XVIII
‘O fare ye weel then, May Marg’ret,
Sin’ better may na be!
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison
This nicht, coming to thee.’
XIX
He’s mounted on his coal-black steed,
—O but his heart was wae!
But ere he came to Clyde’s water
’Twas half up owre the brae.
XX
‘An hey, Willie! an hoa, Willie!
Winna ye turn agen?’
But aye the louder that she cried
He rade agenst the win’.
XXI
As he rade owre yon high high hill,
And doun yon dowie den,
The roaring that was in Clyde’s water
Wad fley’d a thousand men.
XXII
Then he rade in, and farther in,
Till he cam’ to the chine;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie’s riding-cane.