For the soul of thee, ladie.”
She heard a voice, a sweet, low voice,
Say, “Weans, ye tarry lang”—
She stretched her hand to the youngest bairn,
“Kiss me before ye gang.”
She sought to take a lily hand,
And kiss a rosy chin—
“Oh nought sae pure can abide the touch
Of a hand red-wet wi’ sin!”
“O! where dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns,