8
His mother she was a waefu woman,
As dung as woman could be;
‘My son,’ says she, ‘is either hurt or slain,
Or drowned in the waters of Gemrie.’
9
It’s up and spak her daughter Ann:
‘What needs be a’ this mourning?
He’s lighted at yon bonny kirk-style,
And his steed has run away from him.’