Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.

Twas a scorching hot day, when the messenger came.
Wild men had moved into the land the king claimed,
So the king called for soldiers, for all men to begin
To fight for the crown, peace and glory to win.
His thoughts filled with dreams, he would not say no,
Though his sweetheart beside him begged, 'Please do not go.'
He was more than a boy, yet not yet a man,
And she cried as he left her, kissing her hand.

Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.

At the camp he got weapons, a knife and a shield,
A leather vest much too large, a rusty blade he could wield,
And an hour or two's lessons from the General's boy
With less interest in teaching than in his new toys.

Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.

Then they marched in close quarters to where the enemy lay.
With the battle approaching, his thoughts they did stray
To the face of his sweetheart, to the love in her eyes,
As the enemy rained down their death from the skies.
And his last thought as he fell, a spear in his heart,
Was that these men looked just like him, there was no telling apart.

Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.

When the fighting had ended, the General's son
Rode his horse through the carnage, to survey what they'd won.
These hills they were barren, no life there was found,
But silver and gold in abundance lay just under ground,
And he smiled at the bargain, as he thought of the cost.
The lives of poor farmers were all that was lost.

Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.

So tell me, good fellows, why is it ye fight?
To save a companion, to defend what is right?
Or to line the coat pockets of merchants and kings
Growing fat on the coin that your life-blood does bring?
And what of your sweetheart, what of her sad cries
As she weeps softly o'er where your dead body lies?

Tell me, dear lad, oh where have ye gone?
The fields they lay fallow, the herds have moved on,
And from the high meadow, her sad song I hear,
That ne'er more in this life will her true love draw near.