TOM O' THE LINN
(Son of Child #39, Tam Lin)
(Bob Coltman)

Jenny, don't go by the lover's walk,
Don't you go to the fair,
And never you stray by Carter' Hall,
For Tom o' the Linn is there,

Carter' Hall' my very own,
Daddy gave it to me,
I'll there if I want to,
I need not to ask any leave.

She picked the flowers one by one
And never a sight of man,
When out steps Tom o' the Linn himself
And takes her by the hand,

He never asked her any leave,
He weighed her down to the ground,
And when he let her up again
Her petticoat was torn.

Four and twenty ladies went
A-dancing at the ball,
Said, Jenny, what' the matter with you?
You look so pale and all,

In came her uncle,
Jenny what have you done?
If ever a girl was gone with child,
Jenny, you're the one.

Well, if I am with child
Then who bears the blame?
There's never a man hear good enough
To give my child a name,

She pulled up her petticoats
Round about her knee,
And she ran off to Carter's Hall,
Tom o' the Linn to see.

Tom, love, Tom a' the Lin,
Tom, show your face,
Are you of the heaven or hell,
Or of an earthly race?

I am earth-born and earthly bred,
And an earthly father's heir,
But I've been in the Middle Mist
For more than seven year.

Tonight is Halloween, Lady,
And Hallowday to come,
And your true heart might win me back
Ere Halloween be done,
For out of Middle Mist the fairy
Folk will fly tonight,
And you must wait at Mile Cross Bridge
And hold onto me tight.

For I shall turn, and change, and turn,
And change within your arm,
But see you keep a hold on me,
And I'll do you no harm,
Hold to me, I'll hold to thee
Like the true of earthly men,
And dip me in a dish of milk,
And I'll be yours again.

About the middle of the night
She heard the bridles ring,
And Jenny was as glad at that
As any earthly thing,
She knew him by his right-hand glove,
His left hand being bare,
White, white horse and golden curls,
She caught him in the air.

He grew into a Carribee,
He turned into a snake,
He changed into a grizzly bear,
She thought her arms would break,
He turned into a fall of ice,
Into a whipping wind,
Then he became a red-hot iron
And burned poor Jenny's hand,
She doused him with a dish of milk,
And he was a naked man.

She covered him with her green mantle
To keep him from the rain.
The Queen of Middle Mist spoke up
Out of a bush of rye,
Then that's gotten Tom o' the Linn
Have gotten a perfect boy,
If I'd a-known you yesterday
I'd not a-bode alone,
I'd a-snatched out your heart of flesh
And sizzled it on a stone.

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