But no one spoke, and no one stirred, Or lifted hand to save From such a fearful, frightful death, The little lad so brave.
“It is woful deep!” he shuddering cried; “But, oh! I canna tell! So drop me down, then, if you will— It is nae so deep as hell!”
A childish scream, a faint, dull sound— O Jamie Douglas true! Long, long within that lonely cave Shall Tam Roy wait for you.
Long for your welcome coming Waits the mother on the moor, And watches and calls, “Come, Jamie, lad,” Through the half-open door.
No more adown the rocky path You come with fearless tread, Or, on moor or mountain, take The good man’s daily bread.
But up in heaven the shining ones A wond’rous story tell, Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf That is nae so deep as hell.
And there before the great white throne, Forever blessed and glad, His mother dear and old Tam Roy Shall meet their bonny lad.
STORY OF A BEDSTEAD.
It was night.