VIII
‘O an ye gang to Margaret’s bour
Sae sair against my will,
I’ the deepest pot o’ Clyde’s water
My malison[555] ye’se feel.’
IX
As he rade owre yon high high hill,
And doun yon dowie[556] den,
The roaring that was in Clyde’s water
Wad fley’d[557] five hundred men.
X
His heart was warm, his pride was up,
Sweet Willie kentna fear;
But yet his mither’s malison
Aye soundit in his ear.
XI
‘O spare, O spare me, Clyde’s water:
Your stream rins wondrous strang:
Mak’ me your wrack as I come back,
But spare me as I gang!’
XII
Then he rade in, and further in,
And he swam to an’ fro,
Until he’s grippit a hazel bush
That brung him to the brow.