| Early one morning, just as the sun was rising
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| I heard a maid sing in the valley below
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| «Oh don’t deceive me, Oh never leave me
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| How could you use, a poor maiden so?»
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| Remember the vows that you made to me truly
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| Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me
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| Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses
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| I’ve culled from the garden to bind over thee
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| Here I now wander alone as I wonder
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| Why did you leave me to sigh and complain
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| I ask of the roses, why should I be forsaken
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| Why must I here in sorrow remain?
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| Through yonder grove, by the spring that is running
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| There you and I have so merrily played
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| Kissing and courting and gently sporting
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| Oh, my innocent heart you’ve betrayed
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| How could you slight so a pretty girl who loves you
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| A pretty girl who loves you so dearly and warm?
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| Though love’s folly is surely but a fancy
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| Still it should prove to me sweeter than your scorn
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| Soon you will meet with another pretty maiden
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| Some pretty maiden, you’ll court her for a while;
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| Thus ever ranging, turning and changing
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| Always seeking for a girl that is new
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| Thus sang the maiden, her sorrows bewailing
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| Thus sang the poor maid in the valley below
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| «Oh don’t deceive me, Oh never leave me
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| How could you use, a poor maiden so?» |