Her name was Marian Claribel Lee,
And she dwelt with her aged dad,
For her uncles all had been drowned at sea.
'Twas a way that her uncles had.
And whenever the south wind swept the lea
It made her feel quite bad.

The vicar came on his big roan mare,
And his face it was drawn and pale,
For the Bishop had told him to visit there,
And to ask if she'd got his mail,
For the maiden was young and was passing fair,
Though her uncles had gone to Yale.

“Oh, tell me, Marian Claribel Lee,
Oh, tell me,” the vicar cried,
“Why the Bishop pines for the love of thee,
While you mourn for the three that died.”
But the maiden, never a word said she
As she gazed at the sea and sighed.

“They say that the king rides far to-night,”
Cried the vicar in anguished tone,
“But the Queen she weeps in the sad moonlight
By the tomb of Sir Guy de Bohn.”
“Oh, go,” said the maid, “from out my sight,
For my heart it is turned to stone!”

Then up rose Marian Claribel Lee,
Where she lay on the icy ground,
And she plunged headlong in the surging sea,
And undoubtedly was drowned.
So her father invited the queen to tea;
But the jewels were never found.