Over his cold bones lying as they are
She buried him before his prime
She sits quiet and still by his side
Beneath the morning sun
God grant each man his rightful share

No raven would dare come near all through the day

So well they will their master keep
From the boughs of the oak tree, three ravens wait
They'll perch on his backbone
The wind will moan forevermore
His hawks they circle the air all through the day
Gently closes her lover's eyes
Was dead herself before even song time
Peck out his eyes one by one
Such hawks, such hounds, such ladies fair
His hounds they lie at his feet