Allen Brooke of Windermere

Say have you in the village seen, A lovely youth of pensive mein, If such a one hath passed by, With melancholy in his eye, Where is he gone, ah, tell me where? 'Tis Allen Brooke of Windermere.

Last night he sighing took his leave, Which caus'd me all the night to grieve, And many maids I know there be, Who try to wean my love from me; But heaven knows my heart's sincere To Allen Brooke of Windermere.

My throbbing breast is full of woe, To think that he should serve me so, But if my love should anger'd be, And try to hide himself from me, Then death shall bear me on a bier, To Allen Brooke of Windermere!