9
He had a penknife in his hand,
Hang low down by his gair,
And between the long rib and the short one
He woundit her deep and sair.
10
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood
Fell drapping on the ground.
11
She took the glove off her right hand,
And slowly slipt it in the wound,
And slowly has she risen up,
And slowly slipped home.
* * * * *
12
'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame
Unto thy father's ha,
It's make my bed baith braid and lang,
Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'
* * * * *
13
'When I came by the high church-yard
Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel,
... that bruised my heart,
I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'
* * * * *
C.
Buchan's Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I, 241.