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The elf-knight sits on yonder hill,
Fine flowers in the valley;
He blows his horn both loud and shrill,
As the rose is blown.
He blows it east, he blows it west,
Fine flowers in the valley;
He blows it where he liketh best,
As the rose is blown.
Lady Isabel sits a-sewing,
Fine flowers in the valley;
When she heard the elf-knight's horn a-blowing,
As the rose is blown.
Would I had that horn a-blowing,
Fine flowers in the valley;
And yon elf-knight for to sleep in my bosom,
As the rose is blown.
Scarcely had she these words spoken,
Fine flowers in the valley;
When in at the window the elf-knight's broken,
As the rose is blown.
It's a very strange matter, fair maid, said he,
Fine flowers in the valley;
I cannot blow my horn, but you call on me,
As the rose is blown.
But will you go to the greenwood side,
Fine flowers in the valley;
If you will not go, I'll cause you to ride,
As the rose is blown.
He leapt on his horse and she on another,
Fine flowers in the valley;
And they rode on to the greenwood together,
As the rose is blown.
Light down, light down, Isabel, said he,
Fine flowers in the valley;
For we're come to the place where you are to die,
As the rose is blown.
It's seven kings' daughters, here have I slain,
Fine flowers in the valley;
And you shall be the eighth of them,
As the rose is blown.
Sit down a-while, lay your head on my knee,
Fine flowers in the valley;
That we may rest before I die,
As the rose is blown.
She stroked him so fast the nearer he did creep,
Fine flowers in the valley;
And with a small charm, she's lulled him to sleep,
As the rose is blown.
With his own sword-belt so fast she's bound him,
Fine flowers in the valley;
With his own dagger so sore she's stabbed him,
As the rose is blown.
If seven kings' daughters here have you slain,
Fine flowers in the valley;
Then lie you here, a husband to them all,
As the rose is blown.
