him know when he wakened from his sleep
That his love had been there at his command
And when he woke out of his sleep
When the birds began to sing
Cried, Awake, awake, awake, master
Your true love’s been and gone
Oh where were you, my gay goshawk
And where were you, my steed
And where were you, my good greyhound
Why did you not waken me
Oh I flapped with my wings master
And all my bells I rang
B
ut nothing at all would waken you
Before this lady ran
And I stamped with my foot, master
And I shook my bridle till it rang
But nothing at all would waken you
Till she had been and gone
So haste ye, haste ye, my good white steed
To come where she may be
Or all the birds at the Broomfield Hill
Shall eat their fill of thee
Oh you need not waste your good white steed
By racing to her home
For no bird flies faster through the wood
Than she fled through the broom