O LITTLE DEER, WHY DOST THOU MOAN, HID IN THY FOREST-BOWER ALONE?

Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?

At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.