There cam’ a knock to her bower-door,
And blythe she let him in;
It was her brother frae the wars,
She lo’ed abune her kin.
“Oh, Willie, is the battle won?
Or are you fled?” said she,
“This nicht the field was won and lost,
A’ in a far countrie.
“This nicht the field was lost and won,
A’ in a far countrie,
And here am I within your bower,
For nane will dance with thee.”
“Put gold upon your head, Margaret,
Put gold upon your hair,
And gold upon your girdle-band,
And on your breast so fair!”
“Nay, nae gold for my breast, Willie,
Nay, nae gold for my hair,
It’s ashes o’ oak and dust o’ earth,
That you and I maun wear!
“I canna dance, I mauna dance,
I daurna dance with thee.
To dance atween the quick and the deid,
Is nae good companie.”
* * *
The fire it took upon her cheek,
It took upon her chin,
Nae Mass was sung, nor bells was rung,
For they twa died in deidly sin.
FOOTNOTES
[0a] Child, part vi. p. 513.