XV
O so it fell upon a day,
When hunting they might be,
They rested them in Silverwood,
Beneath that green aik tree.
XVI
And many were the green-wood flowers
Upon that grave that grew,
And marvell’d much that bonny boy
To see their lovely hue.
XVII
‘What’s paler than the primrose wan?
What’s redder than the rose?
What’s fairer than the lilye flower
On this wee know[352] that grows?’—
XVIII
O out and answer’d Jellon Grame,
And he spak hastilie:
‘Your mother was a fairer flower,
And lies beneath this tree.
XIX
‘More pale she was, when she sought my grace,
Than primrose pale and wan;
And redder than rose her ruddy heart’s blood,
That down my broadsword ran.’—