An' how they might be thine.
"Away! away! ye fause leman,
Nae mair my bosom wring:
There is a bird within yon bower,
Oh, gin ye heard it sing!"
Red grew the Douglas' dusky cheek,
He turned his eye away,
The gowden hilt fell to his hand;
"What can the wee bird say?"
It hirpled on the bough an' sang,