But for a’ sae wounded as Earl Brand was
He has set his lady on her horse.
XXVII
They rode till they came to the water o’ Doune.
And there he lighted to wash his wound.
XXVIII
‘O Earl Bran’, I see your heart’s bloud!’—
‘It’s na but the glent[283] o’ my scarlet hood.’
XXIX
They rode till they came to his mother’s yett,
So faint and feebly he rapp’d thereat.
XXX
‘O my son’s slain, he’s falling to swoun,
And a’ for the sake of an English loun!’—