Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
| 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. | |
| |
| Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk, | 5 |
| Her mantle o’ the velvet fyne; | |
| At ilka tett o’ her horse’s mane, | |
| Hung fifty siller bells and nine. | |
| |
| True Thomas he pu’d aff his cap, | |
| And louted low down on his knee | 10 |
| ‘Hail to thee Mary, Queen of Heaven! | |
| For thy peer on earth could never be.’ | |
| |
| ‘O no, O no, Thomas’ she said, | |
| ‘That name does not belang to me; | |
| I’m but the Queen o’ fair Elfland, | 15 |
| That am hither come to visit thee. | |
| |
| ‘Harp and carp, Thomas,’ she said; | |
| ‘Harp and carp along wi’ me; | |
| And if ye dare to kiss my lips, | |
| Sure of your bodie I will be.’ | 20 |
| |
| ‘Betide me weal; betide me woe, | |
| That weird shall never daunten me.’ | |
| Syne he has kiss’d her rosy lips, | |
| All underneath the Eildon Tree. | |
| |
| ‘Now ye maun go wi’ me,’ she said, | 25 |
| ‘True Thomas, ye maun go wi’ me; | |
| And ye maun serve me seven years, | |
| Thro’ weal or woe as may chance to be.’ | |
| |
| She ‘s mounted on her milk-white steed, | |
| She ‘s ta’en true Thomas up behind; | 30 |
| And aye, whene’er her bridle rang, | |
| The steed gaed swifter than the wind. | |
| |
| O they rade on, and farther on, | |
| The steed gaed swifter than the wind; | |
| Until they reach’d a desert wide, | 35 |
| And living land was left behind. | |
| |
| ‘Light down, light down now, true Thomas, | |
| And lean your head upon my knee; | |
| Abide ye there a little space, | |
| And I will show you ferlies three. | 40 |
| |
| ‘O see ye not yon narrow road, | |
| So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers? | |
| That is the Path of Righteousness, | |
| Though after it but few inquires. | |
| |
| ‘And see ye not yon braid, braid road, | 45 |
| That lies across the lily leven? | |
| That is the Path of Wickedness, | |
| Though some call it the Road to Heaven. | |
| |
| ‘And see ye not yon bonny road | |
| That winds about the fernie brae? | 50 |
| That is the Road to fair Elfland, | |
| Where thou and I this night maun gae. | |
| |
| ‘But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue, | |
| Whatever ye may hear or see; | |
| For speak ye word in Elfyn-land, | 55 |
| Ye’ll ne’er win back to your ain countrie.’ | |
| |
| O they rade on, and farther on, | |
| And they waded rivers abune the knee; | |
| And they saw neither sun nor moon, | |
| But they heard the roaring of the sea. | 60 |
| |
| It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, | |
| They waded thro’ red blude to the knee; | |
| For a’ the blude that ‘s shed on the earth | |
| Rins through the springs o’ that countrie. | |
| |
| Syne they came to a garden green, | 65 |
| And she pu’d an apple frae a tree: | |
| ‘Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; | |
| It will give thee the tongue that can never lee.’ | |
| |
| ‘My tongue is my ain,’ true Thomas he said; | |
| ‘A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! | 70 |
| I neither dought to buy or sell | |
| At fair or tryst where I might be. | |
| |
| ‘I dought neither speak to prince or peer, | |
| Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!’— | |
| ‘Now haud thy peace, Thomas,’ she said, | 75 |
| ‘For as I say, so must it be.’ | |
| |
| He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, | |
| And a pair o’ shoon of the velvet green; | |
| And till seven years were gane and past, | |
| True Thomas on earth was never seen. | 80 |
