46
He put his hand at her bed head,
And there he found a gude grey horn,
Wi three draps o' Saint Paul's ain blude,
That had been there sin he was born.
47
Then he drappd twa on his ladye,
And ane o them on his young son,
And now they do as lively be,
As the first day he brought them hame.
B.
Motherwell's MS., p. 365. From the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.
1
'There is a feast in your father's house,
The broom blooms bonnie and so is it fair
It becomes you and me to be very douce.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair
2
'You will go to yon hill so hie;
Take your bow and your arrow wi thee.'
3
He's tane his lady on his back,
And his auld son in his coat lap.
4
'When ye hear me give a cry,
Ye'll shoot your bow and let me lye.
5
'When ye see me lying still,
Throw away your bow and come running me till.'
6
When he heard her gie the cry,
He shot his bow and he let her lye.