"O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he,
"Of your weeping now let me be;
55 I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy."—
"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?"—
"O yon are the hills of heaven," he said,
60 "Where you will never win."—
"O whaten a mountain is yon," she said,
"All so dreary wi' frost and snow?"—
"O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried,
"Where you and I will go."
65 And aye when she turn'd her round about,
Aye taller he seem'd for to be;
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.
The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,
70 And the levin fill'd her ee;
And waesome wail'd the snaw-white sprites
Upon the gurlie sea.
He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand,
The fore-mast wi' his knee;
75 And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea.