But wat ye fu' weel it wasna the deil
That tuik lord Archie's pairt,
But his twin-brother John he thoucht deid an' gone,
Wi' luve like a lowe in his hert.
III.
Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht,
Hame til his ain countree;
An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht,
"Noo Christ me sain an' see!"
He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun
Was gane, he saw nocht quhair!
At the ha' door he lichtit him doun,
Lady Margaret met him there.
Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien,
An' her words war sharp an' sair:
"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene,
An' welcome ye s' get nae mair!
Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold,
That lay i' my body wi' thee?
I miss my mark gien he liesna stark
Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!"
Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word
For his hert was like a stane;
He turnt him awa—an' the huddy craw
Was roupin for his ain.
"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said,
"Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?"
"Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie
Ance mair wi' my body-twin."
Up she brade, but awa he gaed
Straucht for the corbie-tree;
For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay,
An' cast him doon an' dee.
"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair,
"Has he lien there ever sin' syne?"
An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare,
Throu the cracks o' his harness shine.