What shall I do now my baby has gone?
Pray to the black witch and she'll make you one.
Born from the blood pool that seeps in the tarn,
Bonny and strong, safe from all earthly harm.
What would it cost me, the baby so red?
Naught but a price ye can pay when you're dead.
Surely a mother would bear any pain,
To know her sweet suckling babe's touch again?
What if as they say, such a babe has no soul?
Why better for him, in this world - on the whole!
Naught wins in this world but inheriting power,
Blessed be the babe who is born at this hour!
What if the Angels should weep at his name?
Surely that speaks of his Pride and His Fame,
Noble the babe that comes out of the pit,
For at the Left Hand of the Hooved God he'll sit.
But what if when grown in His Power and His Pride
He forgets his poor mother and sets her aside?
No, sure as my hands are as black as sea-coal,
Such ingratitude takes a Christian soul.
No, sure as I shape this red babe to your need,
He will always remember where first he did feed.
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