XV
She hadna sail’d a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Till grim, grim grew his countenance
And gurly[222] grew the sea.
XVI
‘What hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
The sun shines sweetly on?’—
‘O yon are the hills o’ Heaven,’ he said,
‘Where you will never won.’—
XVII
‘O whaten-a mountain is yon,’ she said,
‘Sae dreary wi’ frost and snae[223]?’—
‘O yon is the mountain o’ Hell,’ he said,
‘Where you and I will gae.
XVIII
‘But haud your tongue, my dearest dear,
Let a’ your follies a-bee,
I’ll show where the white lilies grow,
In the bottom o’ the sea.’
XIX
And aye as she turn’d her round about,
Aye taller he seem’d to be;
Until that the tops o’ that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.