Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That’s now speaking to thee.”
She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,
And, for to do her best,
“Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest.”
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a’ the live-lang winter night