65
She hadna sailed on the sea
A day but barely ane,
Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind,
And she lang'd for to be hame.
"O gentle death, come cut my breath,
70 I may be dead ere morn;
I may be buried in Scottish ground,
Where I was bred and born."
"O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing,
Let a' your mourning be;
75 But for a while we'll stay at Rose Isle,
Then see a far countrie.
"Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground,
Nor land ye's nae mair see;
I brought you away to punish you,
80 For the breaking your vows to me.
"I said ye shou'd see the lilies grow
On the banks o' Italy;
But I'll let you see the fishes swim,
In the bottom o' the sea."
85 He reached his band to the topmast,
Made a' the sails gae down;
And in the twinkling o' an e'e,
Baith ship and crew did drown.
The fatal flight o' this wretched maid
90 Did reach her ain countrie;
Her husband then distracted ran,
And this lament made he:—
"O wae be to the ship, the ship,
And wae be to the sea,
95 And wae be to the mariners,
Took Jeanie Douglas frae me!