X
‘The ship wherein my love sall sail
Is glorious to behowd;
The sails sall be o’ the finest silk,
And the mast o’ beaten gowd.’
XI
She has taken up her wee young son,
Kiss’d him baith cheek and chin;
‘O fare ye weel, my wee young son,
For I’ll never see you again!’
XII
She has put her foot on gude ship-board,
And on ship-board she has gane,
And the veil that hangit ower her face
Was a’ wi’ gowd begane[221].
XIII
She hadna sail’d a league, a league,
A league but barely twa,
Till she minded on her husband she left
And her wee young son alsua.
XIV
‘O haud your tongue o’ weeping,’ he says,
‘Let a’ your follies a-bee;
I’ll show where the white lilies grow
On the banks o’ Italie.’