Sinopsis

I TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; A ferlie he spied wi’ his e’e; And there he saw a ladye bright Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. II Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk, Her mantle o’ the velvet fyne; At ilka tett o’ her horse’s mane Hung fifty siller bells and nine. III True Thomas he pu’d aff his cap, And louted low down on his knee: ‘Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth could never be.’ IV ‘O no, O no, Thomas,’ she said, ‘That name does not belang to me; I’m but the Queen o’ fair Elfland, That am hither come to visit thee.