Thomas The Rhymer chords by Ewan Mccoll

Tuning: Standard (E A D G B E)

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True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
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A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e,
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And there he saw a lady bright
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Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

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Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
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Her mantle o' the velvet fyne.
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At ilka tett o' her horse's mane
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Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

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True Thomas he pull's aff his cap
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And louted low down to his knee:
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“All hail, thou mighty Queen o' Heaven!
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For thy peer on earth I never did see.”

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“O no, o no, Thomas,” she said,
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“That name does not belong to me;
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I am but the queen of fair Elfland
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That am hither come to visit thee.”

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“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said,
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“Harp and carp along wi' me.
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And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
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Sure of your body I will be.”

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“Betide me weal, betide me woe,
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That weird shall never daunton me.”
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Syne he has kissed her rosy lips
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All underneath the Eildon Tree.

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“Now ye maun gang wi' me,” she said,
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“True Thomas, ye maun gang wi' me.
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And ye maun serve me seven years
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Thro' weal and woe, as may chance to be.”

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She mounted on her milk-white steed,
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She's ta'en True Thomas up behind.
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And aye whene'er her bridle rung
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The steed flew faster than the wind.

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O they rode on and farther on,
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The steed gaed swifter than the wind,
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Until they reached a desert wide
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And living land was left behind.

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“Light down, light down now, True Thomas
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And lean your head upon my knee,
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Abide and rest a little space
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And I will show you ferlies three.

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“O see ye not yon narrow road
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So thick beset with thorns and briars?
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That is the path of righteousness,
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Tho' after it but few enquires.

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“And see ye not that braid, braid road
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That lies across that lily leven?
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That is the path of wickedness,
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Tho' some ca' it the road to heaven.

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“And see ye not that bonny road
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That winds about the fernie brae?
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That is the road to fair Elfland
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Where thou and I this night maun gae.

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“But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue
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Whatever ye may hear or see.
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For if you speak word in Elfyn land
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Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie.”

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Syne they came on to a garden green,
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And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
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“Take this for thy wages, True Thomas
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It will gi' ye the tongue that can never lie.”

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“My tongue is mine ain,” True Thomas said,
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“A guidly gift ye wad gie to me!
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I neither dought to buy or sell,
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At fair or tryst where I may be.

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“I dought neither speak to prince or peer
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Nor ask of grace from fair ladye.”
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“Now hold thy peace,”, the lady said,
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“For as I say, so must it be.”

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He has gotten a coat of the even cloth
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And a pair of shune of velvet green,
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And till seven years were gane and past
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True Thomas on earth was never seen.