IX
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn owre my een,
And I in Helen’s arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
X
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.
[153. The Lament of the Border Widow]
I
My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a’ wi’ lilye flour;
A brawer bower ye ne’er did see,
Than my true love he built for me.
II
There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the King that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.