They gained the lands o’ Elibank,
And gathered the gear together;
They counted tens, and came to scores,
And drove them out the heather.
There was not a Murray on the lea,
Young Scott his heart was light;
“There’ll be a dry breakfast at Elibank,
At Oakwood, a meal to-night.”
They got half way to Ettrick stream,
When they heard a sleuth-hound yell,