[Verse 1] And the morn was breaking bright and fair, the lark sings in the sky As a maiden binds her golden hair with a blithe glance in her eye For who beyond the grey-green wood, awaited her with joy? Ah who but gallant Renardine, on the Mountains of Pomeroy [Chorus] An outlawed man in a land forlorn, who’d rather fight than fly And to keep the...Learn More