And he is golden shod behind;
At ilka tett of that horse's mane,
There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
This goodly gift shall be your ain,
And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."—
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
Nor in her bower to shine the brighter;
But she shall die, and turn to clay,
And ye shall wed another may."—
"Another may I'll never wed,