Our Lord is set in his great oak throne
For our old Lord liveth all alone
These ten years and gone.
A book on his knees and bent his head
For our old Lord’s love is long since dead.
These ten years and gone.
For our young Lord Hugh went to the East,
And fought for the cross and is crows’ feast
These ten years and gone.
“But where is our Lady Rosalind,
Fair as day and fleet as wind
These ten years and gone?”
For our old Lord broodeth all alone
Silent and grey in his black oak throne
These ten years and gone.
Our old Lord broodeth silent there
For to question him none will dare
These ten years and more.
Where is our Lady Rosalind
Fair as dawn and fleet as wind.
These ten years and gone?
Our old Lord sits with never a word
And only the flame and the wind are heard
These ten years and more.
“Father! I come,” and she knelt at the throne,
“Father! know me, I am thine own.
“These ten years and more
“Have they kept me for ransom at Chastel d’ Or
“And never a word have I heard from thee
“These ten years and more.”
But our Lord answered never a word
And only sobbing and wind were heard.
(These ten years and gone.)
We took our Lord and his great oak throne
And set them deep in a vault of stone
These ten years and gone,
A book on his knees and bow’d his head
For the Lord of our old Lord’s love is dead
These ten years and gone,
And Lady Rosalind rules in his stead
(Thank we God for our daily bread)
These ten years and more.