I'll Hang My Harp

© Pamela Morgan Publishing (a division of Amber Music)
 I'll hang my harp on a willow tree
 I'm off to the war again
 My peaceful home holds no charms for me
 Nor the battlefield no pain
 The lady I love she will soon be a bride
 With a diadem on her brow
 O why did she flatter my boyish pride?
 She's going to leave me now
 She took me away from my warlike lord
 She gave me a silken suit
 I thought no more of my master's sword
 But played with my lady's lute
 She seemed to think me a boy above
 Her pages of low degree
 But if I had loved with a boyish love
 It would have been better for me
 I'll hide in my breast every selfish care
 I'll flush my pale cheeks with wine
 And when smiles await the bridal pair
 I'll hasten to give them mine
 I'll laugh and I'll sing though my heart may bleed
 I'll walk in the festive train
 And if I survive it, I'll mount my steed
 And off to the war again
 One golden tress of her hair I'll twine
 In my helmet's sable plume
 Then on the fields of Palestine
 I'll seek an early doom
 And if by the Saracen's hand I fall
 'Midst the noble and the brave
 A tear from the lady I love is all
 I'll ask, for a warrior's grave.