Come all ye fair and pretty damsels
And listen while I now relate
A story sad of old Kentucky;
And learn of Lora Williams fate.

'Twas on a lovely summer evening
All in the merry month of May;
The apple tree was filled with blossoms,
When pretty Lora went away.

She took a bucket from the kitchen,
She placed a bonnet on her head;
" I'm going to the spring, dear mother,
To get some water, " Lora said.

She took the path beside the river,
She left her bucket by the spring;
" Have mercy, Lord, " said little Lora,
" For I must do an awful thing. "

" They say my lover must be punished,
And I must go tomorrow morn,
To see the Judge down at the courthouse,
That I must face a proud world's scorn. "

She went down close beside the River,
The ringing Steeple Rock rose high.
They say the River has no bottom,
Where pretty Lora chose to die.

And on that rock she laid her bonnet.
She said, " Dear mother, do not weep.
And if they do not find my body,
Just think your Lora's gone to sleep. "

She gazed upon the surging waters,
And then she gave a little cry,
" Oh God, I must not lose my courage,
Dear Lord; it is so hard to die. "

She walked out on the ringing Steeple,
And then she gave a mighty leap.
She rose and struggled for a moment,
Then sank beneath the waters deep.

And you who listen to my story,
Pray, be forewarned e'er its too late;
And when you're tempted, do not falter,
But think of little Lora's fate.