The Devil & The Huntsman

Young man came from hunting faint, tired and weary
 What does ail my Lord, my dearie?
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 Oh, brother dear, let my bed be made
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 For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade
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 Many a man would die as soon
 Out of the light of a mage's moon
 But it's not by bone, but yet by blade
 Can break the magic that the devil made
 And it's not by fire, but was forged in flame
 Can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain
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 This young man he died fair soon
 By the light of a hunter's moon
 'Twas not by bone, nor yet by blade
 Of the berries of the woody nightshade
 Oh Father dear, lie and be safe
 From the path that the devil made