Into[197] her bow'r she could not rest,
Wi' grief an spite she almos brast.
Upon a morning fair an' clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:—
"O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father's ships come to lan."
She's ta'en her by the milk-white han,
An led her down to yon sea stran.
The youngest stood upon a stane,