it was an eve in late summer autumn was nigh still a warm sun did colour the sky the meadows did shine in a strange golden light and vales did forth the soft haze of night when through the air a voice did resound beckoning the shepherd to rise from the ground the shepherd what sweet voice does sing in such a woebegone tone what maiden does wander the heather alone bewitched by its tone he followed her song whilst the sun did descend and the shadows grew long in the dim light of dusk near the sparkling cascade on a moss covered stone sat a crying young maid the shepherd why art thou dreary what happened to thee what song didst thou sing so woefully the maiden go whither o shepherd don t sadden thine heart thou canst not help me not thou who thou art an old man who s been born in a cradle of wood of a tree that at least a hundred years stood cut by a boy who at heart was still pure might be my redeemer if he knew that he could 