Polly Vaughn

I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone,
By the cruel hand of evil at the setting of the sun.
His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark,
And his true love was slain as the shaft found its mark.
But she’d her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan,
And it’s oh, and alas, it was she, Polly Vaughn.

He ran up beside her and found it was she.
He turned away his head, for he could not bear to see.
He lifted her up, and found she was dead.
A fountain of tears for his true love he shed.
She’d her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan,
And it’s oh, and alas, it was she, Polly Vaughn.

He bore her away to his home by the sea,
Crying, “Father, oh Father, I’ve murdered poor Polly.
I’ve killed my fair love in the flower of her life.
I’d always intended that she’d by my wife,
But she’d her apron wrapped about her, and I took her for a swan,
And it’s oh, and alas, it was she, Polly Vaughn.”

He roamed near the place where his true love was slain.
He wept bitter tears, but his cries were all in vain.
As he looked on the lake, a swan glided by,
And the sun slowly set in the grey evening sky.
She’d her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan,
And it’s oh, and alas, it was she, Polly Vaughn.

She’d her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan,
And it’s oh, and alas, it was she, Polly Vaughn.