It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heav’n each face
Grew dark as they were speaking,