16 It fell upon a Lammas-tide
The king's court cam ridin bye:
'Oh whare is it him Young Riedan?
It's fain I wald him see.'
17 'Oh I hae no seen Young Riedan
Sin three lang weeks the morn;
It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair,
Clyde's Water's him forlorn.'
18 Up it spak the wily bird,
As it sat on the tree;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
19 'Leave aff, leave aff your day-seekin,
An ye maun seek by nicht;
Aboon the place Young Riedan lies,
The cannels burn bricht.'
20 They gae up their day-seekin,
An they did seek by nicht;
An owre the place Young Riedan lay,
The cannels burnt bricht.
21 The firsten grip his mother got
Was o his yellow hair;
An was na that a dowie grip,
To get her ae son there!
22 The nexten grip his mother got
Was o his milk-white hand;
An wasna that a dowie grip,
To bring sae far to land!
23 White, white waur his wounds washen,
As white as ony lawn;
But sune's the traitor stude afore,
Then oot the red blude sprang.
* * * * *
24 Fire wadna tak on her bourswoman,
Niether on cheek nor chin;
But it took fast on thae twa hands
That flang young Riedan in.