Between the flood and fell:

She's sought a rede against her need

Of the fiend that bides in hell.

She's tane her to the wan burnside,

She's wrought wi' sang and spell:

She's plighted her soul for doom and dole

To the fiend that bides in hell.

She's set her young son to her breast,

Her auld son to her knee:

Says, "Weel for you the night, bairnies,