There once was a girl many ages ago

Who suffered a life filled much with woe.

She was sweet, kind, fair and thin,

And so her looks many hearts did win.

Her family was one that held great fame,

And there were few who knew not her name.

Floreline MacGrew, as they now say,

Had but a single friend, and like sisters were they:

Lilly and Floreline, the two maids of the hill,

The will of one was the other one’s will.

But Miss Floreline’s love was much too strong,

And that is where their tale goes wrong.

She was hardly ten and five years old

When Floreline heard her friend be told

To go with her father to visit the sea,

And then she declared, “Thou must return to me,

For the grave in which my Lilly doth lie,

That is the grave where I too must die.”

Oh Miss Floreline, how she waited so long,

But Lilly did not return, Lilly was gone,

And two years after she left, there was word

That her vessel had been, by pirates, massacred,

And here was a coffin and a marble stone

For the fair young girl who overboard was thrown.

When Miss Floreline first heard the news,

All sense and truth she did refuse.

So angry and bewildered she became,

She struggled and fought with little shame,

And with blind rage and kitchen knife she slew

The messenger, her brother, Sir Johnny MacGrew.

Her good father, when this he did find,

Knew not what to do, for he was too kind.

Though his daughter was a rose

With her petals around her, he chose

To bury his son, but not to harm

The child who had so quickly lost her charm.

Many weeks did pass, and her eyes were still red,

But her father dared to speak, and finally said,

“My Floreline, she is dead, she is gone!”

But Floreline responded, “Nay, thou art surely wrong!

My Lilly, no she would not leave

Her good friend, like this, to grieve!”

“My child, it is the truth, for this I surely know:

Thy dear Lilly lies deep down below,

Under her own stone, never to return,

And all that is left for us is to mourn.”

Ah, but Floreline did not like the words her father spoke,

And it was not long, her patience broke,

Her rage awoke, her hands soon bled;

With his own sword, she took off his head.

Her mother then begged, her life be saved,

But with sword in hand, Floreline did bathe

The house of MacGrew, entirely, in red.

And all the while, not a tear did she shed.

But her anger was then all spent,

And with shattered heart, she slowly went

To the grave that held her beloved Lilly’s name.

Oh, the tears she cried, they fell like rain,

Softly on the blood-stained maid,

And her gown returned to white, and silver her blade.

“Lilly,” she cried, “only for thee I weep,

And so my promise I must keep.

Forgive me, if I disturb thy rest,

But the words of my family I must test.”

And with these words, the coffin she dug bare,

And broke it open, only to find there

Nothing, nothing at all.

Lilly was lost, had survived the fall,

And was happily wed, forgetting the friend

Who loved her so, who could never mend

The wounds she wrought, the battles she fought,

The body that now lay there in her spot.