And first he sang a low, low note,
And syne he sang a clear;
And aye the o'erword o' the sang55
Was—"Your love can no win here."
"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',
The wine flows you amang,
While I gang to my shot-window,
And hear yon bonny bird's sang.60
"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
The sang ye sung yestreen;
For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,
Ye are frae my true love sen."
O first he sang a merry sang,65
And syne he sang a grave;
And syne he pick'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
"Have there a letter from Lord William;
He says he's sent ye three;70
He canna wait your love langer,
But for your sake he'll die."—
"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,
And brew his bridal ale;
And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk,75
Lang, lang ere it be stale."
The lady's gane to her chamber,
And a moanfu' woman was she;
As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,
"A boon, a boon, my father deir,
A boon I beg of thee!"—
"Ask not that paughty Scottish lord,
For him you ne'er shall see: