XXII
‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,
The glove unto my hand,
The wet drops fra my yellow hair,
Na langer dow[315] I stand.’
XXIII
O up then spak his ill mither,
—An ill death may she die!
‘Ye’re no the lass of Lochroyan,
She’s far out-owre the sea.
XXIV
‘Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman,
Ye’re no come here for gude;
Ye’re but some witch or wil’ warlock,
Or mermaid o’ the flood.’—
XXV
‘I am neither witch nor wil’ warlock,
Nor mermaid o’ the sea,
But I am Annie of Lochroyan,
O open the door to me!’—
XXVI
‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
As I trow thou binna she,
Now tell me of some love-tokens
That pass’d ’tween thee and me.’