'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.'
"'Farewell, farew ell, my gude Lord Scroope!
My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried—
'I'll pay ye for my lodging maill,
When first we meet on the Border side.'
"Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
We bore him down the ladder lang;
At every stride Red Rowan made,
I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang!