"Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee,
An' wae's me for the comely knight
That sleeps aneath the tree!
"His cheek lies on the cauld, cauld clay,
Nae belt nor brand has he;
His blood is on a kinsman's spear;
Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee!"
"My yeomen line the wood, lady,
My steed stands at the tree;
An' ye maun dree a dulefu' weird,