O he's gane round and round about,
And tirled at the pin,
But doors were steeked and windows barred,
And nane to let him in.
"O open the door to me, Margaret!
O open and let me in!
For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,
And frozen to the brim."
"I daurna open the door to you,
I daurna let you in;
For my mither she is fast asleep,
And I maun mak' nae din."
"O gin ye winna open the door,
Nor be sae kind to me,
Now tell me o' some out-chamber,
Where I this night may be."
"Ye canna win in this night, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be;
For I've nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three.
"The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn,
The tither is fu' wi' hay;
The third is fu' o' merry young men,
They winna remove till day."
"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
Sin' better it mauna be.
I have won my mither's malison,
Coming this night to thee."
He's mounted on his coal-black steed,
O but his heart was wae!
But e'er he came to Clyde's water,
'Twas half-way up the brae.
When down he rade to the river-flood,
'Twas fast flowing ower the brim;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's rod frae him.
He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
To catch his rod again;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's hat frae him.