XXIII
He lean’d him owre his saddle-bow
To catch the rod by force;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie frae his horse.
XXIV
‘O how can I turn my horse’s head?
How can I learn to sowm[558]?
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison,
And it’s here that I maun drown!’
XXV
O he swam high, and he swam low,
And he swam to and fro,
But he couldna spy the hazel-bush
Wad bring him to the brow.
XXVI
He’s sunk and he never rase agen
Into the pot sae deep ...
And up it waken’d May Margaret
Out o’ her drowsie sleep.
XXVII
‘Come hither, come here, my mither dear,
Read me this dreary dream;
I dream’d my Willie was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in.’—