And this fair maid was dead.
11
A gardener stood at the gate,
With cypress in his hand,
And he did say, Let no fair may
Come into Dead Maid’s Land.
A fragment in Motherwell’s MS., obtained from Widow Nicol, ‘It’s braw sailing here,’ p. 110, has something of both pieces without any suggestion of the flower-dress.
1
It’s braw sailing here,
And it’s braw sailing there,