“O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I, ere now, will be missed away.”
Then she has ta’en a crystal wand,
And she has stroken her troth thereon;
She has given it him out at the shot-window,
Wi’ mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
“I thank ye, Marg’ret, I thank ye, Marg’ret;
And aye I thank ye heartilie;
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Mag’ret, I’ll come for thee.”
It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
She climb’d the wall, and followed him,
Until she came to the green forest,
And there she lost the sight o’ him.
“Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?”
“There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret,
There’s nae room at my feet;
My bed it is full lowly now,
Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
“Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding-sheet;
The dew it falls nae sooner down
Than my resting-place is weet.
“But plait a wand o’ bonnie birk,
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.
“And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,
And Marg’ret, o’ veritie,
Gin ere ye love another man,
Ne’er love him as ye did me.”
Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the gray;
Her lover vanish’d in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.